Title: The Hardest Wager
Author: Lacy
Spoilers: Santos Administration
Pairings: Josh/Donna Matt/Helen
Disclaimer: I don't own any West Wing characters. This is just for
fun, so don't sue, blah, blah, blah.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to MD for the beta and the constant
encouragement.
Rating: PG and NC-17. I'll post the smutty bits on JDFFNC-17. For
those readers who aren't into that kind of thing, you may just skip
those parts; you aren't missing any plot or character development. Or
are you?
Synopsis: Josh and Donna don't see eye to eye to on everything having
to do with their relationship.

AN: I haven't written any J/D in more than four years, so be gentle.
AN2: This story was started on 7/14/06 and completed on 8/20/06.


Feedback is adored. Send it to xfwatcher@....
On with the show.



The Hardest Wager 1/18


Donna Moss was hip-deep in the legislative language of her boss's pet
bill when an unpretentious knock sounded on her office's connecting
door. Deeply engrossed she didn't recognize the intrusion until a
second knock interrupted. Her head snapped up causing white- blonde
wisps of hair to fall back revealing her lovely, angular face.

"Ma'am?" Donna questioned the closed door in a volume loud enough to
be heard on the other side.

An equally blonde head popped into the room. Helen Santos' eyes
darted from one end of the room to the other, assessing the number of
occupants. Finding the room empty of all but the person she came to
see, Helen smiled tentatively and released a tension-filled breath.

Donna couldn't fathom why Mrs. Santos would seem so uncomfortable, but
suspected that she was about to find out. Stoically, she braced
herself for one of a thousand reasons that a First Lady would approach
her Chief of Staff so hesitantly.

Helen Santos, a bright and determined woman, had settled quickly, if
not comfortably into her new role as First Lady of the United States.
But, try as she might, she could never quite get comfortable entering
another person's office without knocking. As a political operator she
was green, but nonetheless indomitable. As a mother, she was a force
to be reckoned with. She was, without a doubt, fiercely protective of
her family and, unlike many politicos, equally loyal to those she
employed. Donna admired her boss, and was proud to work with her.

When it came to Donna, Helen made it clear that she viewed her Chief
of Staff as more a partner in crime than a subordinate. Helen never
had been able to see Donna as just an employee. Countless times
conversations between the two women had shifted to topics more
personal than professional when the professional ones had been
exhausted. By the end of the first year of the Santos Administration
Donna considered the First Lady a close friend as well as her boss,
and she had every reason to believe Helen felt the same way.

Which is why, early in the third year of the administration, Donna was
the first to know Helen's big secret.

"I think I'm pregnant."

Donna's eyes widened at the admission, her brain instinctively kicking
into spin-mode. Taking in Helen's pale features and red rimmed eyes,
Donna instructed her brain to take a step back, and her heart to take
a step forward. Helen needed her friend, just now - not her chief of
staff.

"Are you...?" Donna began. "Is this a good thing?"

"I don't know," Helen winced. "Is it?"

"Have you spoken with...your husband?" She couldn't bring herself to
refer to President Santos as Matt, but for the moment, she didn't want
to bring the specter of the Oval Office into the conversation either.

Helen shook her head, her eyes glistening in preparation for shedding
tears.

Donna, anticipating Helen's need, proffered a box of tissues and
placed her hand over Helen's in a gesture of comfort. "So," she
gently inquired, "I take it this wasn't planned."

Despite the mildness of Donna's question, Helen's dam burst, and she
tugged tissues from the box and pressed them to her face while
simultaneously shaking her head.

"Tell me what's wrong, Helen," Donna beseeched. "What's going through
your mind? How can I help set your mind at ease?"

Over the last two years, Donna had learned quickly when the use of the
titles "Ma'am" or "Mrs. Santos" was inappropriate. Unlike her
predecessor, Abigail Bartlet, Helen frequently required a less
professional connection with Donna -- particularly during times when
she felt adrift in her job or unsure of her obligations to the
American public. Together they had reached an unspoken compromise
between formality and familiarity.

"I'm forty-two years old," Helen cried. "I'm the First Lady of the
United States. How can I be pregnant?" Through blurry vision, Helen
could interpret the resulting smirk on Donna's face. "Well, I know
*how*!" She replied to her friend's implicit comment.

"You're not the first sitting First Lady to be find herself
expecting," Donna consoled, smiling softly. She thought it best not
to mention that the last time a First Lady had given birth while her
husband was in office, the results had been tragic. Come to think of
it, there was little about that administration that hadn't been
tragic. "Are you worried about what your husband will think? Will he
be...unhappy?"

"Are you kidding? Matt will be thrilled. He's always wanted a big
family. In fact, we started trying again after Miranda turned three,
but it became more difficult with me in Houston and Matt in DC. I
just don't know if..."

"What?"

"I'm forty-two years old, Donna. I'm not exactly in my prime anymore."

Donna felt an explosion of laughter well up inside of her, and swiftly
clamped her hand over her mouth.

"What's so funny?" Helen couldn't help but notice Donna stifling her
laughter. She smiled tentatively through her tears, hoping she would
find Donna's thoughts equally humorous. She needed a good laugh.

"May all women be so lucky when they're forty-two," Donna mocked and
rolled her eyes. "Helen, you're in amazing shape. Your last physical
put you in the top fifteen percent for your age bracket. How have you
been feeling...physically?"

"I'm two weeks late, and I've been feeling queasy, especially when the
chef serves something with a creamy sauce. Occasional bouts of
lightheadedness. And let's not forget the delightful emotional
breakdowns." She waved at her blotchy face with a watery laugh.

In a normal situation, Donna would ask if Helen had seen a doctor yet,
in order to confirm or allay her fears, but this was no ordinary
situation. Donna was well aware of Mrs. Santos' movements and
schedule. She knew that her last doctor's appointment had been four
months ago.

In fact, Donna knew the First Lady's schedule so well, if pressed she
could probably pinpoint one of two possible conception dates.

"I guess I should make an appointment with my doctor."

"Let's put a pin it that, for the moment," Donna held up her hand.
"You're not due for a check-up for another two months. If I make an
irregular appointment for you, the press is going to ask why. I'm
assuming that you want to keep this between us for the time being."

Helen nodded. "What do you suggest?"

"Making a little trip to the drugstore."

"Just me and my five closest Secret Service agents?" Helen snorted.

"Of course not," Donna waved off as she stood and crossed the room.
Reaching up she removed her purse and coat from the coat rack. "I'll
be back in an hour. How about we meet in the residence at...say...three
o'clock?"

"Is this the kind of thing chiefs of staff usually do for their
bosses?" Helen's brow creased and one side of her mouth lifted
sardonically.

"No, it's the kind of thing friends do for friends."

*****

Donna and Helen sat side by side on the lip of the Presidential
bathtub. Donna couldn't help but scan the room for every detail of
the lush surroundings.

Helen sighed. "Is this going to cause problems for Matt?"

"You see...this is your problem. You're thinking politically."

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

"About the occasional slip of the tongue? Yes. Bringing a new life
into the world? Not so much. Politically, the president will sail
through this."

"Really?"

"Of course," Donna shrugged. She stood and went to counter and began
dropping the detritus from their science experiment into the empty
drugstore bag. Helen held in her hand the stick which proudly
displayed a plus sign. "Your husband is young and vital and...dare I
say it...potent. The American public will love it; even the young
adults will be enamored."

"Okay," Helen took a deep breath. "So... no damage control?"

"Not if you choose to have it," Donna qualified.

"Of course we're going to have it!" Helen screeched, rising in defense
of her unborn child. "This isn't some mass of cells that-"

"Yes, Ma'am." The moment Mrs. Santos went to her feet, Donna
straightened her back and slipped into her role as Chief of Staff.

"I'm sorry, Donna," Helen eased up. "It's just that...it's not for me.
It's not something I could ever do. Especially not when Matt and I
have so much to give."

Donna breathed a sigh of relief. "Then I think the only thing you
should worry about is how to tell the leader of the free world that
he's going to be a dad...again."

Helen chuckled. "This is completely surreal, isn't it?"

"I've seen stranger. You have time on your schedule. If you like, I
can make an appointment with your doctor. That should give you and the
president enough time to discuss how you'd like to announce."

"That would be fine. Donna?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think you could wait until after the weekend to bring Annabeth
in on this? I just need a little more time before starting up the hay
baler."

"No problem."

"And also..." Helen vacillated for a moment. "I know it's a lot to
ask...but could you keep Josh out of the loop until after I tell Matt?"

Donna's eyes widened in disbelief as she inhaled deeply -- the First
Lady had never asked her to keep a secret from Josh. Donna wasn't
even sure that she could; not after two years of cultivating an open
and honest relationship with him. "I'll do my best."

"That's all I ask."

"I'll leave you alone now, Ma'am." Donna stuffed the drugstore sack
into her tote bag. Before exiting the washroom she turned back to
Helen with a wide smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Also, I just wanted to say...congratulations."

****

The next morning Josh Lyman was pondering his girlfriend's strange
evasiveness the night before as he strode into his office and dumped
his backpack next to his desk. He blindly reached for the stack of
morning papers that were usually arranged neatly on top of his desk,
only to come up empty.

A comedic double take revealed that, in fact, there was no usual stack
of morning papers arranged neatly on top of his desk.

"Erin!" he bellowed.

Josh's latest assistant, Erin Yarborough, stepped into his office
holding a stack of papers against her chest, as if for protection.
She stood all of five feet two inches tall and wore her thick chestnut
hair in a professional pageboy cut. Her pantsuit was sharp and
tailored and her three-inch heels made looking up at her boss a little
less uncomfortable. "Don't shoot the messenger, Josh," she preempted,
her almond shaped brown eyes wide with warning.

"Where are my papers?"

"I didn't want you to be taken off guard," she explained.

"Oh, God...what has The Post done now?"

"It wasn't The Post. It was the London Daily Mirror."

"And why should the headlines of a trashy British rag prevent me from
reading a real newspaper?"

"Because the headline is about Ms. Moss," she winced, anticipating the
inevitable eruption.

"What?!"

"It just came down from the Press Office."

"Give it," he demanded, indicating the stack in her hands.

"Are you sure that's the best idea?"

"Erin, I swear to God, if you don't hand me those-"

The stack thumped on his desk before he could finish his sentence.
Erin knew better than to defy him when he was in this kind of mood.
That's how his last assistant ended up getting transferred to the
Legislative Liaison's office. Everyone in the West Wing knew that the
only thing worse than working for Josh Lyman, was working for Amy Gardner.

The Friday morning edition of The London Daily Mirror sat atop the
stack, its picture inflammatory, and its headline...titillating.

He stared at the paper, agog, for a full minute before collecting his
thoughts. "Erin?"

"Yes?"

"Call her office. Find out from her assistant if she's seen this. If
she hasn't yet, make sure she doesn't."

"You bet." Erin practically dove from the room.

Josh continued to peruse the front page, picking out every little
detail. Over the last two years he'd been thankful that he and Donna
had not been required to live in the same fishbowl environment forced
upon the President and First Lady. While their positions made the
occasional confrontation with the press inevitable, they had never
been followed and their privacy had never been so ruthlessly violated.

She had been followed by someone with a camera; either that or someone
with a camera had actually managed to catch her at exactly the right
moment. The photo showed Donna at a local drugstore purchasing what
could only be a home pregnancy test. A blown up inset even showed the
familiar brand name of the product and the unmistakable words `home
pregnancy test'.

His immediate thought was that he and Donna were going to be crucified
in the press. Unmarried, living together and expecting a child with
no signs of a wedding in the near future? Oh yeah. He could think of
a handful of PACs that would use this to make the President look bad.
Just for giggles.

He leaned back in his chair with a defeated sigh. This was not the
way he wanted things to play out. Josh couldn't even begin to wrap
his mind around the possibility that his life might be about to change
in the most drastic of ways. All he could think was that this was not
going to play well. Not for Donna, not for him, and not for President
Santos.

Even worse, Josh knew that, if it wasn't already too late, he would
have to be the one to bring this rag's headline to Donna's attention.
He shoved his chair away from the desk, grabbed the tabloid and
crossed the room to exit the office. "Erin, I'll be in the East Wing."

TBC
****



See part 1 for disclaimers.


****

The Hardest Wager 2/18


Donna juggled her tote bag, coffee and banana nut muffin as she took
the handful of pink message slips from her assistant, Elaine.

Elaine smiled strangely with a gleam in her eye. "How are you feeling
this morning?" she asked, by way of greeting.

"Fine, thank you. I have a few calls to make this morning, but after
that put Senator Halstead on my call sheet. I want to discuss some of
the provisions in 1098 with him."

"Will do," Elaine chirped. Then her assistant did the strangest
thing...she winked.

"Elaine? Is there something in your eye?"

"No?"

"Okay. Has Mrs. Santos checked in yet this morning?"

"No. Is there something...personal...you'd like to discuss with her, Ms.
Moss? Would you like me to call her in the residence?"

"That won't be necessary. I'll be in my office."

She closed the door behind her and tilted her head in confusion as she
contemplated her assistant's odd behavior. Elaine Dewarshus was not a
woman given to odd behavior. She was a straight-laced office manager
in her late fifties with a powerful patriotic streak. Winks and
suspicious smiles were not usually in her professional repertoire.

In fact, no matter how hard she tried, Donna could not get Elaine to
call her by her first name. It was her own frustration with this
tug-of-war that was a partial reason for Donna relenting in the face
of Helen's requests to "not be `Ma'am-ed'".

Donna set her coffee and her muffin on her desk before dropping her
tote bag on the floor. She sank into her chair and reached for the
bottom drawer of her desk to retrieve a leather bound address book.
With one hand she reached for her coffee while flipping pages with the
other. After finding the number she needed she removed the phone from
its cradle and dialed the number with the Bethesda area code.

****


Josh received a nod and, strangely, a wink from Elaine when he
silently indicated his desire to see Donna. Clearly, Elaine had seen
the tabloid and made the assumption he knew everyone else would.

He approached her office door and surreptitiously turned the knob.

"...need and appointment at the doctor's earliest convenience next
week." Donna's voice filtered through the crack in the door. "Ten
a.m. on Saturday? He'll do that? No, that shouldn't be a problem.
Yes, as discreet as possible. No, that will be all. Thank you."

Josh's heart ceased beating for a moment. Donna was making a doctor's
appointment? That could only mean one thing, his stomach dropped.
The home test must have been positive.

Paralyzed by his own racing thoughts, he didn't hear Donna hang up the
phone and cross her office until she flung open the door.

"Josh?"

"Hey!" He smiled that wide dimpled grin in he used when trying to
cover for his many ill-conceived misdeeds. Donna wasn't fooled.

"What are you doing?" Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed.

"Uh...."

"Get in here." She stepped aside to allow him entrance. "What brings
you to the East Wing or, as you often prefer, `Baywatch on the Potomac'?"

"That was only that one time," he defended himself.

"I supposed I should be thankful there wasn't press around to hear
that comment."

"Speaking of press being around..."

"Yes?"

"Did you happen to make a side trip to a drugstore recently?"

"Crap!"

"Yes," he concurred.

"Who has it?" Plummeting into her chair she dropped her head into her
hands.

"No one reputable...yet, though I'm sure Bram will get the question in
the morning briefing."

Josh stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back on his
heels as he considered where to go next with this conversation. After
a moment's thought he stepped closer to her desk and took a seat in
her visitor's chair.

"I'm here right now as the Chief of Staff for the President and not as
your...boyfriend." He stumbled over the word as he always did. Even
after two years together he still stumbled over the word. "I don't
think I have to tell you that this isn't going to look good. In fact,
this could disastrous."

Donna raised her head from he hands. "What?"

"The timing is, well, not great. And our situation is not conducive to-"

"Wait a minute," she started. "You think that--?"

"The London Daily Mirror has it." He tossed to newspaper on her desk.

Much liked Josh's had, her eyes widened impossibly as they absorbed
the picture, and its implications. As she stared at the picture she
quickly put the pieces together. Josh obviously thought she was
pregnant. It also occurred to her that Elaine had probably jumped to
the same conclusion - as would anyone else who'd seen the story.

She thought back to yesterday afternoon with Mrs. Santos and how her
boss had asked her to keep Josh out of the loop. Surely her request
wouldn't apply in a situation like this. It was quite clear to her
that Josh was going to need to hear the truth. As far as the rest of
the public and her staff were concerned Donna would gladly fall on her
sword for the First Lady, but not for Josh.

"Okay, I need you to be my boyfriend right now and not the Chief of
Staff." She came out from around her desk and took the visitor chair
next to his.

"Okay," he agreed.

"I'm not pregnant."

"Thank God!" He shouted, his voice bouncing off the wood paneling of
her office.

Donna opened her mouth to continue, but his palpable relief struck her
like a slap in the face.

"Thank God," he stupidly continued. "That's good news! The test was
negative, then?"

She swallowed back the lump that had mysteriously formed in her
throat. "The test wasn't for me."

"Huh?"

"I wasn't supposed to say anything." Donna's voice had assumed a
lifeless, completely professional tone that Josh found somewhat
confusing. She went back behind her desk and sat down without making
eye contact. "She specifically asked me to keep you out of the loop
on this, until she had a chance to talk to the President."

"Mrs. Santos?" Josh gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"She's...?"

"Yes," Donna clipped. "The home test was positive. I was just making
an appointment for her at Bethesda Naval. You can't tell him, Josh.
You can't even hint."

"I know that, but we still have a problem. What do we say when Bram
gets the question?"

"This can't get out until they're ready to announce." Donna reached
for a pile of legislative files on her desk and began thumbing through
them with a manic amount of gusto. "If asked, Bram can tell them that
I took the test and the results were negative." The bitterness and
hurt was evident in her voice.

Josh's stomach clenched in response to her tone, but he had, as yet,
failed to decipher to reason behind her words or the vitriolic tenor
in which she delivered them. "Donna?"

"Will that be all?" she dismissed.

"Donna, am I missing some--?"

"I have work." She reached across her desk and violently punched the
intercom button on her phone. "Elaine, call the residence and ask if
I can see her as soon as she's...dressed."

With that, Josh knew she would hear nothing he had to say, least of
all an apology he didn't even understand to begin with. He stuffed
his hands back in his pockets and skulked out the door like a puppy
that had been well and truly kicked.

It wasn't until the door had closed behind him that the emotions she
had been beating back for the last few minutes finally overcame her.
Donna covered her hands and let the tears come.

She lent her emotions full reign for a full minute before
straightening her spine and reaching for the box of tissues. She
sniffed delicately and tenderly wipe the tears from her face in hopes
of keeping as much of her makeup intact as possible.

The intercom clicked in. "Ms. Moss, Mrs. Santos can see you anytime
you're ready. In the residence," Elaine added.

"Thank you, Elaine. That's where I'll be. Oh, and do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Hold all personal calls from Josh's office."

"For how long?"

"Until further notice."


****


Donna met Mrs. Santos in the private salon and it took only a moment
for Helen to realize that something was wrong.

"Have you been crying, Donna?"

"No, Ma'am." Donna's eyes flickered away from Helen's for an instant.
She was mortified that her boss could see through her hasty makeup job.

"Donna?" Helen's used her motherly warning tone that Donna had often
heard her use on Peter and Miranda.

"A little bit," she relented.

"What happened?"

"The London Daily Mirror has a picture of me purchasing the pregnancy
test yesterday."

"Well, that was fast," Helen observed.

"Things move fast," Donna agreed, "and few things move faster than the
DC rumor mill. It's all over the building by now."

"Does Josh know?" Helen gasped.

"Josh is the one who brought it to me. I'm sorry, Ma'am. I had to
come clean with him. Have you had a chance to talk to the President
this morning?"

"No. I need you to schedule some time with him today. If things move
that fast, it's best to get it out in the open."

"You don't need to schedule time with your husband, Ma'am. You have
walk-in privileges."

"I know that, but I don't want to tell him in the Oval Office, and I
want him to know it's important and personal."

"Shall I tell Ronna to schedule a workout?" Donna smiled at Helen.

"Won't he be surprised," drawled Helen, a grin spreading like slow
molasses across her features. "So," Helen said, sipping on a mug of
decaf, "how did Josh take the news? Did he seem okay with it?"

"Oh, I'd say he was thrilled."

"Really? Visions of approval ratings skyrocketing?"

"Mostly I think he was happy it was you and not me."

A tiny catch in Donna's throat alerted Helen to the real reason for
the earlier tears her chief of staff had hidden so badly.

"Oh, Donna," Helen sighed empathically. "What did he say?"

"When I told him I wasn't pregnant I think his exact words were `Thank
God. That's good news.'"

Recognizing that it was her turn to do the comforting, Helen passed a
box of tissue to Donna as she sensed the imminent implosion.

"We've never even talked about it...but when he said that..."

"It was extraordinarily insensitive of him," Helen commiserated.

"That's not unusual. Or at least, I shouldn't be surprised. Don't
get me wrong, the last two years have been wonderful, but when he said
that, it was like watching my future slip away."

"Donna, I'm going to take advantage of the fact that I'm the First
Lady and your boss and I'm going to give you some advice."

TBC

*****



See part 1 for disclaimers


*****

The Hardest Wager 3/18


"I'm sorry, Mr. Lyman, but Ms. Moss is having lunch in her office with
Ms. Schott. Would you like me to pass a message along?"

Josh stared at the phone not quite able to grasp the words wafting
through the speaker. He had lunch plans with Donna, and had even
confirmed them with her last night. "Wasn't I on her schedule?"

"Yes that's true, and I did remind her, but she had me schedule lunch
with Ms. Schott instead." After a beat, Elaine's voice lowered and
she said sympathetically, "I'm sorry, sir."

"Well, does she have any time open this afternoon?"

After a long pause and deep breath from Elaine, she answered, "Her
schedule is full today, Mr. Lyman, unless there's a critical matter
that needs to be discussed."

"No, that's not-"

"Then I apologize, sir."

"It's just that President Santos is going to be in the residence for
awhile and I had some time. I thought that we could-"

"She's very busy," Elaine's tone became terse, and it occurred to Josh
that he might be pushing her a bit too far. But being Josh, he just
couldn't help himself.

"Just one more thing, Elaine -- did I do something wrong?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Lyman."

"Did she say anything? Did she seem mad at me?"

"I think that's something you should discuss with Ms. Moss."

"Well, I would, but I can't seem to get any time with her," he pointed
out.

"This conversation is making me uncomfortable," Elaine informed him,
her voice taking a slightly haughty air.

"You're right. I'm sorry," he sighed, defeated. "I shouldn't put you
in the middle. It's just that I need to know what's going on."

"Again, I think that you should-"

Josh looked up to see Sam Seaborn standing at his door. "Yeah, thanks
Elaine. I gotta go." He stabbed the disconnect button with enormous
force. He waved Sam over to the couch and stepped out from his behind
his desk.

"So, spill it," Sam demanded.

"You realize I'm the one who gives the orders around here, right?"

"Not about this."

Josh wanted nothing more at that moment than to spill his guts. Maybe
Sam could clue him in. He was married, and everyone knew he had
uncanny insight when it came to the inner workings of the female mind.
Even if sometimes that insight didn't quite make it all the way from
his brain to his mouth when talking to actual women.

Still, he was all Josh had.

"So, Josh, was the picture a shock?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. I wasn't watching," he said, referring to
the earlier press briefing. "Did he get the question?"

"He did, indeed," Sam nodded. "And he answered as instructed."

"Follow-ups?"

"None. There's something you're not telling me. I deduced it in
staff this morning. What gives?"

"I don't have to tell you everything, Sam."

"Did we send Bram in there with the truth?"

"Donna's not pregnant, if that's what you're asking."

"And yet, I'm still missing a piece of the puzzle."

For a moment, Josh was impressed with Sam's instincts, but he quickly
redirected the conversation. "I'm in the doghouse."

"With Donna?"

"Who else?"

"Where should I begin?"

Josh rolled his eyes at Sam's flippant attempt at humor. "I couldn't
get any time with her today. I think she's shut me out."

"What did you do?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, there's nothing new."

"She dismissed me from her office this morning, Sam. ME! We were
talking about the picture and she told me she wasn't pregnant and
then...complete and total shutdown." Josh's brain raced, trying to
preemptively avoid the pitfalls that would lead to spilling the
Santos' secret to Sam. "She hasn't shut down on me like that
since...well, it's been a long time." He had no desire to tell Sam, but
Josh was recalling a certain evening when Donna had discovered her
then-boyfriend Jack Reese had been abruptly transferred overseas.
"She wasn't even that cold when were...separated."

"Maybe she's having problems dealing with it."

"Dealing with what?"

"With not being pregnant."

"No that's not it." Josh sidestepped the pit. To give away anything
more would pique Sam's interest.

"Are you sure? Maybe she wanted to be pregnant, and was disappointed
by the outcome."

"We haven't even talked about kids, Sam. To get pregnant now would be
disastrous."

"Well, I hope you didn't put it that way when you were talking to her."

"Why?"

Sam's head snapped up. "Do you think, if you tried, you could be any
denser?"

"Okay," Josh huffed, crossed his arms at his chest and leaned back
against the couch. "You might want to remember who hands out the crap
assignments before you take that any further."

"Fine," Sam shrugged. Then to Josh's surprise and dismay, Sam had the
gall to remain silent.

"Well?" Josh demanded.

"I think I'd prefer to maintain the status quo of my current employment."

"I swear to God, Sam, if you don't tell me what's going on, your next
meeting is going to be with Claypool."

Sam winced and then tilted his head, as if to carefully consider the
next words to come out of his mouth. Josh, familiar with this
process, knew that for Sam's audience this procedure could be both
painful and interminable.

"You basically told Donna that having a child with her would be
unthinkable."

"I did not!" Josh instantly shot out of seat. "I just pointed out
that the timing was less than...perfect."

"And after she told you that she wasn't, in fact, pregnant? What
insensitive behavior did you display then?"

"Crap." Josh collapsed back into his seat.

"Let me guess, because I know you so well...did it involve, perhaps, any
or all actions that might be construed as a declaration of victory?"

"I am in so much trouble."

After a moment of silence, Sam chirped. "Well, my work here is done."

"What do I do, Sam?"

"Grovel, grovel, and more groveling, my man. That's the only advice I
can give you. You're going to have to pay the piper for this one I'm
afraid. There's not much for it. By the way," he turned back before
exiting the office, "about this morning in staff...I'm still missing
something."

"You and me both, Sam," Josh cryptically replied. "You and me both."

"See you later."

"Yeah," Josh answered, scrubbing his face with his hands.

****

President Matt Santos opted against the elevator and went for the
stairs instead, one agent following closely behind. Taking the stairs
two at a time, he nodded to the porter on the second floor landing
before striding down the hall to the master bedroom.

Ronna informed him only moments ago that Helen had booked time for
them in his schedule.

Another porter opened the bedroom door for him as he came near. "Take
lunch, Anthony," he ordered. "Half an hour."

"Yes, sir," the porter answered happily before closing the door behind
the President. The Secret Service agent took up his post outside the
door as the porter departed.

Helen stood silhouetted against the window, surrounded by curtains in
a rich shade of blue.

"Half an hour isn't much time," Matt chuckled, already tearing off his
jacket and tie, "but they say I work well under pressure." He pulled
Helen against him and hungrily kissed her. After a long, sensual kiss
he pulled back and studied her. "Hmm. I thought for sure you'd be
waiting for me in bed...naked."

She smiled, because she just couldn't help it. "I need you to reign
it in, marine. This isn't a workout workout."

"It's not?" his smiled drooped in a sadly comic way. "So...no getting
naked?"

"No getting naked."

"But the kids are still in school, and I can be fast if I have to be."
He pulled her hips flush to his again, hoping to convince her of his
earnest need for her.

"I need to talk to you, Matt. There's something I need to tell you."

"Sounds serious," he observed. He stepped back from her.

"Have a seat." She led him to the sitting area and corralled him into
a high wing-backed chair, taking the seat across from his.

"Very serious." He attempted a mock, but Helen could hear the worry
hidden within his voice.

"I've gone over a thousand ways to tell you this, but we don't have
very much time to talk, so I figure I'll just come right out and tell
you."

"Is something wrong, honey?"

She held out her hand and offered him an innocuous white stick.
Without thinking, he accepted it and turned it over for examination.
In the center of the white stick was a panel that displayed a large
pink plus sign. The air fled from his lungs. He opened his mouth to
speak, but nothing came out.

"Matt?"

His jaw worked desperately until his nostrils were able to suck in
air. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"We're pregnant." Her forehead wrinkled in worry and her throat went
dry, as she waited for his first true reaction.

"We're pregnant," he echoed.

The air around them seemed to still and time appeared to stop
altogether as Matt stared relentlessly at the evidence in his hand.
Then, when the moment seemed to go on just a little too long for
Helen's taste, a beautiful wide grin split his face.

Matt dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her chair. "Are
you all right?" he asked. "Is everything okay?"

"I have a doctor's appointment this weekend, for a conclusive test and
a check up. But I feel okay. A little morning sickness, and a few
hormonal outbursts, that's all."

"We're having a baby," he laughed, pulling her to her feet and then
into his arms. Then, sinking his fingers into her hair he took her
mouth in a kiss that put the earlier one to shame. Helen's knees went
weak, but Matt held her close and safe in his embrace. He extracted
his lips from hers, reluctant to end the kiss but impatient to say the
words again. "We're having a baby."

"We're having a baby." Helen giggled; a sudden happiness infused her
muscles and bones and she knew at that moment that she must be glowing.

Matt strode to the door and swept it open. He turned to the agent at
his post. "We're having a baby," he announced.

"Congratulations, Mr. President," the agent answered, with an
indulgent laugh.

Matt caught sight of a housekeeper dusting the landscapes down the
hall and shouted. "We're having a baby!"

Before he could receive the housekeeper's felicitations however, he
felt a tiny white hand grasp his arm and, with freakish strength, tug
him back into the room.

"Are you crazy?" Helen laughed. "You can't just go shouting that down
the hallway."

"Why not?"

"How about because Josh and Bram will have a conniption."

"Oh, right. I supposed we'll have to plan a statement."

"We have to break the news to Peter and Miranda first."

"That would probably be the smart thing." Matt rambled and paced in
front of her, so excited by the news he was incapable of standing
still. "Don't want to leave them out. Hey! You know what's great
about this?"

"What?"

"When you were pregnant with Peter and Miranda I wanted to tell the
whole world, and now...I actually can!"

"Oh dear Lord," Helen sighed and rolled her eyes. She smacked him
lightly on the arm, but inside she was deeply relieved to see her
husband's joy.

TBC

****



See part 1 for disclaimers


****

The Hardest Wager 4/18


That evening, after a conversation with the First Lady, Donna called
Annabeth back into her office and quietly broke the news to her. For
the next hour they plotted logistics of covering for the First Couple
just long enough for her to confirm her pregnancy with her doctor.

They were still discussing announcement strategies when a sharp knock
sounded from the door, followed by Elaine sticking her head through.

"Sorry to interrupt Ms. Moss."

"No problem. What is it Elaine?"

"Mr. Lyman's on line one. He says that he's heading out."

Josh and Donna usually rode to work each day in his Secret Service
provided town car. But tonight the last thing Donna wanted was to be
cooped up in small space with Josh and driver to overhear their
conversation. The condo was only a fifteen minute walk from the White
House. "Please inform Mr. Lyman that I'll be walking home this
evening. Oh, and you can go home."

Elaine bobbed her head and closed the door as she slipped out.

"Mr. Lyman?" Annabeth inquired in her little girl voice.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just that I've never heard you refer to Josh as `Mr. Lyman'
before. Not even to a third party. Is there something wrong?"

"Oh, Annabeth, I really don't want to talk about it."

"Is this about the picture? Did you two have a fight?"

"Not a fight, exactly," Donna said. "Let's just say I may have
learned something about Josh today that I didn't want to know."

"Okay, well if you want to talk about it..." The pixyish blond spoke
over her shoulder as she headed for the doorway.

"Thanks for the offer."

"All right, I'm just going to go...get ready to spin some good news, for
once. I hear that can be a nice change of pace. Whatever will I do?"

"Don't get used to it," Donna warned. "See you."

Three hours later, she'd sent some fifteen emails, returned five phone
calls, proofread one upcoming piece of legislation, reorganized her
entire filing system and cleaned her desk. There was nothing left to
be done...except go home.

She donned her coat and threaded her arm through the strap of her tote
bag before turning out the lights.

She exited the building and passed the guard post. In a comforting
way the gate clanged shut behind her as she stepped onto an empty
Pennsylvania Avenue. She thought of Helen and how it must be nice to
have a husband who frequently puts you first, even though he has a job
that demands most of his time. She thought of how it must be nice to
have a husband who's occasionally sensitive to your wants and needs.
She thought of how it must be nice to have a husband who thinks about
your future together and has a plan.

She thought of how it must be nice to actually *have* a husband.

Donna waved half-heartedly to the driver of the black SUV parked three
doors down from the condo. The agent waved back before speaking into
his wrist. She wouldn't be sneaking in quietly tonight.

Josh's agent-on-duty stood his post just outside the entryway door.

"Agent Marks." Donna greeted him with a tired nod.

"Ms. Moss, how are you this evening?" Agent Marks politely responded.

It surprised her how quickly she'd grown accustomed to Josh's
protection detail. Of course, it was nowhere near as oppressive as
the details assigned to members of the First Family, but after awhile
the agents had simply become part of their everyday landscape.

He had only one body-man and a driver, and when at home there was
back-up outside on stakeout. The agents rotated throughout the day,
three taking one eight hour shift apiece.

Donna stealthily slipped her key into the lock, hoping that Josh had
long since gone to bed. The living room ablaze with light heralded
her disappointment. Josh sat on the couch, facing the door, with a
briefing binder in his hands and reading glasses perched on his nose.
Per his usual habit, after work he'd changed out of his suit and into
a worn pair of jeans and a simple tee-shirt. His feet were bare and
propped up on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Working late?" he inquired in a tone that suggested he knew the score.

"There's a lot to do...to plan for."

"Of course," he nodded as he set down his binder and whipped off his
glasses. "The President didn't say anything this evening, but he
couldn't hide his grin."

"They've decided to talk to Peter and Miranda before letting anyone
else on the secret."

"Ah," he replied softly.

Donna hung her keys on the key hook by the door and dumped her tote in
the overstuffed chair across from the couch. She headed for the
bedroom to hang up her coat and to get ready for bed. Josh appeared
to be business-as-usual, which was somewhat...dissatisfying.

In the closet she stepped out of her shoes and placed them neatly
beneath her clothing rod. The emotional hurt she carried inside had
somehow, since leaving her office, translated into a physical
sluggishness which made her usually efficient undressing process
inordinately slow and time-consuming. From the dresser inside the
closet she selected a warm flannel nightshirt that would make her
naked, achy body feel like it was wrapped in a loving cloud.

"You hungry?" Josh had followed her into the bedroom and stood
leaning against the door jam, watching as she undressed. Intimately
familiar with her habits and her personality, Josh was immediately
struck by the physical change in her. To his trained eye she appeared
to be...wounded. "I ordered Indian when I thought you'd be home for
dinner. There's naan."

It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize - out of habit - but she
refused to fold in the face of his passive-aggressive remark. "No
thanks," she replied instead, refusing the take the bait that would
only put her on the defensive. "I had a salad before the Mess closed."

In the bathroom, she looped her hair through a scrunchie and turned
the hot water tap as high as it would go. Running her fingers beneath
the stream she waited until the temperature was just right before
cupping her hands and splashing her face with water.

Josh watched from a distance as she washed the make-up and the
harshest part of the day from her face. He loved this portion of the
evening almost more than anything else about living with her; he loved
the entire nightly ritual and the comforting `routine-ness' of it.

The strange thing was he had never asked her to move in. Not in so
many words. When they returned from their pre-Inaugural vacation,
where they had hashed out their past and straightened out their
present, she came over that night and never seemed to leave. Not that
he ever wanted her to.

Her apartment at the time had been subleased until January and somehow
the deadline for re-upping her lease came and went. At some point
after the Inauguration she had mentioned finding another place but he
had only replied, "Stay."

And he'd never regretted it. Not even after her belongings began to
slowly infiltrate his space. Not even after curtains went up on the
windows, or even after he came home one day to find his entire kitchen
reorganized and his furniture rearranged. Her explanation had been as
efficient as the new layout. "This is better," was her only reaction
to his drop-jaw expression.

And there were other moments of adjustment. Like the time he happily
discovered that Donna never wore panties to bed, unless it was that
time of the month which was her silent signal that for the next few
nights her body was not to be shared. Not long after she moved in
she'd tried to explain the advantages of this habit (other than the
obvious), but the moment he heard the words "yeast" and "infections"
his brain had begun to dribble out his ears. The horrified look on
his face had clued her in and she'd gracefully responded, "Too much
information?" before diplomatically changing the subject.

Regardless of the changes, and his frequent but casual resistance to
said changes, it wasn't long before Josh was hit with a revelation of
epic proportions. He was content. Perhaps for the first time in his
life he wasn't running away or running toward something. He was
perfectly, blissfully content to lay back and just let life happen.

It would never have occurred to him in a million years that maybe
Donna wanted more. Maybe Donna wasn't completely content in their
life together.

It bugged him. Like a starving rodent, this thought gnawed away at
his insides leaving behind a wound to fester and putrefy. How could
she not feel as content, fulfilled and at ease with this life they had
perfected? It wasn't as if they hadn't worked for it. The first six
months after President Santos' inauguration had been fraught with
missteps; arguments and unintentional dredging up of old feelings. It
had taken awhile to discover a way to find time for one another, to
find time for themselves.

In his typical fashion, he had thrown himself into his new job with
total commitment. But then, he missed her. He missed seeing her and
hearing the sound of her voice, and having the time to make love to
her. So, as issues between China and Russia were resolved, and Josh
began to feel less like he was out of his depth, late nights in the
office became the exception instead of the rule. .

He had put in the effort, made the concessions, they both had. So why
wasn't she happy? Was this a woman thing? He'd heard of such
things obviously, usually in reference to women he wanted nothing to
do with for the very simple reason that apparently they had this
puzzling, ticking time-bomb inside of them. Somehow, in the last few
years, he'd never thought of Donna as having a biological clock.

Such things being the case, he had no idea how to cope with the
apparent reality that the ticking clock was a part of Donna's truth.

Sam's assertion this afternoon that perhaps Donna was disappointed to
discover she wasn't pregnant put a somewhat large and rather
destructive wrinkle into the tapestry of his life. To say nothing of
the fact that his exuberance coupled with his big mouth had managed to
both land him in hot water and hurt the woman he loved at the same
time. The worst of it being that he wasn't sure where to begin fixing
it. All he knew how to do was say he was sorry - hardly enough in the
given circumstances.

In light of the day's events, he was forced to ask the question: Does
Donna want to have a baby?

Which only then led him to: Do I want a baby?

Quickly followed by: Am I ready for that?

If the shock of fear that curled in his gut was anything to go by then
the answer was a clear and uncompromising: No.

Their life was so full and wonderfully...orderly -- with just enough
unpredictability to shake things up a bit. Why would she want to
throw a wrench into that? Having a baby would be like taking their
life and turning it upside down like a bag of Scrabble tiles, and then
moving around all the pieces until it was anybody's guess what was
going to happen next.

Why would anyone in their right mind want that?

He smirked as he watched her smother her face with one of her girly
honey mask things. When asking such life altering questions he should
really try to keep in mind who he was taking about. Being in her
right mind was never an issue on the table. She'd been a little bit
wacky since the day they met and that hadn't changed in a decade. The
fact that she was with him, living with and loving him was
indisputable evidence that Donna was just slightly off center. God
love her. He certainly couldn't help himself.

But none of this resolved tonight's problem. None of this erased the
slightly lost look in her eyes.

As she wiped away the last of the sudsy cleanser and rinsed her face
with water one final time, he approached her from behind. Wrapping
his arms around her waist he pulled her against his chest and caught
sight of her eyes in the mirror.

"I'm sorry." The sincerity in his words doused a small measure of the
hurt and weariness that had flowed within her all day. And the
tenderness in his chocolate eyes, which he saved only for her, ignited
a flame just beneath her heart. "Do you...?" He ventured warily,
gulping his Adam's apple into submission. "Do you want to talk about
it?"

She placed her hand atop his as it rested on her taut belly, and
meshed her fingers with his. "It's nothing." Her eyes slid away from
his to best conceal her deception. "It doesn't matter."

"It must matter," he pressed on. "You spent a large portion of the
day shutting me out."

"You're too paranoid," she lightly scoffed. "I wasn't shutting you out."

"I know the cold shoulder when I feel it."

Donna turned in his arms and ran her hands up his chest and then
around his neck. Tilting her head back her lips found his like a
magnet with opposite polarity. Josh reacted instantly, pressing his
palms against her lower back to bring her hips flush against his.

She sucked lightly on his lower lip before opening her mouth to his
questing and determined tongue. A sensual groan stole from her chest
as their tongues met, retreated, and then met again.

For them, this had never been a problem. In the beginning, their past
being what it was, they'd unexpectedly struggled with finding a
comfortable level of intimacy. But the physical...the sensual side of
their relationship...had come as easily to them as breathing.

Donna disconnected her mouth from his and worked her way from his
lower jaw to his earlobe. "Does this feel like the cold shoulder to
you?" she whispered with velvety breath.

Josh chuckled, a sliver of electricity shooting down his spine and
spreading out to lower parts of his anatomy. "Not at the moment...no."

She worked her hands beneath the hem of his tee-shirt to caress the
muscles of his lower back. The moan from the back of his throat
signaled that the time for talking was over.



TBC - Go to part 5 to continue a PG rating, or 4a to go NC-17

****



See part 1 for disclaimers



****

The Hardest Wager 5/18


He awoke before dawn to find her already dressed for the day.
"Morning, sunshine," she snorted as he dragged his carcass into the
kitchen for his first fix of coffee. He was dressed in cut off
sweatpants, cross trainers, and a tee-shirt emblazoned with the slogan
"Santos: Right From the Start".

"What are you doing up so early?" He asked Donna, who was pulling
toast out of the toaster and dropping the slices on a plate. He
poured a cup of steaming black coffee and then proceeded to defile it
with two spoonfuls of cream and three of sugar.

"Lots to do today," she shrugged. Leaning her back against the
counter, she smeared jelly on a triangle of toast. "I can't get
behind on everything else just because Helen threw me for a loop.
There's still a foreign adoption bill to pass."

"Right." He took a deep draw from his mug and turned to face her. "I
guess the next few months are going to be a circus for you. Should be
interesting."

"I just hope I can keep up." She worried a napkin between her
fingers, the only outward sign that she was on less than stable ground.

"If anyone can, it's you." Josh had noticed the napkin disintegrating
beneath her touch and offered the support he could see she needed.

Anxious blue eyes met sleepy brown ones and she tilted her face to
capture his lips with hers. The comforting taste of Josh and coffee
leeched the tension from her and she ended the kiss ready to start her
day. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Anytime," he graced her with a dimpled smile.

"You have a meeting?"

"Workout," he answered with a nod and an only half-believable grimace.

"Admit it," she chuckled. "You feel better since he made you start
working out with him."

"It is my constitutional right to take the fifth."

"Your relationship has gotten better," she pointed out. "He accepts
your counsel more, and you argue less."

"I think he just realized that I do occasionally know what I'm talking
about. And we did not argue. I did not argue with the President of
the United States."

"Fine," she conceded, "Your strategic debates are less confrontational
then. Since the workouts started you grumble less and you're much
more pleasant to be around."

"How was I unpleasant?" he went on the defensive.

"Let me count the ways, Josh." She handed him a wedge of toast which
he promptly popped into his mouth.

Josh chewed his breakfast, considering her assertions, and then
swallowed. "I'll admit that we have more of a rapport."

"And that you have a lot more energy," she pushed.

"Whatever."

"Well, even if you won't admit that you like the workouts, I will
admit that I like what it was does for you." She pressed her hands to
his chest and ran them down his torso, her fingers dancing along his
ribs. The muscles beneath her fingers bunched and released in
response to her touch. "Yeah," she sighed dreamily, "that's what I like."

"For the love of God, if you want to remain unmolested you will cease
and desist right now."

"Oh, well," she shrugged coyly and stepped away. "Anyway, you're in
better shape now than you were before you were shot, and you look five
years younger."

"You think?" he leered.

"A condition that will rapidly change should your workouts stop,"
Donna reminded him.

"With that kind of encouragement, I just might decide to maintain my
fabulous new physique."

She sniffed at his egotistical remark. "Yeah, you'd be perfect if I
could just get you to exfoliate."

"There's not enough room in this world for a perfect me."

"There's barely enough room for the current you."

A sharp ring interrupted their repartee, and Josh snatched the phone
from its cradle without bothering to read the Caller ID. "We'll be
right down, Mack. Thanks." He punched the end button and set it back
on the cradle. "Our chariot awaits."

Within moments they were sliding into Josh's Treasury Department
provided Lincoln Towncar.

Fifteen minutes later Josh was entering the president's private gym on
the second floor of the residence. He was surprised to find the room
deserted. Normally, by this time of the morning President Santos was
beginning his warm up, as his close protection detail stood watch at
the entrance. Hmmm.

Josh located the light switch and flipped it on, dropping his duffle
and backpack near the door. He surveyed the room briefly wondering
what to do. He considered giving the president fifteen minutes and
then ditching the workout to change clothes. Then he recalled Donna's
words and actions this morning. She liked, no...loved the way he looked.

He was pretty much past the point of arrogantly believing that he
could continue looking good without a regular workout. At his age it
was pretty much all downhill, unless he paid the piper to deter the
slow decay of time.

Unfortunately, paying the piper meant participating in a regular
physical activity that was not sex related. It was only a matter of
time, he mused, that salads and broiled chicken dinners would be added
to his new, albeit reluctant, healthy lifestyle.

But it wasn't so bad, really. Though he played the denial game with
her, he was able to admit to himself that he did like the way he felt
after a year of exercising four times a week. Of course, he didn't
tire as quickly and he slept better; another unexpected benefit, which
might have as much to do with the stellar sex and the company in his bed.

Steeling himself with determination he began his warm ups. With or
without the president, he would continue his workout.

Unlike his sleeping habits, his growing rapport with President Santos
could not be attributed to his sex life. Donna was right about one
thing: since they started working out together, the president trusted
his advice more and for Josh that was half the battle.

In the last few months, they had even settled a routine for their
morning sessions. During the warm up, they exchanged pleasantries,
sometimes even personal information; which lately had changed to
`talking as men do'. In those ten minutes Josh would make subtle
inquiries into his health and the health of his family. Thirty
minutes on the treadmill (or Stairmaster, depending on his mood) was
the best time to discuss domestic policy, bills in committee or
upcoming votes.

A shift to the standing punching bag for ten minutes signaled Josh
that now was a good time to talk about rebellious or petty members of
Congress, PACs, and especially campaign finance reform.

Twenty minutes on the weight machines indicated the time for
international policy, military actions, and budget discussions.

"Starting without me?" Santos' booming voice filled the room,
interrupting Josh's hamstring stretch.

Josh straightened his spine and replied, "With or without you, Mr.
President."

"I like to hear that."

The president was followed into the room by one agent and his
22-year-old body-man, Oscar. Five feet eleven inches tall with a wiry
build, and an untamable mop of black hair, Oscar Kim had the plucky
kind of looks that made Josh think the kid was years off from reaching
his full potential. But he showed no fear, a necessary character
trait for the job he filled.

Sam had interviewed applicants for six months before hiring Oscar. He
had waffled back and forth on candidates never feeling that any of
them were quite right. Unsettled by the indecision, Josh was forced
to pull Sam aside one day and remind him that there was only one
Charlie Young and to get on with it already.

Before beginning his own stretching, Matt quietly instructed Oscar on
his morning duties and dismissed him, leaving Josh and the president
alone - except for the agent who was discreetly deaf, dumb and blind
to all he saw and heard.

Speaking of deaf, dumb and blind, Josh would've had to have been all
those things to miss the dazzling grin on the president's face.

"Heard any good news lately, sir?" Josh smirked.

"What gives you that idea?"

"I'm pretty sure I can see your molars, Mr. President."

Pressing his legs back to give his calves a thorough stretch, Matt
shrugged. "Peter got an A on his history project."

"His project was on Abraham Lincoln, sir. Some might say he had an
unfair advantage."

"Who's saying that, Josh?" Matt grinned slyly.

"Not me, sir."

"I didn't think so."

They chuckled together, both comfortable with their camaraderie, a
feat Josh might have believed impossible just two years ago. Sneaking
another look at his boss, Josh grinned back and, deciding to mess with
him a little, ventured, "There's something different about you, sir."

"I changed my shaving cream. I'm getting a much closer shave."
Evasive maneuvers had always been a specialty of his.

"That's not it, sir," Josh shook his head. "But I know it's
something." Finishing their stretches, they moved over to the cardio
equipment. The president selected the treadmill today, leaving Josh
with the dreaded Stairmaster.

"Perhaps it's my cologne?" Enjoying his little game with Josh, Matt
punched buttons on the treadmill's console and the belt began to
slowly move.

"You wear cologne to work out with me, sir? I'm flattered."
Similarly, Josh instructed the Stairmaster to commence with the
routine specifically preset to his preference.

"Just don't tell my wife, Josh. She thinks I do it for her."

"My lips are sealed. Speaking of your lovely wife...how is she this
morning?"

"She's well, thanks for asking."

"You're welcome, sir."

The duo continued their workout in silence for a few moments, as they
each strove to achieve their target heart rates. A year ago reaching
target rate would have spelled the end of all conversation for Josh.
When the workouts first started he was incapable of conversing with
the president while simultaneously gasping for air.

"So...I hear congratulations are in order."

Matt stumbled on the treadmill belt and Josh instinctively moved to
save him. Luckily, Matt had incredible reflexes and he was able to
right himself in short order.

"How do you do that?" Matt demanded, disappointed that the jig was up.
"How do you know about every tiny thing going on in my house?"

"I'm your Chief of Staff, sir. It's my job to know."

"Did you install a webcam in the master bedroom or something?"

Josh shook his head to clear the disturbing images that invaded his
brain at the mere suggestion of electronic surveillance in the residence.

"Seriously, Josh, I have to know." He gesticulated wildly but without
an ounce of anger in his movements or his voice - just a hint of
friendly annoyance.

"My girlfriend is your wife's Chief of Staff, Mr. President," Josh
confessed.

"How long have you known?"

"Since yesterday morning, sir. There was a thing with a British
tabloid having a photo of Donna...purchasing a home pregnancy test. And
before you ask...you didn't need that on your plate."

"So...you thought...and it turned out that..."

"Yes, sir."

"Wow," Matt breathed, and then, "sorry, man."

"About what, Mr. President?"

"Sorry that you got your hopes up."

"My hopes?" Josh asked, perplexed.

"Well, yeah," Matt nodded. "You two have been together for more than
two years already. Not to mention the previous years of working
closely together...I heard the rumors even then. You must have been
hoping...you know."

"I hadn't really thought about it."

Matt narrowed his eyes, as if drilling an invisible beam of insight
right through the center of Josh -- and finding little there to speak
of. "The thought didn't even cross your mind?"

"Well, other than the timing being bad...not really."

"The timing?" Matt shook his head in disbelief. "You know, Josh,
you're a real piece of work."

"Sir?" Josh's eyes widened and his eyebrows arched.

"Oh, don't get me wrong...I like you...you're a good guy. But there are
times when I just don't *get* you." Josh considered the president's
words until he realized the man was still talking. "There comes a day
when a man has to stop thinking of life in terms of how it affects
him, and start thinking in terms of how he can affect *it*. You've
got this beautiful woman who, for some unfathomable reason, has chosen
you. There are times when I see you with her, and you've got this
look in your eyes that I recognize -- like she's going to disappear or
something. When you dance with her you hold her so tight I think
you're going to break her."

"She's tougher than she looks, sir."

"No kidding. My point is...you love her, you always have, anyone with
eyes can see it. But you're still holding back."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, Josh. That's what you've got to figure out."

"The look...you said you recognized it."

"Yeah. I used to see it in the mirror all the time after I knew I
loved Helen."

"So what happened?"

"I married her. It was the only way I could think of to make sure she
wasn't going to up and disappear on me."

Josh knew better than most that holding on with both hands didn't
always keep people from leaving; or keep them from dying. "I wish it
were that simple."

"Your problem, Josh, is that you make everything so complicated."

TBC

****



I have been getting THE MOST AMAZING FEEDBACK!! It makes me soooo
happy. A huge thanks to all those who are sending the feedback. Keep
it up, I love hearing from you.

Lacy

Now on with the show.


See part 1 for disclaimers


****

The Hardest Wager 6/18


Two hours later Josh lounged behind his desk, so stung by the
president's observation that he'd hardly heard a word the Minority
Leader had said.

"Josh," Representative Jillian Reitner (R- Oklahoma) intruded. "Josh?"

"Huh?" His head snapped up to see Reitner's expression of thinly
veiled annoyance; a minor miracle considering all evidence suggested
that a large chunk of her government salary went into Botox treatments.

"Yeah, hi!" she waved. "Remember me?"

"Yeah, look Congresswoman, the president won't consider a dedicated
levy being tacked on to 751. And when I say `won't consider' what I
mean is you can expect pigs to be flying before that happens."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Reitner clipped, "and I'll remember that
when I come here to discuss the Farming Subsidy Reform Bill, instead
of the rider my side of the aisle wants to add to the bill on assault
weapons bans." Reitner collected her briefcase and stood to her full
height of five feet six inches. "Perhaps we can schedule a meeting
when your head's in the game. As much as I'd like to take advantage
of your distraction, I'm not fool enough to think it wouldn't come
back to haunt me later."

Properly chastened, Josh nodded and said, "I'll have Erin call you.
For the time being, I appreciate your patience and your...prudence, as
it were." He stood from his chair and offered his hand, which she
unenthusiastically accepted, or at least that's what the lack of
discernible expression on her face insinuated.

"Prudence is my middle name," she deadpanned. It was on the tip of
Josh's tongue to snidely comment that he wasn't a bit surprised. A
mental elbow in the gut from Donna ensured that he kept his thoughts
to himself.

Jillian `Prudence' Reitner departed his office and Josh sat back down
into his chair to resume his brooding.

As is usually the case in the White House, little time was allotted to
things like brooding and it wasn't long before his office was flooded
with members of the senior staff. Bram looked typically non-plussed
while Sam stood directly in front of the desk. Lou sank into the
couch across the room.

"There's been a cave-in in Pennsylvania," Sam informed him soberly.
Josh reacted to the news by sitting up straight in his chair.

"What do we know?" he inquired.

"That there's been a cave-in in Pennsylvania," Sam repeated with
identical delivery.

"Okay," he sighed. "Liaise with Search and Rescue, see if they need
anything. Lou, get on the phone to the UMWA and find out...whatever you
can. Bram, you stay in touch with Sam and Lou to get what you need
for a statement. Has the Vice President been informed?"

"He's on Air Force Two enroute to D.C. from Colorado."

"Lou, keep him in the loop. He's going to want to be involved. But
whatever you do, do not let him go to Pennsylvania. He's going to
want to, but we can't have him going down there trying to help. He'll
only end up making the administration look powerless. Make sure he
knows we're doing everything we can at that we're monitoring the
situation."

"Sure thing, boss." Lou replied.

"Get to work."

This was something he could feel good about. Not the fact that there
were an as yet undetermined number of men trapped beneath the earth in
danger of suffocating, but that there was something tangible and
imperative that he could wrap his mind around. He reminded himself
that he didn't have time to replay his conversation with the president
ad nauseam because miners were dying and something had to be done
about that.

****

Donna, however, had no emergent national crisis in which to plunge
herself. Instead, she had life choices on the brain.

Once, when thoughts of a full-fledged substantive career were little
more than pipe dreams, she had imagined herself marrying and starting
a family. But as the years progressed and her priorities shifted, her
dreams transformed into ones of self-sufficiency and professional
significance. Somewhere along the line she released the dreams of
personal fulfillment and seized onto a new set of hopes.

Donna had no illusions that her near-miss at Erez hadn't played a part
in the changes that marked her life over the last few years. But
though Gaza had been the impetus for change, it hadn't been the catalyst.

The spark had been lit with the revelation that Josh was never going
to see her potential unless she showed it to him, and that she would
never be able to prove herself without first breaking away. But
oftentimes with revelation comes paralysis. Knowing something was one
thing, but the rub lay in actually doing something about it.

What frightened her these days is that she might have wallowed in her
fear and indecision, had it not been for a mortar shell buried in the
road outside of the Erez checkpoint. The explosion itself and her
resulting injuries might even have given her an excuse to stay put; to
stay safe -- were it not for the fact that four other people had died.

Four incredibly educated, incredibly accomplished people had died, and
yet she without formal education and without a public record of
accomplishment, had inexplicably survived. Sometimes she still
remembered the Admiral's rumbling laughter in her dreams.

How could she think of them and not do something? How can she remain
frozen and claim to respect their memories? She'd been given a second
chance at life, and when the bones had healed and the shock had
dulled, she knew she had to make something of it.

Her gamble had paid off in spades. Now she had the career *and* the
man. The question plaguing her now was: Do I want more?

Of course there's a biological imperative and, unlike a few
career-oriented women, she wasn't immune to it. Her efficient nature
had her listing pros and cons on note cards, but there were
considerations to make before any well thought list might come in to play.

What if I can't have a child and a career at the same time? What if
we decide not to have kids and down the road our relationship isn't
enough? Will I be able to change my mind? What if by then it's too late?

What if I decide I want more and Josh doesn't? What then?

What if I screw up? What if I turn out like my mother? What if
having a child changes our relationship for the worse? What kind of
father would Josh make? Do I even want to have a child with him?

Now she was just panicking, each question leading to more and more and
more. Josh's little touchdown party when he learned she wasn't
pregnant had been like taking a sucker punch, but if she was honest
with herself she couldn't hold it against him. After all, in all
likelihood he'd never put a moment's thought into the possibility of
becoming a father.

Why would he, when she'd hardly spared a notion of her own in that
direction? The irony was that she hadn't thought about "the more"
until Mrs. Santos had revealed her impending joy. But then like a
shaft of light creeping under the crack of a door, she'd imagined a
future without children.

And what she saw in that instant had made her insides curl with regret.

At last, she had the career she'd coveted for years. Donna loved that
she worked in the White House, and she loved that things happened fast
here. She appreciated having a boss that wasn't afraid to openly
express respect for her work, sans the mockery that, over the years,
she'd come to expect. It was with profound pride she was able to put
her name to her accomplishments, instead letting someone else take all
the credit, just because she worked for him.

She loved that Josh the Boss (former) and Josh the Boyfriend were
different in many, many ways.

But...he wasn't perfect. He wasn't even close. He wasn't even in the
same galaxy as perfect. That she loved him was unquestionable, but
when people asked how she put with him she could not provide an honest
answer. Except that from the beginning of their relationship
something about her spirit seemed to accept him, flaws and all; the
outward expressions of intolerance and exasperation being just for
show. Mostly.

The list of qualities making Josh a less than ideal candidate for
fatherhood was a considerable and, unfortunate but true, credible one.

To begin with he was psychologically dented, to couch it in the nicest
possible terms. Josh Lyman was, without a doubt, a veritable
smorgasbord of issues ranging from survivor's guilt and Post Traumatic
Stress to compulsive "fixing". If that weren't enough he was married
to his job and that would probably never change. Though he'd become
less self-centered in the years they'd been `together together', Donna
was enough of a realist to accept that this particular trait of his
was irreversibly entrenched. So much so that if Josh ever
demonstrated a selfless personality for a sustained period longer than
ten minutes she would probably keel over with the shock.

The intercom on her phone buzzed, tearing her from her reverie. "Ms.
Moss?" Elaine's voice filtered through the speaker. "Your lunch meeting?"

"Right. Thanks, Elaine, I'm on my way." Donna tucked her musings
deep within and collected her bag. She hadn't discovered much in the
process of her ponderings but she knew one thing for sure. She
couldn't talk to Josh about it.

She couldn't approach Josh without first figuring out where she stood
on the `more' issue.

TBC

****



see part 1 for disclaimers


****

The Hardest Wager 7/18

Helen Santos had not had an easy morning. Plagued as she was with
queasiness and the weariness that she just couldn't seem to shake,
she'd lounged in bed a little longer than was customary. Which had
only given her enough time to think about Peter. The night before she
and Matt had sat the children down after dinner and gently informed
them that there would be an addition to the family.

Miranda, who had inherited her father's gregarious and fearless
nature, had been excited at no longer being the baby in the family.
She'd somehow parlayed the idea of no longer being the baby into the
desperate hope that this meant she no longer had to have a babysitter
anymore.

Helen and Matt had exchanged silent glances, forever worried that
their children's protection details would damage them for life.

Peter, who'd recently had `The Talk' with his dad, had been completely
grossed out by the thought of a new baby - especially now that he knew
where such creatures came from. He'd whined that once the kids at
school found out he was sure to get razzed, and did they want that on
their heads? He'd also been kind enough to point out that his mother
was way too old to have more kids.

Matt had immediately ordered an apology and Peter complied, but this
morning when she'd gotten up to see them off to school he had refused
to look at her. Peter, who was so much like her, had always been slow
to trust and tended to be slow in accepting change. He may look like
his father, but his personality was all her.

This situation was not without precedent. When he was little, he had
been adamant that the impending birth of Miranda was going to ruin his
life, and when his younger sister came along he'd taken an instant
dislike to her. She cried too much. She wasn't any fun. She smelled
bad. He was very vocal in his belief that he shouldn't have to be
quiet all the time just so the `stupid baby' could sleep; after all
he'd been there first.

At about six months, Miranda's emergent friendly nature began to win
him over. When she started talking, Peter grudgingly admitted she
might not be so bad. And the first time she threw her tiny arms
around Peter, he'd given up his cause for lost.

All she could do was pray that he wouldn't be so difficult to convince
this time, but since Peter had seemed somewhat surlier of late, she
didn't hold out much hope.

"Are you still upset about Peter?"

At some point during her ruminations Matt had entered the room. The
fact that she hadn't noticed was a testament to the depths of her
funk. Matt always filled every room he entered, so it was rare for
him to go unnoticed. And it didn't help that now most of entrances
were accompanied with `Hail to the Chief.' He was wearing a navy
blue business suit, sans the jacket, his shirt sleeves already rolled up.

"How long do you think he's going to make me suffer?" Helen asked.

"He's almost a teenager, and now he knows how babies are made." Matt
plopped down on the bed beside her, careful to keep his shoes off the
bed. "So, probably until he's in his twenties."

"That's what I figured."

"Don't worry too much, hon. Eventually he's going to have a
girlfriend and he's going to need your advice about something."

"A double-edged sword," she sighed. "So what brings you up here?"

"Just wanted to check on you and see if you needed anything?"

"That's sweet, but you know we have servants for that now, right?"
She rolled her eyes at the word `servants'.

"I thought we decided on `porters'."

"Right. My point is, if I really need something I can ask a porter."

"Does this mean I won't have to run out to the store for Blue Bell
Cookies and Cream and a jar of Hearts of Palm?"

`They stock Blue Bell in the kitchen."

"I'm aware. It was my first executive order. Being the President
means I can even get peppermint ice cream in the middle of July.
Isn't life grand?"

"Can't you just see it? You and your motorcade hitting the local
grocery store." She giggled at the image. "Ron Butterfield emptying
out the place so you can fulfill my cravings."

"Nah, I'll just send Oscar."

"Somehow that won't be quite the same. Oh, will Oscar be going to
Lamaze with me as well?"

"We've had two kids; do we need more Lamaze classes?"

"It's been eight years; a refresher course would not go amiss."

"We'll just have someone brought in. We can do that, you know."

"Already I can see how this is going to go. Our third child, born
with a silver spoon in its mouth, growing up in opulence, only to be
turned out of the only home it's ever known at a very tender age.
It's like `Oliver Twist' in reverse.

"There will be no Mr. Bumbles in this child's life. And it's not like
he or she will be turned out into the street. If memory serves I
provided a very nice house down in Houston."

"Worrying too much?"

"A little bit, yeah. Try to stop doing that."

"I forgot about the worrying."

"Me, too." Helen moved to slide off the bed. "Where are you going?"

"It's after noon, Matt. There are things I should be doing. I have a
fundraiser this evening for About-Face, and if I'm not mistaken, you
have things to do as well. By the way, I'm taking Miranda to the
fundraiser, since it's a Friday night.

"Why?

"About-Face is an organization that promotes self-esteem and healthy
body-image to young girls. I thought it might be good for her. We
should be back by ten."

"Okay. Maybe I'll take the opportunity to sit Peter down for a
man-to-man."

"Go easy on him, Matt. He's had a bit of shock."

"I will." Matt sealed the promise with a kiss.

"You should get going and I have to run myself. I need to talk to
Donna before the kids get back from school."

"Speaking of Donna, a little bird told me she knew about the baby
before I did." Matt's voice didn't hold accusatory note, but he
sounded a bit sad.

"Yes," Helen nodded. "I was worried that it would look bad, and I
didn't want to burden you about it until I had her take on it. This
is a whole new world, Matt," she indicated the room around as her
physical evidence. "It's like a minefield. Sometimes I can't tell
what has the potential for scandal, and the last thing I want to do is
to make your job harder.

At the end of the bed, he caught hold of her and stood before her. He
cupped his hands around her neck, his thumbs caressing her lower jaw.
"First of all, you could never, ever be a burden to me. Secondly,
there's no way on earth this child could cause a scandal. Not until
he's at least five years old."

"He?"

"Or she," he quickly corrected.

"That's right, buddy."

"You sure you feel up to going to work?"

"I'm pregnant, not -"

"-an invalid," he finished. "I know. I'm headed back down to the
Oval. I'll see you later?"

"You better," she said, smiling as she watched him go.

****

Donna had returned from her lunch meeting by the time Helen made it to
her office.

"How did your meeting go?" Helen asked, popping her head in after her
customary knock.

"Ainsley's made some changes to the language, which I think you will
approve."

"Will she be available to explain them to me?" Helen was an
intelligent and educated woman, but she didn't have the patience for
legalese.

"I made bullet points," Donna laughed quietly.

"Bless you."

"I have the final draft of your remarks for the fundraiser, if you'd
like to familiarize yourself with them." Donna handed the speech to
Helen, who readily accepted. "Did you tell the children yet?"

"We did. Reactions were mixed; to put it nicely."

"Peter didn't take it well."

"You got it in one."

"That's too bad."

"I'm afraid he's a little too much like me," Helen frowned with
regret. "He doesn't roll with the punches." She observed as Donna
averted her eyes, clearly unsure of how to respond. "What about you,
Donna?"

"Ma'am?"

"Was there an opportunity to talk to Josh last night?" Donna blushed
at the reference to the night before, and Helen grinned. "My women's
intuition tells me that there wasn't much talking of any kind at Casa
de Lyman y Moss last night."

"Your intuition is astoundingly accurate, as usual."

"Oh, well," Helen shrugged. "There's always tonight."

"Last night...Josh knew he put his foot in it, and he apologized."
Donna sighed and shook her head. Helen tilted her head, scrutinizing
Donna's obvious attempts to gather her thoughts. "I really appreciate
the advice you gave me last night. I don't want you to ever think
anything else."

"But...?"

"But the fact is I can't talk to Josh about this. Not yet anyway."

"You don't think he's ready?"

"I don't think *I'm* ready." Donna leaned back against her chair.
"It's just that...I've been happy...really happy. I have a career that
makes me feel useful and I have a man that I love. A man that I can't
imagine my life without. And then you walked into my office yesterday
and suddenly it was like...."

"Like what?" Helen prompted.

"You know that feeling you get that you've forgotten something, but
you're not sure what you've forgotten."

"Like leaving the oven on."

"Exactly! I've spent the last 24 hours feeling as if I'm just on the
verge of remembering what I forgot. I used to have dreams of having
it all; the husband, the career, and the children. But, to be honest,
I abandoned the rest to focus on my career. Not because that was the
most important to me, but because it was the option that, at the time,
seemed most likely to come to fruition. This should tell you
something about my personal life back then...since choosing my career
was a risky prospect."

Helen sat unobtrusively in an available chair as Donna spoke, hesitant
to intrude in her thought process.

"We spent almost nine years bouncing off of each other and when I
moved in I just wanted to enjoy it. He was finally ready for a
grown-up relationship; it seemed greedy to push for more. At some
point though, a relationship has to move forward, right?"

"My daddy always said that sometimes a woman has to decide to `fish or
cut bait'." Helen offered.

"I have no idea what that means."

"It means that if the man isn't giving you what you need you have to
cut him loose."

"I don't want to cut Josh loose."

Helen smiled. "Well, my daddy also said that Matt would never amount
to much. He didn't know everything."

"The problem is I don't know what I need. I don't know what I want.
That's why I can't talk to Josh about it. I have to figure out that
before I can take it to Josh."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I wish there was, but no."

"Well...you'll let me know if that changes." Helen wanted to be sure
Donna knew she was there for her. She rose gracefully from the chair,
brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her navy blue slacks. "In the
meantime, I will take my speech and get out of your way."

"See you tonight." Donna smiled as Helen exited the room.

TBC

****



Strangely short chapter. I'll follow with the next one quickly, since
you guys are so AWESOME about the feedback.

See disclaimers in part 1



****

The Hardest Wager 8/18


"At 11:45 this morning alarms were triggered allowing the majority of
the minors to escape unharmed. A headcount after the cave-in revealed
that nine workers hadn't made it out. There's been no communication
with the missing workers."

"Meaning what?" Josh asked.

"We don't know the extent of the damage, or if anyone's alive down
there," Sam explained.

"What can we do? What do they need from us?"

"Nothing, at the moment. Rescue teams have everything they need.
These are specially trained teams; they know what they're doing."

"Do we have an educated guess on how long it will take to get down there?"

"The team leader has already ruled out the next few hours. He's
saying best case scenario has them breaking through late tomorrow."

"Okay," Josh grimaced. Two years as Chief of Staff had taught him
that there were some things he couldn't fix. And when it came to
those things he needed to step back and let those with a better take
on the situation do their jobs. In retrospect, he wasn't sure that
Leo ever learned this lesson. "Lou, what have you got?"

"The UMWA has had their eye on this operation for a while now.
They've spent the last year rallying to have working conditions improved."

"Were they negligent?"

"It's possible. The union lawyers think that the survivors or their
families will have grounds for a lawsuit. We'll know more after the
investigation."

"Bram, we're ready to offer any assistance necessary, but at this time
everything that can be done is being done. And that we're keeping a
close eye on the situation. That's what you say."

"Got it." Bram had spent the last few minutes scribbling furiously on
a notepad.

"Okay, thanks." Josh watched as they began to file out of the room.
"Sam, stay here a minute."

"What's up?"

"There's nothing we can do about this."

"Yeah." Sam concurred, sadly.

"Don't spend the night here calling the rescue guys every hour on the
hour. You'll only be wasting their time, and if I understand things
correctly, time is of the essence."

"You want me to work on the thing with Congressman Wiley?"

"That can wait. Go home at a decent hour and, you know, take your
wife to dinner or something."

"Dinner?" Sam tilted his head and smiled his lopsided grin at Josh

"Or something. Get out of here."

President Santos' White House was not President Bartlet's White House
and there were times when Josh had to remind himself of that, and
others. He often found himself playing traffic cop around here.
Sending people home when they were too tired or when there was nothing
they could do, or even just when something could wait until tomorrow.

He'd never realized how much time and toil President Bartlet's staff
had spent overcompensating...for being young and inexperienced, for the
censure, for Sharif's assassination, for Mrs. Bartlet's choice to
medicate her husband, and every single day, for the MS itself. Eight
years in office had been a relentless daily grind to prove that they
could do this job. They had all been on a quest to prove that the
American people hadn't misplaced their faith when they pulled
Bartlet's lever in a voting booth.

As if the Bartlet administration's missteps hadn't been challenging
enough, the Fates had conspired to throw in an unhealthy share of
tragedy as well; some of it very personal. The shooting at Rosslyn,
the deaths of Mrs. Landingham and Simon Donovan, the abduction of Zoey
Bartlet, and the loss of Admiral Fitzwallace, as well as Congressmen
Korb and DeSantos. These were all heartbreaking calamities that
chewed away at the Bartlet administration from the inside out, and
served to dominate every moment of their every day.

The Santos White House was Disneyland by comparison. No damaging
health disclosures or crouching indignities waiting to strike. In
fact, his only hidden skeleton made Matt Santos look like a generous
benefactor with a highly developed sense of responsibility. There's
no way that could ever play wrong.

Mere weeks before Election Day, the Congressman had cornered Josh and
informed him of his brother's indiscretion and the resulting
illegitimate child. He also informed Josh of the voluntary child
support payments he made through a previously undisclosed bank
account. Josh had listened with interest as the Congressman explained
that Vinick had it and they needed to be prepared on the off chance
that their opponent would decide to make a last, desperate grab for
votes. Although he'd been sure, based on Arnie Vinick's reaction that
that wouldn't happen.

An enterprising and ambitious reporter had broken the story last year
looking to throw the President off his game. In a press conference to
respond to the reporter's libelous story, President Santos calmly
explained his relationship to the child in question, while implying
that the reporter had more interest in rabblerousing than in ferreting
out the truth. The reporter had been fired that day. And since then,
the niece had been asked to participate in holiday festivities
alongside the Santos children.

Unlike Leo, Josh came into this White House with the knowledge and
acceptance that not everything they want to get done was going to get
done, so there was no sense in killing yourself, or your staff in the
process. At the end of the day, you have to choose your battles;
preferably the ones you can win. And, here's the kicker, you can't
pretend that you're Hercules, capable of completing impossible tasks,
or one day you look around and discover that you're really just Sisyphus.

For all his wisdom, Leo had spent an inordinate amount of time on
Sisyphean labors. And Josh had long since put away the wrinkled
post-it note that posited `What Would Leo Do'. If nothing else,
taking on the job of CoS had taught Josh the necessity of being his
own man.

"How are things in Pennsylvania?" Donna entered his office just
moments after Sam had left. She walked toward him wearing a gorgeous
cocktail dress of deep purple he'd never seen before; it emphasized
her alabaster complexion and brought out the blue in her eyes.

"Grim," he replied, "but not hopeless. You about to leave?"

"I'm waiting for the First Lady and Miranda."

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you." Whenever he complimented her she always smiled broadly
as if she hadn't seen it coming; even though he made a concerted
effort these days. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't without
social skills and he could bring the charm and the compliments as much
as the next guy.

"Will I get the chance to peal that dress off you tonight?"

Donna cheeks pinked and she rolled her eyes. "I'm going to be late,
more than likely."

"I can wait. I don't mind. Tomorrow's Saturday," he reminded her.
"Senior Staff isn't until ten."

"You're incorrigible."

"I think you meant to say incomparable."

"Also egotistical."

"Did you just say `exceptional'?"

"Mrs. Santos' appointment at Bethesda is tomorrow at ten."

"Crap, I forgot! I have to move up staff and the morning security
briefing. Erin!" He saw Donna make a face slightly at the sound of
his bellowing.

"Oh, hi, Ms. Moss." Erin stood in the doorway awaiting Josh's
instructions.

"Hi, Erin," Donna replied.

"Erin, send out memos ASAP that senior staff is being moved up to 8
a.m. Then inform necessary parties that the morning security briefing
will be at seven. After that...you can go."

"Have a good night."

"You never use to let me go at a decent hour," Donna pouted.

"What can I say...Erin doesn't have the quite the draw for me that you
did. She's great and competent, but if we spend eighteen hours a day
together we'll drive each other crazy -- and not in a good way."

"Hmm," Donna mused, her head tilting to the side.

"What?"

"There are sometimes...I look at you and I don't the see the Josh I
first knew."

"Is that a bad thing?" he queried, a tinge of worry in his voice.

"Not in this case." Donna glanced down at her watch then turned her
face back to Josh's. "I have to run. Don't stay too late."

"Okay."

She placed a chaste goodbye kiss on his lips before gliding gracefully
out the door. He couldn't help but notice as she walked away that her
dress had little back to speak of, revealing his favorite part of her
anatomy for ogling, if only for a brief moment.

TBC

****



See disclaimers in part 1


****

The Hardest Wager 9/18


Matt had just finished reading a briefing memo when the portico door
swung open, Peter walked in bringing a chilly breeze with him. His
protection detail, an imposing blond man stepped in surreptitiously
behind him.

"Hey, Dad. Are you *still* working?" Peter greeted his father with a
tone just on the cusp of sullenness. Matt knew instantly that he was
going to have to take this bull by the horns.

"Just finished." He set the memo to the side for filing and swiveled
his chair to face his son.

Peter had sprouted in the last few months and it was clear that he was
going to end up being as tall as his father. He was dressed in a too
big sweater and a too short pair of jeans. Peter was also going to
need a new pair of Nikes soon.

"You know, Pete, I had an idea."

"What kind of idea?"

"I thought, since I've finished up here, and your mom and Miranda are
out for the evening we could do the guy thing. Manly men just kicking
back; experiencing a cinematic masterpiece."

"Really?" Peter's eyes lit up with a gleam of hope, though he tried
to hide the emotion behind prickly body language.

"Really."

"Are you going to make me watch a stupid Disney movie?"

"Well, I guess that leaves out the latest `Pirates of the Caribbean'.
I'm going to have call Jerry Bruckheimer and tell him you're not
interested."

"No way!" Peter's face broke into a grin.

"Ronna tells me the director's cut arrived yesterday," Matt confirmed
with a dazzling smile, unabashedly affected by his son's change in
attitude.

"It doesn't come out for another two months!"

"There are some perks to being the president, Pete. And sometimes my
children get to share in those perks." Matt watched as his son seemed
almost to come out of the skin. "Why don't you run down there and
tell them to get things started? Also, tell them to fire up the
popcorn machine, I'll be down in ten minutes."

Peter ran for the door, but stopped just before reaching it. "Ten
minutes?"

"I'll set my watch."

Matt checked his watch and noted that it was just after seven. A
little early to be knocking off, but he felt without a doubt that
spending time with his son was imperative. He shuffled folders to the
side of his desk and shook his jacket from the back of his chair.
Just before leaving, a thought occurred to him and he altered course
towards his Chief of Staff's office.

Without knocking he entered Josh's office and cleared his throat.

"Sir?" Josh stood from the couch. On every available flat surface lay
a collection of folders. The coffee table in front of him looked like
the aftermath of a miniature tornado.

"Anything going on that I should know about?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Why don't you head home? I know it's early, but with no
current crises, and no legislative imperative, you can afford to knock
off early now and then. Rest up for those times when I will need you
here all night."

"I know, Mr. President, and in that spirit I told Sam to go home to
his wife."

"Good for you. No you might try listening to your own advice."

"I do," Josh defended. "I try not to keep late hours unless it's
warranted. It's just that...."

"What?"

"Donna won't be home until late. I thought I'd take the opportunity
to get a head start on some things."

"Lonely there without her, huh?"

"It's like a mausoleum, sir. No wonder I hardly ever went home before
I started living with Donna."

"There's a thought you might want to mull over."

"I'm sorry?"

"Never mind," Matt waved it off. "Hey...Peter and I are going to watch
the early cut of the new `Pirates' movie. Interested?"

"I didn't see the first one." Matt could see Josh trying to weasel
his way out of relaxation time spent in a dark theatre and determined
that a quick coup de grace would be best for all parties concerned.

"It's a Jerry Bruckheimer movie."

"I'm in." Josh threw down the pen in his hand and began to loosen the
tie around his neck, signaling that work time was over.

"See if Bram and Otto want in, too. We'll make it a night with the guys."

"Should I invite Lou?"

"Sure," Matt gave a blas‚ shrug.

Ten minutes later, as promised, a porter was bringing Peter and the
president buckets of popcorn to their plush, oversized seats. Josh
sat two rows back where he could keep an eye on the president, as well
as the trio of troublemakers two rows behind him.

Lou's voice could be heard throughout the theater. "The first person
to talk during a Johnny Depp scene will be on the receiving end of my
unendurable wrath," she threatened, eyeing Bram and Otto. "Leaders of
the free world excepted, sir."

"That's very magnanimous, Lou," Matt chuckled.

"Self-preservation, Mr. President. I have no desire to end up face
down on the floor with a knee in my back."

"The secret service wouldn't do that, Lou."

"I was talking about you, sir."

The house lights blinked once, then twice, before slowly fading to
black. Peter bounced in his seat with all the excitement of growing
boy who had yet to lose the last remaining kernels of innocence. Matt
observed him peripherally, his heart happy to note that despite all
outside influences, his son didn't appear to be growing up too fast.

They watched in silence for a time, enjoying the film's explosive
exposition while munching on warm buttered popcorn. Quick glances
behind an hour later, revealed that Josh had fallen asleep in his
comfortable chair, Bram and Otto were watching quietly, and Lou had a
dreamy expression of rapture on her bespectacled face. Matt always
found his dour Communications Director's tendency to fawn in the face
of celebrity to be one of her most endearing qualities.

Whenever a celebrity visited the White House, he always made sure Lou
was in the room. The resulting debacle was usually worth several
hours of entertainment. So far it had yet to cause problems for the
administration, and so had been deemed a harmless fascination.

Throughout the film, Matt leaned over towards Peter and jokingly
commented on the story and the lead character's antics. Matt proposed
that he was way cooler than `Captain Jack', but Peter nixed that
concept out of hand. When the credits began to roll the other
audience members thanked the president for his invitation and quietly
filed out of the room, leaving Matt and Peter alone.

"That was awesome, Dad! Can we watch it again?"

"Maybe next weekend, Pete. It's getting late, and you have to go to
bed soon."

"But it's Friday night," he wheedled.

"I was hoping you and I could have a talk." Matt pivoted in his chair
and pinned Peter with a sober glare.

"Is this about Mom?" Peter guessed, and Matt could see that Peter had
been expecting this.

"You need to be nicer to your mom about the baby."

"Why do you have to have another baby?"

"Well, first off, we didn't plan to have another baby, it just
happened. But now that it has, there are some things you need to
understand."

"Like what?"

"It may have escaped your notice while you were busy pouting and being
rude to your mother, but she is very scared right now."

"Scared?" Peter asked, as if such a possibility had never occurred to
him. "Scared about what?"

"When you said last night that she was too old to have another baby,
you weren't completely wrong. Your mother's in great shape and she's
very healthy, but having a baby in your forties can...can be tough."

"What do you mean?"

"Peter, having a baby is an exciting and wonderful event, filled with
endless possibilities. Will it be a boy or a girl? Will the baby
have my eyes or hers? Will the baby be a talented artist or a
brilliant mathematician? You see, right now...anything is possible.
But with the potential for great things comes the potential for the
terrible, as well. Just as anything can go right...there are just as
many things that can go wrong. Your mom is scared of all these
things, and she could really use your love and support right now."

Matt studied Peter's face, watching as son chewed on this new
information for a moment. "I can see how that might be scary," Peter
decided.

"You're a smart kid with a big heart; and one thing you can do to help
ease Mom's mind would be to show her that you're onboard with this. I
know you're unhappy about the baby and I know why. Your mother and I
have always tried to teach you that family should come first. That
you should always stand up for family, right? What would you do if
someone was hassling Miranda right in front of you?"

"Kick their butt."

"This baby is family, Peter. Whether you love it or not, I expect you
to do the right thing. I expect you to do what we've always taught you."

"It's not even born yet," Peter pointed out.

"Every time your mother worries, or works too hard, or doesn't eat or
sleep enough, it can be like hassling the baby. Think about that."

"Okay, Dad."

"So...you'll be nicer to Mom about all this?"

"Yeah," Peter sighed, not with resignation, but with guilt. "I'm
really sorry, Dad. I didn't know Mom was so scared."

"I accept your apology, Pete. But I'm not the only one who needs to
hear it."

The boy's head bobbed up and down, his eyes suspiciously wet, but he
said nothing more. Matt grabbed his son, pulling him into the chair
with him, and into a tight bear hug. "I didn't have this conversation
with you to punish you. I just thought there are certain things a man
should know when there's going to be someone new in his life that it's
his job to protect. And, Pete, I know you think we don't get to spend
enough time together and that the baby is only going make that worse.
I promise I'll try to do better, son. Okay?"

Peter nodded against Matt's chest. "Okay," he whispered.

Matt held him for a long moment, wondering how much longer he'd be
able to get away with it. How long until Peter remembered that he
wasn't supposed to let his father hold him like a baby anymore. How
long before Peter pulled away so that he could pretend to be all cool
and distant. How many more months, or weeks, until he lost his little
boy forever?

****

The next morning every correspondent in the gaggle was looking
desperately to fill inches on the Sunday editions, but Bram was able
to coolly deflect their questions in regards to Mrs. Santos morning
appointment at Bethesda. Of all the guesses thrown into the ring, no
one had even been close.

Several hours later, however, the gaggle would get their shared wish -
a bombshell that would start off the news cycle with a bang.

Annabeth Schott relished the collective confusion on the faces of the
reporters as she, instead of Bram, approached the podium to begin the
afternoon briefing. Reaching within the hollow of the podium, she
retrieved a small step stool and locked it into place before ascending
up to the microphone. Snickering inside, like only one with a secret
can, she took her sweet, Southern time adjusting the mike to her
height, while simultaneously cursing Bram for being so damn tall.

"Good afternoon, ya'll." Her voice, though high-pitched and girlish
was oddly, perhaps magically, comforting and seductive all at the same
time. As soon as she opened her mouth the pressroom was filled with
waving hands, each begging attention and giving no quarter. Annabeth
daintily cleared her throat, wordlessly sending the message that she
would say nothing; answer nothing, until the room returned to some
semblance of order. "I have an announcement to make, so if you'll all
just wait until after I'm finished for questions, I would take that as
a personal kindness." Her smile was perfectly calibrated to charm and
disarm.

The waving hands slowly began to droop like sails without the benefit
of wind.

"Thank you." Annabeth tilted her head to the side, and many of the
reporters couldn't help but smile goofily in response to her cuteness.
Her power over people could be a scary thing; it was something she'd
heard many times before. Once, someone even had the gumption to tell
her that if she wasn't so darn cute they might think she hailed from
the Village of the Damned. "Now, I know some of you asked in the
morning briefing about the First Lady's appointment at Bethesda. I
don't know why we were silly enough to think we could get that past
ya'll." Annabeth took a break to breathe; her first and last mistake
of the briefing.

"Is the First Lady sick?"

"Is there something going on we should know about?"

"Are the President and First Lady hiding a medical condition?"

Annabeth was peppered with these questions and more, all variations on
a theme. She held up her hand and waited for the clamor to die down.

"No one is hiding anything, Steve," Annabeth said. "Kris, the First
Lady has been feeling a bit rundown lately, which has been accompanied
with some dizziness and a few bouts with nausea. After several tests
this morning at Bethesda Naval Hospital, Helen Santos' medical
condition was quickly and accurately diagnosed."

"How bad is it?" shouted Mark from the back of the room.

"Well, her condition should become increasingly difficult over the
coming months. She can expect to gain significant amounts of weight,
as well as - and consider yourselves warned - suffer from occasional
bouts of irritability. Unfortunately, water retention and swelling
may also become issues." Annabeth smirked as understanding dawned on
one face in the center row, and a hand went up. "Katie?"

"And when is the First Lady due?" Katie smiled softly.

Annabeth ignored the cacophony of gasps that filled the room.
"Commander Allan Samuels at Bethesda estimates her due date at
September 25th. Obviously, I'll be taking questions now."

"Annabeth, was this pregnancy planned?"

"Not planned, but welcomed. The President and First Lady are thrilled."

"What is the prognosis in regards to the First Lady's age and health?"
shouted Kris.

"According to the doctor, Mrs. Santos is in excellent health, and he
sees no reasons to suggest that she is unable to carry to term and
give birth to a healthy baby."

"How will this pregnancy affect the First Lady's official schedule?"

"Obviously, her schedule may have to be curtailed somewhat, especially
in the later months. Her plans at this time include maintaining most
of what is already on her schedule, but to carefully consider any
future travel plans, both before and after the birth. She was
scheduled in August to co-host a conference on `Women and the Modern
Family' in Luxembourg with Her Royal Highness the Grand Duchess Maria
Therese, but the timing will make travel by air impossible. We are in
the process of rescheduling that event."

"How will this affect the president's schedule for the foreseeable
future?"

"At this time the president's schedule is remaining as is. I imagine
that some changes will be made as the due date draws near. You will,
of course, be notified of all changes...just like normal. But the
president's schedule is not being rewritten as we speak. Steve?"

"Please pass along our congratulations."

"I'm sure The First Family will appreciate your well wishes, as they
will appreciate your discretion and compassion over the next few
months. Some of your less esteemed colleagues may see this as an
opportunity to hound the President and First Lady in hopes of catching
them in a family moment. The President requests that you respect his
family's privacy in this matter. Rest assured you will have ample
opportunity to fill all your column inches. Thank you. And with
that, I leave you in the hands of Bram where you can get all your
international and domestic news."

"Thank you, Annabeth," a reporter called as she descended from the
podium. She quickly placed the stool inside the hollow of the podium.

Bram, standing at the press room door sidestepped Annabeth, nodded,
and took his place.

TBC

****



See disclaimers in part 1


****

The Hardest Wager 10/18


The next four months turned into a blur of governing and baby
planning. Every obstetrics appointment turned the White House press
room into a circus big top. Every two weeks Helen Santos was paraded
in front of the regular pool spray to document for the country, and
the world, the progression of the latest little Santos.

True to his word, Peter apologized to his mother and with all of the
single-minded focus of his father, made it his mission in life to
ensure that his mother had nothing extra to worry about. He helped
Miranda with her homework so that his mom wouldn't have to. He
cleaned his room without being asked, and he even stopped making
attempts to dodge his protection detail.

The end of her first trimester brought the end of Helen's morning
sickness, and with it, the return of her appetite. Happily, for her
husband, Helen's energy returned as well. If her first trimester went
out like a lamb, then her second came in like a lion. Within reason,
according to the doctor's orders, Helen was able to increase her daily
work schedule, so long as she ate three healthy meals a day and got no
less than eight hours of sleep.

All of which would be Donna's purview during the next three days as
they observed the good works of Doctors Without Borders in Venezuela
and Peru. President Santos, for obvious reason, had resisted the idea
of his noticeably pregnant wife taking a charity-watching jaunt down
to South America. Helen, who refused to allow her expectant status to
keep her from doing her job, had won the day by reminding him that the
place would be swarming with doctors in case something went wrong.

As Helen's Chief of Staff, Donna had witnessed the evolution of her
boss' pregnancy from a thought provoking proximity. She observed each
milestone, each moment of expectant joy with a growing sense
of...something she couldn't quite name. In the last few months, her
relationship with Josh had slipped back into the status quo. For a
few weeks after the misunderstanding, it seemed that Josh was paying
extra attention to their relationship. Briefly, she had hoped that he
might - just might - be about to propose marriage, but those hopes had
never come to fruition. The hope that it ever would was rapidly
dwindling.

She hardly need remind herself that he was bad at this - a widely
renowned nincompoop when it came to romance. Unfortunately, that
meant it fell to her to be good at this. She could hardly keep a
straight face just thinking it. It's not as if she had a wealth of
experience in the realm of building a successful relationship.
Especially when she considered that her most significant relationship
prior to Josh was a (dubious) success because she gave up her life,
her time, her money, and her self-respect in the hopes of eking a few
more weeks out of it. Not exactly a healthy, ringing endorsement.

But the time had come for them to have the talk she'd so skillfully
avoided all those months ago. After an unusually long deliberation
period, she'd made a decision, and drawn her lines. At last she'd
figured out what she would give up this time...and what she wouldn't.

His arms slipped around her waist and he tugged her close, attaching
his lips to her neck. Donna hadn't sensed his presence until his
touch intruded on her thoughts. Her knees, weakened by his kiss,
wobbled slightly beneath her weight. Josh turned her in his arms,
swiftly appropriating her lips with his own before she had a chance to
protest. The warm, buzzing sensation that flooded through her body
urged her surrender and when his tongue met hers, all thought took a
brief vacation. His hands roamed her back as their tongues tangled
and tantalized each other.

All good things must end, however, and the vibrations of the deep moan
from his chest brought her crashing back to reality. "Josh! Not here."

"Funny, I didn't hear you complaining a second ago."

"How did you sneak in here?" She surveyed her office, belatedly
checking to see if he bothered to close the door.

"First of all, we're not teenagers on an overnight field trip. I can
get into any room in this building," he smugly answered.

"Elaine would buzz me before letting you in," she pointed out.

"Since when?" Josh's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

"Since always," Donna shrugged. "Well, since...most of the time. She
let you in?"

"No, but we all have to take bathroom breaks now and then -- women her
age, more often than most."

"Did you want something?"

"I hate to point out the obvious, but you're leaving the country for
three days. Is it so hard to believe that I wanted to get a
`till-we-meet-again kiss? Three days," he sighed, morosely, "it's a
long time."

"Three days which will be filled with work, followed by more beer than
you're normally allowed."

"You know what they say; when the cat's away the mice will play."
Josh grinned unabashedly. Most times, Donna knew exactly how he would
be spending their time apart, and there was a certain comfort in that.

"And I'm the cat in this scenario?" she purred.

"Judging by the position I had you in last night, you're the cat in
most scenarios. I'll never understand how you get your back to arch
like that."

She flushed and looked away, embarrassed to be talking about sex with
her partner while in her office. The office she worked so hard, and
slept with no one, to earn. "And with what other `mice' will you be
playing while I'm away?"

Josh raised his hands in his own defense. "I swear to God, Donna-"

"Shut up, Josh. I meant the guys."

"Charlie and I are meeting for some Sunday one-on-one."

"You haven't done that in a couple of weeks. Don't forget to take him
his gift. I've been meaning to get it to him."

"You're going to make me look bad for not getting him a gift, aren't you?"

"The card says it's from both of us," she informed him. Josh opened
his mouth to speak, but clamped it shut, his face paling slightly.
"Something wrong?"

"No," he squeaked. "Nothing."

"Okay. Well, have fun and try not pull, break, or impale anything
that I might need later."

"No pulling, breaking, or impaling. Check."

"It sounds really dirty when you say it," she grimaced, comically.

"When you say it, too," his eyebrows danced giddily.

Donna checked the clock on the mantle in her office, which informed
her she had less than seven minutes to meet her ride to Andrews Air
Force Base. The smile slid from her face as she began gathering her
things.

"Josh...I was hoping that when I got back...."

"Yes, Donna, enough already! I'll do the sweeping you into my arms
and carrying you to bed thing."

"Down boy," she warned. Josh seemed to absorb the anxiety her face
must have been projecting and schooled his face appropriately. "I was
hoping that when I got back from South America we could...talk."

"Talk?" he asked, a subtle crack in his voice betraying a sudden and
disturbing unease. "What's there to talk about?"

"You know...things couples talk about?" Donna evaded both his question
and his eyes.

"Is there something going on?"

"No," she smiled, hoping to set him at ease. "I just...we haven't had
much time to talk lately. I've been doing some thinking about us and
I've come to some decisions."

"Am I supposed to spend the next three days worried about this?"

"You shouldn't worry,"

"I'm Jewish. What do you think the odds are that's going to happen?"

"Josh," she sighed, "this is something couples do. They occasionally
have discussions about their relationship in an effort to maintain
what they have, or to fix what's broken."

"Is something broken? Donna? Do you think there's something that
needs fixing?"

"Josh, this isn't...not here, okay? And definitely not now. When I get
home, we'll order dinner and we'll have a civilized conversation."
She smiled, but even she knew she didn't look pleased, and she
couldn't muster the deception necessary to amend that.

It wasn't that she wasn't content in her relationship in many ways.
She and Josh were able to converse intelligently with one another on
seemingly endless topics of conversations. She loved that they never
seemed to run out of things to say to each other. She loved that he
could still make her laugh, and she him.

Donna would occasionally catch Josh watching her from across a room at
a reception or other official function, and her insides would melt in
response to the look in his eyes. What woman in the world wouldn't
want to have a man look at her like that? She was very aware that
Josh had ruined her for other men.

Speaking of being ruined for other men, there was the sex. Dear God
was there sex. Sex that only improved upon itself over and over with
each instance. Surprisingly, when she and Josh were apart for long
periods of time, their reunion served only to kick things up another
notch, rather than allowing the heat of their chemistry to wane and
fizzle.

So the reason for her reticence wasn't the she was unhappy or
unsatisfied with him, or her decisions for that matter, but just that
was a conversation she'd rather not have. She could not, however,
allow these topics to go unaddressed lest they fall into the black
hole of Josh's pathological avoidance, never to be heard from again.

"Okay," Josh relented, his brow knitted with worry.

"This is important to me, Josh," she reminded, spelling out for him in
her subtle way that there would be consequences should he fail to comply.

"Right," he dipped his head in a noncommittal nod and shoved his hands
in his pockets. "Three days, then?"

Donna met his lips with hers, a kiss meant to soothe his anxiety but
falling short of the mark, before leaving him standing, shell-shocked,
in her office.

****

Much as he feared since the moment Donna suggested they talk, Josh
spent the remainder of the day and evening fretting over what he could
have possibly done wrong this time. None of which boded well for the
rest of the weekend. As predicted and promised, Josh went home that
night and plied himself with prohibited amounts of alcohol. Rather
than dampening the growing, tightening stress within, the beer only
unleashed his already scattered thought processes.

The last six weeks had been, admittedly, hectic and as a result he
hadn't had the luxury to spare her much personal time. But he'd been
one hundred percent there with her when he could be.

What did she want to talk about?

Had he been laboring under the delusion all this time that she was
happy with him? Had he missed some obvious signals? He recalled
several months ago when he'd stupidly opened his mouth to express his
relief that she wasn't a pregnant. Could this be about that? She'd
been upset at first, which he hardly begrudged her, but she'd
recovered quickly and things had returned to normal. Better than
normal, if memory served.

Apparently their relationship was not as normal as he liked to believe.

She'd said that she'd been doing some thinking lately. She'd said
she'd come to some conclusions. No...she'd said she'd made a decision.

Was this her way of hinting that she wanted to end it? Was she going
to leave him again?

With all this going on in his head, and in the pit of his stomach, it
was no wonder that he fell into a fitful and thoroughly unsatisfying
sleep in their lonely king-sized bed. It was no wonder that his last
thought as he surrendered to the darkness was about how much missed
Donna already.

It was also no surprise that he spent the next day at work cursing his
sensitive system and battling a headache that never quite seemed to
recede.

Sunday morning dawned bright and unseasonably crisp for the end of
May. Charlie called to "wake his ass up" and to tell him to meet him
in one hour for a game of one-on-one B-ball. Josh consumed a cup of
coffee and a banana and made it all the way down to the car before
remembering to retrieve Charlie's gift.

When Josh arrived at the community center he directed his driver to
park behind Charlie's car near the blacktop. The agent exited the car
first, and performed a quick visual scan while Josh waited impatiently
for door to open. Josh always felt somewhat ridiculous climbing out
of the back of his protected town car wearing anything less than a
suit and tie. As Josh approached Charlie, the agent set himself up in
a position that would afford the best panoramic view of the
surrounding area.

Charlie was retrieving a basketball from his trunk when Josh handed
him the cheerfully wrapped box with the card on top.
"Congratulations, Counselor."

"Thanks, man. Should I open it now?" Charlie turned the box over in
one hand while holding a basketball tucked beneath the other arm. He
was dressed in long basketball shorts and a well-worn Georgetown tee
shirt that showed his muscular arms to their best advantage.

"Nah," Josh waved off.

"What is it?" Charlie, not standing on ceremony, tore into the
envelope; no doubt to read the long-winded personal sentiments Josh
was sure Donna had written inside.

"It's a fancy label maker." For manly men like Josh and Charlie the
surprise of the gift didn't hold as much appeal as the actual gift
itself - which meant that this particular gift held very little appeal
at all. For anyone concerned.

"Donna buy this?"

"You know Donna...she loves labeling things, and she wants everyone to
share the love."

"Cool."

"What? No!" Josh replied, his eyes wide with shock. "It's a label
maker, for crying out loud!"

"I meant `cool, there's a check for two hundred dollars in here'."
Charlie displayed the check for Josh's appraisal and Josh couldn't
help but notice that check was drawn from his account. "Thanks for
the Benjamins." Charlie tucked the check back into the envelope and
placed both the card and the box in the trunk of the car before
closing the lid. Polite to a fault, Charlie turned back to Josh and
said, "Hey, a label maker's not so bad. I just finished law school; I
have a lot of stuff that could use labeling. Tell Donna I said thanks."

"Sure."

"Now...you ready to have your ass handed to you?"

"For that...I was born ready."

They launched into their game, both men searching for their groove.
Charlie, not surprisingly found his first and before he knew it Josh
was six points behind.

"How's President Santos?" Charlie began the distraction techniques.
Charlie always referred to the president as President Santos and never
`the president'. For Charlie Young there would always be only one
`the president' and that distinction belonged to Jed Bartlet. Josh
could respect that. "Is he going to sign off on those trade
restrictions with Japan?"

"He's leaning is all I can say. You know, Charlie, he makes up his
mind when he makes up his mind. My relationship with the president is
not the same as it was between Leo and President Bartlet. I don't
have influence so much as a different perspective." Josh spun from
Charlie's body block and made a play for the net, missing by a mile.

"They knew each other for forty years."

"We get along fine. What about you? Are you still dating that
interior designer?" Josh narrowly blocked Charlie's attempt to dunk
the ball.

"Nicole? That was over months ago. She was followed by Chassidy, who
was followed Katrina, and then Cherrie, and then Felicia. I'm seeing
an orthodontist now. Her name's Carla." Charlie faked right and then
cut left, sinking the basket before Josh knew what hit him.

"Cutting a bit of a wide swath there, aren't you Casanova?" Josh
leaned over to take a quick breath.

"Don't hate the player, Josh, hate the game."

"You did not just say that."

"Look, I'm young and in my prime. I wasted much of my twenties
attached to or chasing after the same girl. I'm just doing now what I
should have done then. Besides I can't find the one if I'm not looking."

"I beg to differ." Josh snatched the ball from Charlie's dribbling,
unsuspecting hands and positioned himself for lay up. Nothing but
net. "Mine just walked right into my life and made herself at home."

Charlie took the rebound and stood still, bouncing the ball off the
blacktop, signaling a slow in the game. "Speaking of Donna, what's
going on there?"

"What do you mean? Did you not get her change of address card in the
mail? I know she sent those out about two years ago."

"Yeah, I got that," Charlie chuckled, "but you know what I didn't get?"

"What?"

"The wedding invitation that should have followed about a year later.
Did *that* get lost in the mail?"

"Et tu, Brute? Why is it so important to everyone that I make an
`honest woman' out of Donna?"

"That's funny. I was wondering why it's *not* important to you. Have
you even thought about it?"

"Of course I've thought about it, Charlie, but it's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Okay...when, during our vast amounts of personal time, are we supposed
to plan this fairytale wedding?"

"That's why God invented Las Vegas, Josh. Fly out there, and do the
deed. You're in, you're out...simple. Much like your sex life."

"I thought women wanted....you know." Josh waved his hands vaguely to
indicate something grand.

"What does Donna say she wants?"

Josh hung his head sheepishly and toed the ground at his feet.

"You haven't asked her?!" Charlie screeched. "Have you even talked
to her about it?"

"Maybe not."

"Answer me something, Josh. How do you have this beautiful, amazing
woman? You are such an idiot; I swear to God I don't know how you get
through every day without falling flat on you ass."

"I am not unaware of this."

"Then what is your problem?"

"I don't know, Charlie!" Josh's voice rose to silence his friend.
"It's not like I haven't spent every waking minute of every day
thinking about it! I lay in bed at night agonizing over it. `Just do
it, Josh. Just ask her to marry you.' I can't tell you how many
times those words have crossed my mind. And it's not just you,
either. It's the president, too! And once it was even Sam. I wonder
sometimes why people can't seem to figure out that I'm getting enough
pressure from my own damn subconscious."

"So, what's holding you back?"

"I love her," Josh said.

"This isn't a surprise."

"I love her too much to ever lose her."

"Come again?"

"What if she leaves again, Charlie? How am I ever going to survive
that? Or worse, what if she...?" Josh's question trailed off while
Charlie's head sank in disbelief.

"Are you serious with this?" Charlie queried.

"I'm dead serious."

"What if you don't marry her and she leaves?"

"Jesus, Charlie, I don't need this from you, too?"

"Or, I know; what if you marry her and she dies?"

"Okay, I'm not talking to you anymore."

"Ever?"

"Not if you're going to be like this?"

"Like what, Josh? Bringing up all the horrible things that keep
holding you back?"

"Yeah, that."

"Maybe you need to not get married," Charlie turned his gaze away from
Josh and stared off into the distance.

"What?"

"I'm just saying...maybe you're not cut out for it."

"This is what I've been saying."

"But if that's the case, Josh, you need to tell her. She deserves
that much, don't you think? She needs to know that you don't see a
future with her."

"Hey, I see a future!"

"That's not what I've been hearing. You need to talk to her, man.
Set her straight on some things; she needs to know you're not in this
for the long haul. But if you're smart you'll let her down easy. Be
good to her. Because if you're not...I'll swear I'll take you down; one
way or another." Charlie took the ball from a bewildered Josh, and
headed back to his car. "Let me know what you decide," Charlie threw
over his shoulder.

Josh stood on the court, alone, for five minutes before he mustered
the will the drag himself back to his car. When he returned home
twenty minutes later, he hardly possessed the wherewithal to drop down
onto the couch.

He wondered if that's what people thought. Did they think that his
relationship with Donna was just a flimsy dalliance? Did Donna think
that?

Josh had been doing some thinking of his own over the last couple of
months, though he hadn't shared with Charlie any of those thoughts.
President Santos frequently jibed him with the notion that women need
emotional security. They like to believe that their men aren't
waiting for the next big thing to come along. Women like to feel that
they are...enough. Is Donna afraid that she's not enough?

The president had been the one to tell him he was holding back, and
those words had echoed through his head on a continuous loop since
that day. Consequently, he'd expended considerable amounts of energy
on showing her what `no holds barred' really meant...at least in bed.
Did she not feel loved?

His own thoughts over last four months had left him confused and worse
for the wear, like a boat left moored in a storm. Truth be told, he'd
been thinking about marriage a lot lately. First, it began with
observing the couples in his immediate sphere, but like a defining
moment, his eyes had been opened to a much broader spectrum.

Everywhere he went; the Hill, the Mall, the local coffee stand on the
corner, he'd see happy couples or families with small children. The
fatalist inside would bask in their glow for a moment before wondering
how long before their happiness turned to dust. How long before their
family was torn asunder?

He knew what it was like to have a family torn apart in the worst of
ways. He knew what it was like to be a part of that family and in
some small way to accept blame for its destruction.

Not for the first time in his life, Josh felt as if he was missing
some vital piece of the puzzle.

TBC

****



See disclaimer in part 1

****

The Hardest Wager 11/18


The three days in South America had been grueling for Donna, mostly
for the simple reason that she hadn't been able to shut her mind down
for the duration. She worried. She fretted. She tossed and turned
each night missing the sound of his heavy breathing next to her.

But the three days apart from him had crystallized much of her
thinking on some important subjects; she had even changed her mind on
a few. When she dragged through the door of their apartment an hour
behind schedule, Donna dropped her keys on the credenza near the door.

Josh had his feet on the coffee table, an infraction of the house
rules, but removed them the moment she walked through the door. The
sounds of a baseball game filtered from the television set.

"You're late." His voice was soft and she could barely hear it over
the volume of the television.

"Just an hour," she replied. "We hit some weather over the Gulf of
Mexico. It was no big deal."

"You hungry? There's lasagna."

Donna turned her head toward the dining area and found the place
settings laid out. She was surprised to see Josh had even put the
forks in their correct positions. Donna could tell that he'd gone
through a fair amount of trouble.

"I could eat, I guess." Donna crossed into the kitchen and
efficiently washed her hands. She didn't usually like to eat
immediately after traveling, as she felt entire continents of dirt had
followed her home.

"How did it go?"

"It was good," she brightened, "but exhausting. I had to do a lot
more running around than usual. There's an enormous amount of
pressure when you're in charge of the First Lady and she's five months
pregnant."

"Isn't that what the Secret Service is for?" A dining room chair
squeaked across the hardwood floor as Josh pulled it out from under
the table and sat down. He waited for her to begin eating before
doing the same.

"They are for protecting her from physical harm," she pointed out,
"not for taking care of her personal needs. Anyway...I didn't want her
running all over creation because she wanted this or that, so I was
busy." She spoke between bites, careful to chew and swallow before
speaking again.

The conversation fell into a lull uncharacteristic for them, and both
writhed a bit in discomfort. Donna didn't know how to begin the
conversation she told him she wanted to have, so she decided to
expedite it by diving right in.

"Thanks for being here," she whispered softly.

"You said this was important to you." Josh moved his now empty plate
to side.

"It is. I wanted...I wanted to talk to you about us."

"Us," he echoed. "You said something about fixing what's broken."

"Oh, I didn't mean anything was broken between us." She watched as
Josh breathed a weighty sigh of relief; one she could tell he'd been
holding a long time. "It's just ever since the Mrs. Santos told me
she was pregnant, I've had a lot of things on my mind. Thoughts that
won't go away...you know the kind."

"Yeah," he nodded.

"You might have noticed I've been a bit of a funk."

"So, now you want to talk to me about your...funk?"

"Exactly."

"Okay," he gulped.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking; wondering where we're headed."
Moving her dinner leftovers aside, Donna brushed nonexistent crumbs
from the table before crumpling the used napkin in her lap and placing
it atop the plate.

"Marry me," Josh blurted.

Donna's heart stopped and for a moment she thought she'd swallowed her
tongue. "What?"

"Okay, I'm sorry." He wheezed. "I didn't mean for it to come out like
that. You were just talking about where we were headed and it just
sort of...you know." Josh clambered from his chair, and dug into the
pocket of his jeans. "I've got this...ring and everything." He
proffered a blue velvet jewelry box for her inspection.

Donna reacted as if he were a little boy presenting a garter snake.
"Josh?"

"Will you marry me?"

Her instinct to answer wrested with her better judgment. Donna took a
moment to study the expression on Josh's face, and most telling, the
color of his general pallor. "I think you need to sit down before you
fall down, Josh."

"Huh?"

"Josh, sit down." She spoke calmly with a comforting voice. Josh
complied with her request without complaint. "Are you nervous right now?"

"Yeah," he breathed, "a little."

"It looks like more than a little."

"Okay, a lot," he revised his answer.

"Why?"

"Why?" the pitch of his voice rose. "Because I just asked you to
marry me! It's not exactly easy," he protested. "You know, women
really take it for granted how lucky they are."

"I'm sure that's true," she tossed back. Donna folded her arms and
leaned forward on to the table. "Josh, is there any possible scenario
in your head that doesn't end with me answering yes?"

She watched the wheels turn in Josh's head for a prolonged moment.
Donna loved few things better than watching him think. "Not really,"
he finally answered.

"Then why are you so nervous?"

"I don't know."

Donna sighed sadly and leaned her head against the palm of her hand.
"I do," she murmured.

"You do?"

"You're green," she observed with patent truth. "And you've got that
look on your face like you've just vomited inside your mouth. Call me
picky but the idea of your proposal making you want to vomit...well,
let's just say it lacks a certain romance."

Guiltily, Josh looked away. "Do you want romance?"

"I want the idea of marrying me to not make you need to vomit," she
said baldly.

"It's not like that," he cringed. "God, Donna, I don't want you think
it's like that."

"I know," she reassured him. "I know that you love me. But you're
not ready for this." Josh's head banged down on the table at her
declaration. One side of Donna's mouth crept up in a half smile; she
reached over to place a comforting hand on his head. Her fingers
stroked the coarse strands of his hair. "And that's okay."

Josh's head popped up. "It is?"

"This is what I wanted to talk about," she nodded. "You're not ready
for `the more'."

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready." Josh's eyebrows shot worriedly
up his brow.

"I know."

"What's going to happen if...that happens?"

"If you're never ready?" Donna considered the possibility briefly and
shrugged her shoulders. "My psychic powers are on the fritz. I got
nothin'."

"Will you...leave?"

Donna's heart went out to him with the lost expression in his eyes.
"Here's the thing, Josh: I love you. I want to be with you." Donna
inhaled a deep breath filled with more hesitancy than would have
normally liked. "If wanting that means no `more'...then I'm okay with
that."

"You're okay with that?" Josh asked, his facial expression betraying
a slight dubiousness.

"Yeah," she returned. "I'm okay with that."

A bright grin exploded on his face, his dimples making their debut.
"Good," he chuckled. "That's good. That takes some of the pressure
off." Josh regained his feet, his body filled, she knew, with the
urge to pace and shake off the energy that had been building within.

"Have you been feeling pressure? From me?" Donna turned in her chair
to watch his progress as he paced back and forth in front of her.

"No," he was quick to answer. He gestured in her general direction
with a careless hand. "Not from you."

"Then where is the pressure coming from?" Her forehead crinkled in
confusion.

"Well," he drawled. "The president's said some things...and Charlie...and
Sam, a little bit."

"Do you want me to talk to them?"

Josh had a mental image of Donna taking President Santos to task and
shuddered in horror. "No, that won't be necessary. You're really
okay with all of this?"

"I don't want to do anything you don't want to do," was her reply.
Her answer was properly political, and tactfully diplomatic; her
smile, carefully schooled.

He approached her then, the intention in his eyes clear. Donna was
swept into his relief-fueled embrace. His strong arms around her
brought a sense of comfort and a rush of desire, as they always did.

It didn't take long for their lips to become embroiled in a sensual
battle of wills. Donna hardly noticed as her clothes began to
disappear piece by piece and he propelled her from the kitchen to the
bedroom on the other side of the apartment.

It was beginning to look as if they were done talking for the evening.

TBC - Go on to part 12 to continue PG and to 11a to go NC-17.

****



See disclaimers in part 1


****

The Hardest Wager 12/18


Her husband bounded into their bedroom with his perfectly proportioned
body and his non-swollen ankles. Helen looked back down at the carpet
-- or she would have if her engorged belly hadn't gotten in the way -
and continued her pacing. Given her state Matt liked to check in on
her throughout the day - which she found unnecessary but sweet. She
could feel his eyes studying her as she paced.

"Helen, you're working yourself into a frenzy," he chuckled easily.

"Just when you start to think you've got it licked it sneaks right
back up on you," Helen blurted, her hands gesticulating wildly.

"Are you feeling sick?" Her nausea had ended not long after her first
trimester, so a return this late in the game could be cause for concern.

"No, it's the feeling that something has taken over my body."

"Well, honey, I don't know if you've noticed, but something *has*
taken over your body."

"There's nothing to clean," she cried, rubbing her hands over her
extended belly.

"Come again?"

"Nothing to clean," she repeats. "My body is telling me to `nest' and
there's nothing to clean. There's porters and maids and if I even try
to lift a finger they look at me like I've lost my mind. Like it's a
personal affront to them if I dust a piece of furniture or want to
vacuum the carpets." Helen stopped for a breath, because her lungs
demanded it.

"They do take a certain amount of pride in their jobs," Matt nodded.
He sank into the sofa, a position Helen knew he could reverse anytime
he wanted, unlike herself. He watched as she paced back and forth,
his head tracking her like a spectator at a tennis match.

"And Peter! Our slovenly little boy has become a neat freak. When
did that happen?" She turned on him then, focusing all of her
energies on him. Her throat tightened with unshed emotion.

Damn her unruly hormones!

"I need to do something," she said, her shoulders slumping.

"You need a project," he put in.

"I need a project!"

Helen could almost see the light bulb ignite over his head a moment
later and his eyes brightened.

"I have just the thing," he announced with a grin. "Follow me." Matt
rocketed out of the sofa in a manner that Helen envied, and grabbed
her hand, tugging her toward the door. Caught a little off guard by
sudden shift of momentum, she stumbled briefly but was able to quickly
right herself.

Her husband's close protection agent slipped unobtrusively behind them
as they made their way down the corridor to the elevator. After a
short ride to the ground level Helen was led to the portico and into
the West Wing. Nodding a greeting to the marines on duty and to Ronna
as they passed through the double doors, they continued past her
office. A series of corridors and a two descending staircases later
they arrived to the bowels of the building.

"Where could we possibly be going?" Helen asked. Matt smiled
cryptically as she glanced around furtively. Her tour of the building
had ended at the first level, and she had no reason to come down here
on her own.

"Trust me," he said. Around a few more corners they arrived at a
rather unassuming wooden door, with the simple letters `WHMR'.
Without so much as a tap on the door, Matt swung open the door.

What lay behind the unassuming door was a veritable beehive of workers
-- a busy beehive that came to an abrupt standstill when Matt stepped
in the room. Helen peeked around from behind her husband to take in
the sight and the sudden lack of sounds. The worker bees had been
screening and sorting packages and envelopes of all shapes and sizes.

"Mr. President!" A rotund little man with a gleam in his eye and set
of round glasses perched on his nose stepped forward to greet Matt.
With a surprised flick of his eyes he noted that Helen was present as
well. "And Mrs. Santos! Welcome to the White House mail room. It's
an honor to have you here. Now...are you lost?"

Matt laughed at the worried expression on the little man's face. "No,
George. We're not lost."

"I might be...a little." Helen looked up at Matt, a funny smile on her
face.

"Helen, may I introduce George Sanderson, the White House Postmaster.
He's in charge of everything that arrives at this building through
the US Postal Service."

"As well FedEx, DHL, UPS and all international carriers." George
added, his finger pointed upwards.

"How are things going, George?" Matt asked. "Is the mail moving along?"

George straightened his spine. "Well, sir, I'm sorry to say that
things could be moving more efficiently."

"Why, George," Matt said in an exaggerated tone, "whatever is the
problem?"

"It's the extraneous mail, Mr. President. It does slow things up a
bit. Clogs the gears of my well-oiled machine, if you will."

"Extraneous mail?" Helen joined in.

"Yes, Ma'am. Any mail not under the purview of White House
operations," George explained.

"Is there much of that?" At some point the busy worker bees finished
gawking and returned to their duties, raising the noise level of the
room. She had to speak up to be heard.

"Oh, yes Ma'am! There's always some extraneous mail -- gifts from
children, that sort of thing. But our processing numbers for
extraneous mail have gone through the roof since the announcement of
your blessed event."

"My...huh?"

"Blessed event," he repeated, in a charmingly old fashioned way, his
eyes straying to her belly. As if sensing its cue, the baby
flip-flopped inside of her. "I've served in this White House under
four presidents, Ma'am, and I've never seen anything like it. Why the
only thing that came close was...let me see... we call it the Rosslyn Deluge."

"After President Bartlet was shot?"

"Yes. Such a terrible time...dear, dear me." George lost himself in
his remembrances for a moment before snapping back to reality.
"Although, I'll never forget, most of the get-well cards and gifts
arrived addressed to Mr. Lyman."

"Oh, of course," Helen whispered. The vice grip on her throat
returned (damn hormones!) and she thought of Josh. Intellectually,
she knew that Josh had been critically wounded by white supremacists
at Rosslyn; she'd been glued to the news reports just like everyone
else. However, it was impossibly difficult to reconcile the man from
the disheartening news reports with the man who had played such a
large role in her life for the past four years. A man she hadn't
trusted at first, but who had slowly, incrementally gained her
confidence and then her admiration.

"And they kept coming for months afterwards," George continued. "It
was nearly a year before we were able to get completely caught up.
I'm afraid we'll be backed up until the next term if this keeps up."
The little man removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began to
wipe nonexistent smudges for his glasses, before setting them back on
his nose.

"Are you saying that people are sending...gifts?"

"Hmmm...yes," he said, thoughtfully. "Every day more arrive. We're
quite running out of room to store them. Of course, when President
Roosevelt ordered additions to the West Wing in 1934 he made sure that
the mail room was equipped to handle a massive volume of mail, but
this...something simply must be done." He turned to Matt then, as if
suddenly remembering he was in the presence of his Commander-in-Chief.
"You received my memo, sir?"

"I did," Matt confirmed. "And I've brought someone to help."

"Mrs. Santos?" George's voice went up an octave.

"She needs something to do. You need this problem taken care of.
It's a win-win."

"But-"the diminutive postmaster launched into a protest but was
immediately cut off.

"Don't worry she'll have her own people to do all the heavy lifting,
George. My wife will just be overseeing the operation."

"Operation?" Helen screeched, and then adjusted the sound of her
voice. "What operation?"

"Operation Mailroom Maelstrom."

"That's a terrible name," Helen snorted.

"You name it then."

"What exactly is this operation supposed to entail?"

"I don't know...it's your operation. You plan, you delegate, they
execute. Just get rid of it. You should probably give her a tour of
the storage closets, George. Honey, I leave in you in George's
capable hands." With that, her husband swept out of the room leaving
her standing agape; her brain, beleaguered by pregnancy, was still
trying to formulate a response.

Helen turned to George, who appeared hopeful and terrified all at the
same time. "Well," she sighed, "I guess the president has spoken,
George."

"It seems that he has, Ma'am."

"I guess you'd better show me the way."

George held out an arm gesturing her away from the receiving area and
deeper into the beehive. Worker bees smiled and nodded in greeting as
she passed by them. In the spirit of the tour, he explained to her
purpose of each section and the duties that were performed there. Not
for the first time, Helen had trouble believing she actually lived here.

They came to a set of double swinging doors and George led her
preceded her into the room, holding the door open for her. With a
flip of the light switch the fluorescents on the ceiling flickered
briefly before catching and then illuminating a cavernous room. The
low ceilings and unflattering light gave the room a claustrophobic
feel, but the items that filled the room caused the breath to catch in
her chest.

The room had utilitarian metal shelving that went from floor to
ceiling on every available wall space, and there were several free
standing shelves in the center of the room creating rows, not unlike a
library. It was clear with one glance there was not a single inch of
available shelf space.

George explained that within days of the announcement the White House
mail room had begun to resemble nothing so much as the world's largest
baby shower. From all over the world people sent their felicitations
in the form of teddy bears in all colors of the rainbow, baby rattles,
and teething rings. But none of that could compare to mountain of
clothing that arrived. Tiny tee-shirts announcing `I (heart) NYC',
footed onesies proclaiming the dominance of the Texas Longhorns over
the Texas A&M Aggies; anything and everything that could possibly be
imagined.

"Oh my goodness," Helen breathed.

"Indeed," George concurred. "Perhaps you can see how this might cause
problems."

"Yes." Helen wandered through a row of shelves her hands reaching out
to touch tiny objects sent with only the best wishes for her and her
baby at heart. She'd been the First Lady for over two years and in
that time she'd seen small displays of human generosity but nothing on
this level. "Aren't people wonderful, George?"

"Sometimes I wonder, Mrs. Santos, and then something like this happens."

"Yes," she agreed. Her eyes began to tear up and there was nothing to
be done for it, no way to stop the inevitable. A crinkled
handkerchief appeared before her blurred vision and she accepted
gratefully. "I'm sorry," she sniffed. "I'm just so overwhelmed. I'm
going to have to thank everyone."

"Yes, of course. Surely you realize that you can't possibly use all
of this."

"I couldn't use all of this if I had septuplets," she snorted.

"Have you any idea what's to be done with it?"

"I'm afraid not," Helen sighed, hoping not to disappoint the little
postmaster. "I'll talk it over with my Chief of Staff and see if she
has any ideas."

"Ah, yes! Ms. Moss will know exactly what to do."

"She will?" and then, "You know Donna?"

"Indeed! She's the one who took care of our last extraneous mail
problem. She made sure that the gifts for Mr. Lyman were
appropriately distributed."

"Hmm...distributed," Helen muttered. Her smile brightened and she
handed George back his handkerchief, slightly damper than when she
received it. "That's exactly it! Thank you, George. We'll see that
everything in this room gets to people who need it."

"This room," George pointed out, "and two others."

"Excuse me?"

"There are two more rooms like this one."

"Really?" George was handing back the handkerchief before she
realized she needed it. "I don't know what to say. Well, George,
I'll speak with Donna and see if we can't come up with a plan. We'll
be getting back to you very soon."

"Your help in this matter will be greatly appreciated, Ma'am." He
waved her off when she tried to return his handkerchief a second time.
"You keep it. I think you need it more than I."

"Thanks again, George. Keep up the good work."

He escorted her back to receiving area and out into the corridor. Her
protection agent, so unobtrusive as to be invisible all this time,
pointed the direction to the staircase and then followed behind her as
they found their way back to the West Wing.

TBC

****



See Disclaimers in part 1


****

The Hardest Wager 13/18


Donna was wrapping up some of the preparations for the upcoming July
4th celebration when she heard her boss enter the room through their
connecting door.

"Did you know," she began, a frown marring her features, "that the
first United States Congress took only one recess during their tenure?"

"Is that true?" Mrs. Santos tilted her head in response.

"Yes, they left for their recess on Christmas Eve and returned before
New Years. In fact, it wasn't until the mid-nineteenth century that
Congress began taking more than one recess a year. Since then,
they've become longer and more frequent."

"Someone sounds frustrated."

"How we get anything done at all is a mystery to me. To be fair,
though, the break between sessions has grown shorter. I imagine it
took congressmen weeks to travel back to their districts and then return."

"And don't forget cell phones and email," the First Lady put in.
"Business can be conducted from anywhere these days. Matt used to
spend his recesses on the phone from the house in Houston."

Donna studied Mrs. Santos' appearance as she stood and walked around
her desk. The First Lady was dressed in a stylish and attractive
maternity ensemble from a new designer that included dove-grey slacks
and a dark blue button up shirt that had a slight flair at the hem.
Her glow was apparent and Donna stamped down an ember of jealousy
before it could become a full-fledged flame. "You're looking well."

"Thank you."

She offered Mrs. Santos a seat and poured them both a cup of tea from
the service on her conference table. "What can I do for you, Ma'am?"

"I was just down in the mailroom-"

Donna's head shot up in surprise. "What on earth would you be doing
down there?"

"Gawking in awe at the gifts people have been sending."

"Ah...yes." Donna recalled reading the memo that George Sanderson had
copied her on. "I meant to get to that this week. I was hoping that
you wouldn't be bothered by it."

"Bothered by it? Oh, no Donna. It's amazing. Have you been to see it?"

Donna shook her head before taking a sip from her bone china tea cup.
"I haven't had the chance. But now that Congress has taken a recess
I'll have some time."

"Great, I was hoping you'd say that. George said that you would know
what to do."

"He did?"

"He mentioned that you took care of the extraneous mail after Rosslyn."

The mention of Rosslyn sent a chill down Donna's spine. She never
liked to remember those dark days. Days when clandestinely handling
an enormous volume of gifts had been her way of coping. Spending time
focusing on that task had been something at which she could throw her
considerable organizing talents.

"Are you all right, Donna?" Mrs. Santos leaned forward placing her
hand on Donna's arm. Donna flinched perceptibly.

"Bad memories," she replied, hoping that would be enough.

"It's more than that though, isn't it? You've seemed a little...off
lately."

"Off?" Donna straightened her spine. "Mrs. Santos, I hope that if
you ever feel that I'm not performing to your expectations you will
let me know."

"Lord, Donna, you perform so beyond expectations I often feel I'm not
enough of a challenge for you. Sometimes I wonder if letting you work
in the West Wing would have been kinder."

"That wasn't an option, Ma'am."

"Of course it wasn't," Mrs. Santos nodded with understanding.
"Working in the West Wing would have made things significantly more
difficult."

"If not impossible."

"What I meant was that the last few weeks you've been looking a little
lost - like your dog just died. Is there something you need to talk
about? I can take off my First Lady hat."

Donna smiled softly, knowing that Helen Santos was frequently looking
for excuses to take off her First Lady hat, especially around her.
"There's nothing wrong," she insisted. "Other than the usual
frustration with the United States Congress."

She couldn't tell Mrs. Santos that for weeks Josh had been in a mood
and she had been a convenient target. Donna had wondered if something
was going on in the Sit Room that was causing his irritability, but
he'd only waved her off and said it was nothing. She'd asked if he
wanted to talk about it but he said he was fine; difficult to believe
when the churlish mood continued to cling to him.

Josh seemed to be going through something, as well; something about
which she could not begin to guess. All she knew is that those who
worked closest to him had been complaining about his short temper, or
his lack of one. Bram reported that Josh was shouting more than
usual, and then occasionally he would appear apathetic about the most
unexpected of things.

Sam mentioned that he'd tried to talk to Josh about it, to no avail.
Amy eventually approached Donna and leeringly bid *her* to `do
something about Josh'. Lou confessed truthfully that she couldn't be
bothered to care about whatever Josh's problem was.

He behaved as if he craved her company, but then spent much of their
time together taking his bad mood out on her.

The other truth was that Donna had been feeling tired and...sad,
dragging herself from home to work and back again with little
discernible lift of energy in between. She wasn't sick, she knew
that, but she wasn't her usual self. She hadn't felt this way
since...since a few months after Gaza.

"I'll be fine," she assured her boss, shaking off her melancholy.
"I'm more worried about you. Now, what would you like to do with our
little mail problem?"

"Little? It's like a blitz down there."

"Okay, massive mail problem."

"Well, I thought we might distribute it to people and places that
could really use it."

"I'll make some phone calls and see what options I can come up with.
In the meantime, I'll get some interns down there and get them started
on a detailed inventory and some sort of organizational system."

"If there's anything in particular they think I might want to see..."

"I'll let them know."

"And I'll talk to Annabeth about a statement. I really want to thank
our benefactors for being so generous."

"It looks like `Project Baby Blitz' is a `go' then."

"That's a much better name," Helen commented with a chuckle before
leaving Donna to her new task.

Within the next two hours Donna escorted half a dozen interns down to
the mailroom and, led by George Sanderson, explained the scope of
their assignment. A firecracker of an intern, Denise was her name,
seemed to take one look at the first room and immediately know
everything that needed to done. After a discussion of the plan, Donna
happily left her in charge with orders to report back to her at the
end of every day until the job was in hand.

Back in her office she made a few phone calls, researched on the
internet, and compiled a list she believed would meet Mrs. Santos'
needs. She found her boss reclining in her desk chair in her opulent
office.

"I have six interns downstairs going through everything with a fine
tooth comb. They'll be taking down names and addresses in case you
decide to send thank you notes."

"Autopen?" Helen's delivery made it clear she found the concept
repugnant and impersonal.

"I think that would be practical, Ma'am. We're talking thousands of
letters at this point, with more to come."

"More?"

"It's not outside the realm of possibly that the baby's arrival will
only serve to increase the volume of gifts. I have a sense that this
is only the beginning."

"Does the Protocol Office have anything to say about this?"

"Baby showers don't fall under the purview of the Protocol Office -
unless the gifts are from heads of state. In which case said gifts
become the property of the American People and must be catalogued as
such."

"Right, I remember that from my protocol briefing."

"Since these are gifts from the general public, Protocol is under no
obligation to assist. In fact, it would look like a misuse of tax
payer money."

"How are we getting around that?"

"By using unpaid interns."

"You're a genius, you know that, right?"

"I've just been around the block a couple thousand times. At any
rate, I've put someone in charge down there. She's smart and
detail-oriented; she has a lot of potential."

"Do you have any ideas on where we can send this stuff?"

"Sure." Donna pulled a sheet of paper from the folder in her hand and
passed it to Mrs. Santos. "Beginning with the most immediate need:
there's Jason and Brenda Delacourt."

"Jason and Brenda Delacourt?"

"Yes, Ma'am. They're quite the local celebrities in Victorville,
California. Brenda is due next month to give birth to sextuplets."

"Wow...I see."

"It's more likely she'll give birth in the next week or so. The
Delacourts are a middle income family with three children and could
undoubtedly use help in a very tangible way. I have a list of
families just like the Delacourts that you may like to help. As for
items like stuffed animals there are several children's hospitals that
could benefit; and I know that the battered women shelters in the area
are always in desperate need of baby blankets and clothing.

"Oh, of course." The compassion in the First Lady's voice was evident
and truthful.

"They might not mind a personal visit from you either, if you wanted
to deliver some things personally. It could bring attention to the
need for financial support and other donations."

"I knew I could trust you to have your finger on the pulse of what the
public needs."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I'll get things rolling." Donna regained her feet
to depart from the room, but stopped just short of the door. "By the
way, Denise reported that there's a fair share of handmade items down
there. She suggested you might like to go through them to see if any
are worth keeping."

"Have her put them aside, and let's get started on getting the
necessities together for the Delacourts and those other families."

"Yes, Ma'am." Donna exited the room and went back to work.

By the end of business, the bright intern reported that a system was
being implemented, however she estimated it would still be several
days before the three storage rooms were completely inventoried and
items were efficiently categorized. Donna assimilated the
information, offered some tips and then told her to send the other
interns home for the night, and to start again first thing in the morning.

A call to Josh's office revealed that he would need to stay for a few
more hours, so with her checklist done for the evening, and Mrs.
Santos already retired to the residence, Donna shut down her office
and headed home.

****

A week before Independence Day Josh lay awake in bed, staring at the
ceiling and gritting his teeth. He'd known for awhile that something
wasn't right, but he couldn't detect where the problem lay. He'd been
irritable - not in a let's-bite-Otto's-head-off-for-no-reason kind of
way -- but still it was enough that it hadn't gone unnoticed. More
than once Sam had tilted his head and widened his eyes telling him
that he needed to reign in, or else.

Like the trooper she was, Erin had suffered his wrath without turning
in her resignation. She did, however, show her displeasure with his
behavior by turning her back on him and walking away.

"I will speak to you when you can keep a civil tongue in your head,"
she'd once clipped.

It seemed that lately he had hovered on the razor's edge of civility
from the moment he arrived at work in the morning; he would cross that
line many times throughout the day. The staff had withstood the worst
of his unreasonable ire, but at home his attitude was no different.

In deference to Donna, he managed to leash his anger, but usually at
the cost of civil conversation. She didn't smile much anymore, and
when she did it always died a quick but painful death. He'd lost
count of the times he'd asked her what was wrong, so he'd come to the
conclusion that he would have to figure it out for himself.

Not that any of this had altered their sex life in the least. They
ended their evenings, more often than not, with a variety of nocturnal
activities. Sometimes they made love, slow and sweet, and sometimes
it was the other way, but it always ended with mutual satisfaction.

But lately he hadn't been drifting off into a sated sleep as he
usually did. Lately he'd lain awake, staring at the ceiling, fighting
off an emotion he couldn't name. He didn't understand where or when
the feeling originated, only that it felt like the clinging black
tendrils of unmet expectations.

In the darkest part of the night Josh faced the fact that he felt like
a failure...but he didn't know why.

He rolled over and watched Donna sleep for a moment, as if her repose
held all the answers of the universe. She always seemed to know
everything else, why would this be any different?

True to the Josh Lyman pathos, he blamed himself for her mood, yet
couldn't find a way to rectify it. Like a never ending maze he wound
his way through possible solutions only to find that he lacked the
requisite knowledge. He was trying to find an answer without knowing
the question and this frustrated him to no end, no doubt adding fuel
to the fire of his own displeasure. Maybe, Josh thought, if he caught
her unawares, she would spill her secrets and in doing so find her
smile again. Maybe if she smiled a little more he wouldn't always
feel so adrift at sea. Maybe if she smiled a little more he wouldn't
feel so much like a panty waste.

"Donna? You awake?"

"Hmm?" Her answer was mechanical, reacting by instinct to the sound
of his voice.

"I need you tell me what's wrong," he continued, keeping his voice at
a whisper.

"Whasss wrong?"

"You don't smile anymore."

"Sad," she replied with a sigh that demonstrated the truth of the word.

"Why are you sad?"

"Don' know, Josh."

Well, that answers that; Josh returned to the best spot for in-depth
ceiling observation. She's sad but she doesn't know why. It's odd
the she's sad and he's mad but neither one of them know why. If ever
there was a time for therapy this would be it.

He was finally dragged to sleep by necessity and awoke the next
morning exhausted and edgy. A condition that seemed no different than
other mornings stretching back several weeks, except on this
particular morning he discovered Donna packing an overnight bag.

"Going somewhere?"

Her eyes rolled and she bit her lip before speaking. "I told you,
Josh, I'm going to Houston."

"I think I would have remembered that." Josh threw off the sheets and
climbed out of bed. A glance at the clock revealed that it was 5:45
in the morning. Donna's fresh appearance told him that she had been
awake for awhile, having showered and dressed in the comfortable
travel attire. "Why are you going to Houston?"

"According to the First Lady there are some things at the house that
she wants. A few boxes of baby things, clothes and such, packed in
the attic. Some of them are family heirlooms - a christening gown, in
particular."

"And you can't send someone else? Someone less...important?"

She smiled briefly at the unintentional compliment. "I'm taking an
intern."

"Aren't you supposed to be putting the final touches on the
Independence Day bash?"

"All done," she replied. "Arrangements are made and confirmations
are...confirmed. Everything's been triple-checked. Annabeth can handle
any problems that should arrive in the 48 hours I'm gone. It's covered."

"Did Mrs. Santos ask you to personally undertake this imperative
mission of national importance?" Josh had difficulty understanding
why the First Lady would send her Chief of Staff all the way to
Houston (in the late June heat!) just so that she could retrieve an
infant dress that was probably covered in moth holes anyway.

"I volunteered."

"Why would you do that?!" The conversation had become increasingly
adversarial and Josh noticed that she flinched slightly at the volume
of his voice.

"Something's going on with you," she confessed quietly. "I think you
need to take some time to figure out what."

"Something's going on with me?" His eyebrow shot up and jaw dropped open.

"You're angry all the time," she pointed out. "And when you're not
snapping at people you're off brooding in the dark somewhere. Is
there something going on in the Sit Room that you can't tell me about?"

"No," he said. "If that were the case, I probably wouldn't be able to
make it home at night. How long are you going to be gone?"

"Just for the weekend."

"Are you staying at the Radisson?"

"No, at the house," she informed him. "Mrs. Santos thought it would
be a good idea if we didn't expense the hotel room for this little
sojourn. We're on the military transport out of Andrews to Lackland.
We're going to rent a car and drive the rest of the way."

"That's a three hour drive."

"I'm aware." She finished by packing her bath products and her hair
dryer and then she zipped the bag shut.

Despite the small bag that indicated a short-term separation, Josh's
heart still clenched with fear. "It's just for two days, right?"

"Just two days," she confirmed, pulling the bag off of her side of the
bed and setting it on the floor. She released a long breath of air
before looking him in the eye. "I don't understand what's going on
with you."

"I don't either."

"Then you admit something's wrong."

"I'm on edge all the time," he nodded.

"Are you having nightmares?"

"About Rosslyn? No."

"You're sure?"

"I wouldn't lie about that to you." The look on her face sparked the
agitation to unfurl in the pit of his stomach, causing his tone to be
unnecessarily defensive. She didn't flinch this time, only staring
back at him with sadness in her eyes. "Am I the reason you're so...sad
all the time?"

"I'm not sad," she shrugged apathetically.

"You are. You're sad and you don't know why. You don't laugh with me
anymore."

Donna released her suitcase and began making the bed, pulling the
sheets tight and setting the comforter to rights before moving to the
other side. "There hasn't been much to laugh about. Has there? You
seem to want to be with me whenever you can, but when you are it's
like I'm the convenient target for your...whatever. We make love, and
it's great, but when it's over you don't sleep."

"You knew that?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't answer my question...am I the reason you're so sad?"

"I don't know, Josh. But I know that you *think* you're the reason,
and I want you stop that. Figure out what the hell's going on with
you, and let me worry about me."

"I can't not worry about you; it's like ingrained or something."

"That's sweet, but I need you to worry about you. Talk to someone if
you have to; your therapist's number is on speed dial. I have to go
or I'm going to miss the transport. I love you." She kissed him on
the lips, lingering briefly, and then pulled back for one last moment
of eye contact. He followed her out to the living room to the door.
"I'll see you Sunday night," she whispered, closing the door softly
behind her.

"Sunday night," he echoed, standing alone in the living room.

TBC

****



See disclaimers in part 1



****

The Hardest Wager 14/18


By two o'clock that afternoon, Donna sat amid an estimated four dozen
boxes haphazardly stacked in the Santos' attic. The late June
humidity of Houston left the attic sweltering despite the cranked up
air conditioning that cooled the rest of the house. Donna was dressed
in a damp tank top and pair of shorts that would, from this day
forward, live in the very bottom drawer of her dresser, where she
consigned the clothes that were no longer good for anything but home
improvement projects.

For the last three hours Donna had been silently castigating herself
for volunteering to take this assignment. On Tuesday when Mrs. Santos
had inquired about what it would take to transfer all their baby
paraphernalia from Houston to the White House Donna had thought fondly
of getting away from D.C. for a couple of days.

So, after the Independence Day preparations were finalized she had
jumped at the chance to get the hell out of Dodge. Even when Mrs.
Santos sheepishly confessed that her attic's state of organization
was, for lack of a better word, nonexistent. But when Donna and the
intern arrived at the house and scrambled up the steep, pull-down
ladder, they were shocked to discover that the First Lady's
description of the Santos' attic had been...kind. The fastidious side
of her nature had recoiled at first, and then she had plotted a
full-frontal assault.

A creak of wood grating against groaning metal preceded the voice of
the industrious and ambitious intern she'd wrangled into assisting her
with this grunt level task. "Did you find it yet?"

"I have not found a single box of anything that resembles baby
clothes. I think I found Mrs. Santos' prom dress though."

"I brought water," the young woman called. "Where are you, anyway?"

Donna waved her arms in the air hoping they could be seen over the
tops of the boxes she was sitting behind. Denise spotted her and
picked her way across the cluttered attic floor holding up a bottle of
water, already dripping with condensation.

"Thought I lost you there for a minute," the woman teased, handing
over the bottle.

"Bless you, Denise." Donna tore the lid off and took a long swig of
the cooling drink.

Denise surveyed the room, the disheartened expression on her face
easily readable. "My mother was right, you know. It's easier in the
long run to organize as you go."

"Amen,"

"How to people let things get this bad."

"I've found that it takes a trifecta of characteristics: the pack rat
mentality, the lack of any desire to organize, and a complete lack of
time. You know, Denise, not everyone is like you and me."

"That's what's wrong with this world, Ms. Moss."

"Donna," she corrected. "And you'll get no argument from me." She
opened another box only to find its contents a mish-mash of items.
"That's it!" Donna proclaimed, rising to her feet. "This isn't going
to work. There's only one thing we can do."

"Completely organize this attic?" Denise anticipated.

"Completely organize this attic," Donna echoed. "Make a list, Denise.
We're going shopping."

Four hours later, Denise was at the wheel of their rented vehicle
while Donna sat in the passenger seat. Their purchased supplies
stowed in the back seat and the trunk.

"Do you know why I chose to bring you along, Denise?"

"Because I'm energetic and detail oriented?"

"No," Donna spoke succinctly, "because you're from Houston. It says
so right there on your resume; Houston, Texas born and bred."

"It's good to be home."

"You got us lost, Denise."

"We found the Wal-Mart eventually; which, by the way, is the great
thing about Texas."

"We drove around for an hour and a half," Donna declared. "We lost
valuable organization time. I let you drive because you're supposed
to know your way around."

"I'm from Alief, Donna," Denise snorted, "I couldn't find my way
around The Heights with map and a compass."

"Now you tell me."

"Okay, could you just let me know if you're really pissed right now,
or is this your way of bonding?"

"Bonding," Donna answered.

"Good to know."

Denise pulled the car onto the Santos' street and rolled down her
window as she stopped at the guard booth. Both women proffered their
ID badges to the guard who nodded them in. Two more checks got them
into the driveway where they quickly unloaded their goods and took
them into the house. Another twenty minutes and a water break later
they were ensconced once again in the attic with some forty large
plastic buckets, labeling tape, and black markers.

"Can I ask you something?" Denise voice sounded unsure, as if she was
contemplating stepping over the line.

"Sure," Donna shrugged. She dragged out a few buckets and began
labeling according to the items she'd already seen. Christmas
Decorations, Halloween costumes, and sports trophies topped the list.

"I know it's not a secret that you never finished college."

"No, it's not," she muttered.

"So, how did you become the First Lady's Chief of Staff? If it's not
too rude of me to ask," Denise allowed, cringing a bit with obvious worry.

"No, it's okay. I worked for the Bartlet Administration for seven
years and for the first campaign for almost a year before that."

"How did that happen?"

"Luck, providence, pure grit...take your pick." While continuing to
sort through cardboard boxes, she launched into the story of Dr.
Freeride and the journey she took to Manchester after watching then
Governor Bartlet give a speech on CNN. "So, I answered the phone in
the first office I found. Turned out the office belonged to Josh
Lyman. I'd like to say he took one look at me and thought I was
competent and capable."

"He didn't?" Denise seemed a bit shocked by the prospect that anyone
would think Donna less than competent. Donna couldn't help but smile.

"He most certainly did not. In fact, he took one look at me and saw
that I had left my loser boyfriend, was faking the confidence, and
that I needed a new start. He took a leap of faith and gave me one."

"He did that?" Denise squinted in confusion. "Wait...this is the same
guy who's the President's Chief of Staff, right?"

"One and same."

"You were his assistant?"

"For almost eight years," Donna confirmed with a nod.

"How did you put up with that guy for eight years?" Denise asked,
horrified.

"Do you know Josh?" Donna stood up straight and observed the intern.

"I've seen him a couple of times, but I've heard things."

"What things?"

"He fired his last assistant for spilling coffee on a report...stuff
like that. Someone else said that he's heartless and will do anything
to win."

Donna immediately stopped working and turned to the young woman. "You
haven't repeated any of this within earshot of the press room, have
you?"

Some of the things Josh had been accused of in the last few years had
reached the status of urban legend and it never quite seemed to die
off. It occurred to Donna that this would probably always be true on
some level.

"Of course, not. Why?"

"Because none of it's true. He fired his last assistant for being
indiscreet about some of the confidential information that crossed his
desk, some of which was a matter of national security. What would you
have done? Secondly, I happen to know that Josh isn't heartless and
he won't do anything to win. But he will do anything to protect the
people he cares about."

Donna kept her voice low and even during her defense, not wishing to
send Denise scrambling for cover. However, the passion of her speech
must have been clear even in its subdued tone, because Denise's
posture appeared to indicate that she was receiving a first class
dressing down.

"I'm sorry," Donna declared sincerely. "When it comes to Josh I can
get irrationally defensive."

"You're very loyal to him." Denise wiped her palms on her pants and
went back to sorting through what appeared to be old college research
papers belonging to Helen Santos.

Something about the offhand way Denise said those words clued Donna
into the possibility that the intern didn't know exactly to whom she
was speaking. Was it possible that there were people in the White
House that didn't know about her and Josh? She'd always just assumed
that it was common knowledge the respective Chiefs of Staff were a
couple. She wondered if it was arrogant to just presume that one's
personal life was always grist for the office rumor mill.

"He's my boyfriend," she stated baldly.

In the space of two seconds Donna's words sunk into Denise's brain and
the intern bit down on her lower lip looking appropriately shameful.
Undoubtedly, the young woman was replaying the last few minutes of
their conversation in her head. "I am so, so sorry," she said, when
she mustered the nerve to speak. "I never should have said those things."

"You're not the first person to repeat lies about Josh and you won't
be the last."

"Well, I won't repeat them."

"I'd appreciate that. Of course, he thinks it builds his legend, but
I hate the lies and the half-truths that people like to spread."

"You guys have been together for a long time?"

"Since the election," Donna confirmed.

"Ten years is a long time." Denise voice was tinged with awe. Donna
knew, though, that it was the touch of insecurity that made her feel
as if Denise was judging her - wondering why they weren't married yet.
Wondering why they didn't the 2.5 kids and the three car garage.

"Since the Santos election," Donna corrected, hoping that would
dissipate the sense of personal malfunction she felt inside. "We
weren't together during the Bartlet Administration," she explained.
"He was my boss."

"But you...I'm sorry...I shouldn't."

"What? It's just you and me here. You have yet to ask a question
that most people who know us don't already know the answer to. Ask me
the question."

"But you loved him while he was your boss?"

"I did," she confessed. "Maybe since that first day. It might have
started out as a schoolgirl crush; the kind of thing you feel for a
mentor. But it wasn't long after we got into the White House that I
knew I loved him...knew there would never be anyone else. It's hard to
explain.

"What was it about him?"

"Many, many things," Donna chuckled, a softness falling over her face.
"But we just clicked from the very beginning." Recalling some of the
first confidences she'd shared with him lightened the weight in her
chest slightly. She thought of the years before they were together,
good and bad, and swore that she wouldn't trade what they had now for
anything in the world. Even with its difficulties and sacrifices it
was better than the alternative.

"It sounds like you have something special."

"I think we do."

The pair continued their tedious work as they conversed. Donna found
herself spilling things to Denise she hadn't told anyone else. The
work and the conversation were both therapeutic in a way, something
she often found true of manual labor and conversation.

They worked into the wee hours of the morning carving a large dent
into the bulk of their task. Exhausted, hungry and filthy they paused
for a late dinner around 2 a.m. before they took turns in the shower
and shuffled off to bed for a few hours of much deserved rest.

****

Matt Santos paced the Oval flipping a baseball into the air and then
catching it deftly over and over - all without taking his eyes off the
connecting door to his office. He was dressed in his `Saturday
casual' wear: tan chinos and a cotton button up shirt with the sleeves
pushed haphazardly up to the elbows. The only sound in the office was
the repetitive smacking sound the baseball made when it landed in his
palm. This had always been his preferred method of considering the
difficult problems.

Hell, without baseball tossing, he never would have made it through
the first one hundred days.

But the particular predicament he considered now wasn't political. It
didn't have implications that would have effects on a global level.
There were no high powered lobbyists to take up the banner for this
cause. In fact, only a handful of people could even be bothered to
care about this problem.

"If you're tossing a baseball then it must be bad." His wife's voice
interrupted his meanderings. "Problems with North Korea?"

"At the moment my problems are a little closer to home?" He jerked
his head pointedly to the connecting door.

"Josh? What's he done now?"

"He's been pissed off about something for weeks now and I can't even
hazard a guess on what it's all about."

"Weeks?"

"Yeah."

"I was just thinking the same thing about Donna. I've said as much to
her. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, but she said it's
nothing."

"Consider for a moment," he began, still tossing his baseball, "that
our respective Chiefs of Staff are, for lack of a better term,
involved with one another and that they've been living together by all
reports for around two years. Now, both Josh and Donna seem to be in
persistent bad moods. What are the odds that it's just a coincidence?"

"I'd say they're slim," answered Helen.

"I agree," Matt said, one brow arching as he glanced at his wife.

Helen's eyes narrowed at Matt and she drawled suspiciously, "What are
you planning to do?"

"Nothing, yet. I'm still trying to formulate."

"Matt, I sent Donna to Houston. She left yesterday morning."

"I thought we were going to send Oscar."

"I mentioned it to her and she...volunteered."

"You did tell her about the state of the attic, didn't you?"

"Not in any great detail," Helen winced.

"Did you at least send her in there with a flashlight...and a bullwhip?"

"She took an intern."

"We may never see either of them again. Years from now their dusty
bones will be recovered in our attic."

"The point is I think she volunteered to go for reason, and it wasn't
because she feels the need to impress me. I think she wanted to get
away."

"Get away from Josh?"

"That sounds bad. I think she wanted a little break. I have no idea
what's going on there, but I have the distinct feeling they don't know
either."

"Do you think it has anything to do with Donna turning down Josh's
marriage proposal?"

"WHAT? Josh proposed?"

"Last month."

"And Donna said no?"

"I wheedled the story out of him during one of our morning workouts.
Apparently he asked and she said he wasn't ready, but they weren't
ruling it out for the future." A thought occurred to him at just that
instant and when his hand reached out to rescue the ball it missed by
a fraction of an inch. The baseball thudded to the carpet, landing in
the center of the Presidential Seal. "Helen," he cringed, "I think
this is my fault."

"What do you mean?" Helen, staring down at the fallen baseball,
readjusted her gazed to Matt.

"Well, let's just say that over the last year or so, the subject has
come up on those occasions when the talk turns to the personal."

"Marriage?"

"That's the one. Ever since I found out we were having another baby,
I might have been a little overzealous about sharing the joy."

"You've been pressuring him to propose?!" Helen translated.

"I like them together," he defended. "They make a great team, and
when they're not worried about all the crap involved in relationships,
they seem happy together."

"All the crap?!" Helen's voice, sounding distinctly edgy, bounced
around the oval shaped room.

"You know what I mean; all the worry and insecurity that causes you to
wonder if it's all worth it." Matt watched as Helen's lips tightened
and her eyes bored into him like blue laser beams. "I mean...in the
beginning, before you discover the truth about how wonderful marriage
and family are." The tightness in Helen's face eased and Matt
breathed a sigh of relief. "Can we get back to the problem at hand,
rather than the train wreck that happens whenever my mouth gets away
from me?"

"So you pressured and he, being a good little employee, answered the
call?"

"He mentioned once that I wasn't the only one turning up the heat."
Matt melted into the sofa, gripping the baseball tightly with both hands.

"Donna?"

"I think she might have been the only one who wasn't pressuring him.
Is it possible that my meddling has screwed up a good thing?"

"It not entirely your fault," Helen confessed. "I might have played a
tiny role in this little drama." Off the expression on his face, she
qualified, "A tiny role. A bit part -- unlike your starring role as
lead antagonist." Helen lowered herself carefully onto the sofa
beside him and placed a hand on his knee.

"I have to fix this, Helen."

Silence descended between them, the only sound in the room emanating
from the ticking clock on the mantle. "With Donna gone," Helen broke
the stalemate, "I hate to think of Josh going home all alone."

"Shall we invite to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom?" Matt joked.

"I was thinking we invite him to have dinner with the family."

"You've already disposed of your own Chief of Staff, is there a reason
you wish to get rid of mine as well?"

"It won't be that bad," she assured him, in a tone that was less than
assuring. She moved to stand and with his hand placing pressure on
her lower back she was able to make it to her feet. "I'll just go
tell Robert to set another place for dinner. You'll make sure he's
there?"

"I'll make it an order," Matt smiled deviously. "Josh can't say no to
an order from his Commander-in-Chief."

"Dinner will be ready at seven."

"We'll be there." Matt watched her exit until she was out of his
sight line, then stood and crossed to the door connecting his office
with that of his Chief of Staff.

TBC

****



See dislaimers in part 1


****

The Hardest Wager 15/18


In his past, Josh Lyman had endured a host of eventful dinners, but
nothing like a meal with the Santos family. He'd suffered through
interminable dates with vapid women. He'd brunched with the Jewish
mothers of Boca Raton who took gleeful pleasure in interrogating him
on his personal life. Josh had even sat in the hot seat at dinner
with Donna's parents. To say nothing of the countless State Dinners
and receptions he'd been required to attend over the last decade.

But he could honestly report that through a decade's worth of
important dinners he'd never been the observer. There were no
politics at this table, save for family affairs. There was nothing to
win, nothing to gain, and nothing to lose. He wasn't being ignored by
any means, but this was a family of four (soon-to-be five) and their
dinnertime rituals appeared to be well-established.

When the meal was served the president bowed his head, which was
immediately parroted by the rest of the family. Josh followed suit,
folding his hands together as Peter did. At one point during the
prayer Josh peeked at the boy sitting next to him, only to find the
boy peeking back. Peter Santos smiled, having caught Josh in the act
of sneaking a look around the table. Josh returned the boy's grin,
because he knew that universal truth: in order to catch the rule
breaker, the catcher must first break the rules.

Peter winked at Josh, the international gesture to initiate a secret
pact; Josh winked back, indicating a mutual agreement. A stifled
giggle from across the table exposed their misdeeds. Josh shared a
look with Peter who communicated silently that the enemy would take no
prisoners.

"...for this meal, may the Lord make us truly grateful. Amen."

"Amen. Peter's being naughty, Daddy." The president barely had a
chance to raise his head before Miranda could spill her guts.

"Tattle-tale," Peter hissed across the table.

"Peter," the president's voice was stern, but the sparkle in his eyes
revealed that he wasn't truly angry. His eyes shifted to Josh, and
Josh knew that his status as partner-in-crime had not gone undetected.

Bowls and platters were passed around for serving, except for Miranda
who was too small to hold them. Without prompting, she passed her
plate to her mother, who did the honors. Josh recognized several
healthy dishes by description and not from personal knowledge, but he
was pretty sure there was fish of some kind involved. And more
vegetables than any person should have to eat in one sitting. He
silently hoped that dessert would make up for it.

Once the meal was served and everyone had tucked in with a gusto
unlike any Josh had seen before, the conversation began.

Miranda prattled about her ballet lessons and her instructor, a woman
named Miss Kimberly, while Mrs. Santos listened with, what seemed to
Josh an unjustified amount of interest.

Peter hijacked the president's interest by enlisting him to toss the
football on the lawn next week. The young boy was entering the
seventh grade in the fall and wanted to work on his passing skills
before trying out for his junior high football team. Josh wondered if
Peter understood that his parents would rarely, if ever, be able to
attend his games.

It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced to his memory, the
chattering of it. He never knew that just four people chattering and
laughing could make such a ruckus. A happy ruckus, he amended to
himself. They switched back and forth making sure each member of
their family had all the latest news on the goings-on in their lives.

Childhood dinners had never been like this for him, Josh realized.
His memories of dinnertime in the Lyman household usually had the
chair at the head of the table empty; his beautiful, sedate older
sister sitting across from him, while his mother sternly instructed
him on table manners.

Then, when he was seven their lives had changed forever. His father
still worked late, so it became dinner with just him and his mother,
and she stopped correcting his manners. In fact, she stopped talking
much at all. Dinnertime at the Lyman's had never caused much of a
ruckus, let alone a happy one.

Josh had only the vaguest memories of a cheerful family life. His
parents loved him, he never doubted that, but after Joanie died it was
a long time before they were able to take joy in anything, least of
all a sad little boy who secretly blamed himself for his sister's
death. It wasn't until he found success at Harvard that he began to
have a true relationship with his father or to see his mother smile again.

It never occurred to him that families could be imperfect without
being dysfunctional. He'd always thought of the Bartlets as happily
dysfunctional; missing perfection by a shot gone wild, but still
somehow okay with that. But the Santoses seemed so at ease with one
another, as if their roles were etched in place after years of
repeated performances.

They weren't flawless. Peter talked with his mouth full and couldn't
seem to keep the food from jumping off his plate. Miranda interrupted
conversations and spoke in a too-loud voice. The president and Mrs.
Santos oftentimes couldn't agree on rules and consequences. But they
were happy; he had no trouble seeing that. It was as plain as the
nose on his face.

Josh's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of silverware clanging
on china, and a loud expression of surprise.

"Oh, my!" Mrs. Santos' hands went to her rounded belly.

"Honey?" The president sat up straight in his chair, abandoning the
conversation with his son.

"Mommy!" Miranda screamed, her wide open mouth broadcasting terror.
Josh's own heart rate skyrocketed and he stood from his chair,
preparing to call for help.

"Should I get someone?" he asked breathlessly.

"What is it?" The president's soft tones and gift for keeping his
head held the brimming panic at bay.

"The baby kicked." Mrs. Santos smiled softly when she spoke and then
an incredulous guffaw escaped. "I've felt it moving for weeks now,
but this was on honest to goodness kick."

Miranda's eyes brightened and the fear left her face. "Are you okay,
Mommy?"

"She's fine, sweetie," the president grinned. "The baby kicked,
Mommy, that's all."

Miranda's eyebrows scrunched up and she leaned down to her mother's
belly. "Mean baby! Stop kicking my mommy!"

Everyone laughed then, even Josh, who couldn't seem to help himself.
He eased back into his chair, his legs feeling slightly wobbly from
the adrenaline and subsequent relief.

Without warning, Mrs. Santos' hand seized her daughter's and placed it
on her belly. "There," she laughed. "Do you feel it?"

Miranda shook her head so her mother pressed the child's fingers
against her belly so hard Josh was afraid she'd pop. "There! Right
there is a foot."

Josh watched as the president reached out and covered a large portion
of his wife's belly with outspread fingers. Peter, never one to be
left out, jumped from his chair and ran around the table. He wriggled
his way into the group and found a spot for his hand. As if awaiting
the perfect cue, the smallest Santos must have kicked again, because
all four of them gasped in unison.

And then suddenly, Josh and the Santoses were on opposite sides of a
gulf that couldn't be crossed. Before, as they ate and chatted, Josh
had simply been on the outside looking in, a condition he wasn't
terribly comfortable with, but now he felt like an intruder. Yet...to
look away, to turn a blind eye to the moment, would somehow seem
sacrilegious.

A sparkle caught Josh's eye, metal reflecting light, and his attention
was drawn to the president's left hand, spanning his wife's belly,
soothing and searching all at the same time. Mrs. Santos' face stole
his attention then and to Josh her glow had brightened; her eyes
gleamed more, her smile filled with life.

Donna's face from the day before flashed before him, a direct contrast
to the First Lady's. Shaking off the image he found unsettling, he
returned his concentration to the First Family. In his mind's eye
they seemed frozen in time; tranquil in this minute as time stopped
just for them, leaving him to meet them on ahead.

A thought tickled the back of this brain then. It began as a simple
thought, at first, which spread its far-reaching fingers to become an
idea and then a possibility, before transforming at last into a
revelation.

Josh had always been on the wrong side of the gulf, but he'd been too
stupid to recognize it. He'd spent his entire life avoiding change
for himself while outwardly working to force it from others. It had
always been like pulling teeth to blaze the first trail, make the next
move, or take the next step.

His father once told him that life was a wager. You put your money
down and hope the spin goes your way, or the cards fall in the right
order. Only one thing was for sure: you can't win if you don't play.

That's when he knew where and when it all went wrong. He figured out
why he'd been so frustrated and angry lately, and at the same time
understood her sadness and knew where he could squarely place the blame.

Josh had turned hedging his bets into an art form. He'd never put
anything *real* on the table. He'd never risked anything of value.
Not when it came to his heart anyway. When it came to his heart -
when it came to Donna -- he'd stayed safe, offering her only so much
and no more. He'd justified it by telling himself he'd given her more
than others, but that didn't change the fact that he'd stopped at the
water's edge, while still managing to take from her more than he'd
ever been willing to give.

His realizations threw him for a bit of a loop that left him reeling
and searching for solid ground. With the clarity of a returning
memory, Josh could see the possibilities stretched out before him, the
many paths decided by choice, the taken and the untaken. After forty
six years on this earth, Josh Lyman was finally learning to admit when
he didn't know something. And he didn't know much, especially when it
came to love and relationships.

But he did know that if he didn't stop allowing his fear to keep him
on a short leash, this would be his fate. Always on the outside
looking in; alone on one side of an impassable chasm, wondering when
it was exactly that the best of all life had passed him by.

For the first time in weeks Josh consciously recalled the night he'd
proposed to Donna. He attempted, with his considerable mental
prowess, to remember why he'd been so terrified. She'd had a point
when she asked if there was any scenario he could imagine in which she
said no.

Was it just the knee-jerk reaction to being handled that had swamped
him with feelings of terror at the thought of marrying Donna? Why was
he holding back from her? They'd lived together for two years, shared
nearly every aspect of their lives with one another. They held each
other's medical power of attorney, for Pete's sake. And it had been a
long time since the bloom was on the rose as far as the familiarity of
their relationship was concerned. Josh doubted that putting a ring on
her finger would change any of that.

This thing with Donna, their future, wasn't a sure thing, there was no
such animal -- but it had pretty good odds. All that remained was to
make the hardest wager of all.

****

Josh was awake long before Charlie's Sunday morning call and he met
his friend at the community center raring to blow off some steam.
Josh held his own in the game despite Charlie's frequent disparaging
remarks about his advanced age.

"You're unusually quiet," Charlie commented after blocking yet another
three-pointer.

"I have a lot on my mind," was Josh's vague remark.

"Problems with your woman?"

"I dare you to say that in front of Donna?"

"Do I look stupid?"

"I'm going to refrain from answering that," Josh wisely decided. The
pair returned to their play as Charlie dribbled the ball, spun past
Josh's defense for a slam dunk. Josh went for the rebound but missed
it. The steam he'd wanted to blow off earlier had gradually
dissipated, leaving him lethargic and slow on the uptake.

Leaning down for a breather, Josh rested his palms on his knees. They
were nearing the end of game play, if his body had anything to say
about it.

"Come on, old man, get the lead out," Charlie teased. In an
uncharacteristic show of sports generosity, Charlie passed the ball to
Josh.

"I am getting old," Josh agreed.

Charlie stopped ranging and came to a stand still. "You're not in bad
shape for guy your age."

"I used to be young and vibrant."

"Now you're powerful and authoritative," Charlie shrugged.

"You are very wise for a man your age." Josh's eyes narrowed,
studying Charlie; contrasting the man he was now with the kid he'd met
eight years ago. With the naivet‚ stripped away, leaving behind only
the wisdom and the gravitas, the differences were staggering. Josh
had always known that Charlie had something special, but now he knew
that his friend was destined for great things.

"My mother always told me I was an old soul."

"I had dinner with the Santoses last night. The whole family."

Charlie snickered. "Did you start a food fight?"

"I did not. But I did...see something there that I'd never seen before."

"What was that?"

"A happy family."

"Okay." Charlie wiped his face with a towel and tossed Josh a bottle
of water. Josh unscrewed the lid and took a long draught before
speaking again.

"You understand what I'm saying right? Not the kind of happy family
that gives you the urge to vomit; or the kind of happy family that
makes you wonder if the children are really androids. I saw a real
family with problems and jockeying for position and yelling to be
heard, but still happy."

"Androids?"

"Whatever."

"You've seen happy families before," Charlie pointed out.

"Not really."

"The Bartlets were happy."

"Were they?" Off Charlie's incredulous expression Josh continued.
"Don't get me wrong, I could see that they loved each other, but by
the time I met any of the girls they were already adults, or almost.
There was always an underlying tension there. Liz hid behind her
family and Ellie buried herself in her studies, and Zoey...the White
House made Zoey miserable most of the time, and she let it. I used to
wonder if the White House couldn't help but upset every family it
touched."

"But?"

"But it's been two years, and I've seen the president make a lot of
sacrifices, and not once has he sacrificed his relationship with any
member of his family. I mean, there are some things the president
can't do - the Secret Service won't allow it - but if Peter wants to
spend some time shagging grounders on the North Lawn, then the
president finds a way to make it happen. And if Miranda wants to have
a tea party with her stuffed animals then her dad breaks out the tea
service from the Indian Prime Minister." After a moment, Josh sighed.
"I worried, you know."

"Worried about what?"

"I worried that by putting Matt Santos in office I would destroy the
thing that made him great. But the thing is...that I worried in the
abstract."

"Meaning what?" The game had slowed to a crawl, neither player giving
it their full attention, but they continued to toss the ball into the
waiting hoop.

"Meaning...that I never once considered whether or not Peter and Miranda
would be damaged by such a drastic change in their lifestyles. I
never felt bad that Peter would look out from third base and not see
his parents in the stands. It never occurred to me that maybe it
would stifle Miranda's free spirit to be followed by agents every
minute of every day. It never occurred to me to think that way."

"Josh...what's all this about?" Charlie stopped aiming for the hoop and
simply tucked the ball under his arm. "Is this about Donna?"

"No. Yes. No," he decided. "I think it's about me."

For Josh, the world seemed to slow to a halt with whooshing sound that
vibrated through his skull. A sudden clarity exploded within his
mind, disturbing him to his very core. Josh's heart contracted in his
chest and the process of breathing became intricately problematic.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm a selfish bastard," he abruptly recognized. The revelation shot
through his heart with the searing fire of hot lead, a sensation with
which he was intimately familiar. "Oh, God, I'm selfish bastard!"

"What are you talking about?"

"She said she'd be okay with it, and I believed her, because that's
what I wanted to believe. But she's not okay with it, and I should
have seen that." Josh's mind was working at a thousand miles an hour,
replaying the last few weeks in his head. "That's why she's been so
sad. I let her down, Charlie. I let myself down."

"Uh...what the hell are we talking about now?"

Stunned by his own revelation and oblivious to the look of confusion
on Charlie's face, Josh tried in vain to slow his racing mind. He
bent down, resting his hands on his knees. Charlie raced forward,
outwardly fearful that something was terribly wrong with Josh, and
placed a comforting hand on his back.

"Oh, God." Josh muttered.

"What's going on?"

"I asked her to marry me," Josh whispered.

"What? That's great!" Charlie took a step back when Josh unleashed a
furious glare. "Not great?" Charlie guessed.

"She said no, Charlie. She told me I wasn't ready."

"But she left a window open, right? It wasn't like it was a rejection."

"I told her I didn't know if I would ever be ready, and she said that
she loved me and that was okay."

"Yeah." Charlie mused. "Okay, I must be missing something because I
fail to see what's got you all freaked out. She said she loved you
and that she wasn't going to pressure you. Do you know how lucky you
are?"

"Too lucky, Charlie. Too damn lucky. I'm so lucky I've got a woman
who loves me so much she'll put her needs second to mine."

"Well, they say that's what love is all about."

"Exactly!"

"Come again?"

"I love her, Charlie, and what have I ever given up for her? Not a
goddamn thing. I wouldn't give up my job to be with her. I wouldn't
give up my assistant to be with her. And yet, she's made one
sacrifice after another. Do you know she put her life on hold for
three months to help take care of me after I was shot? Did I do the
same for her after Gaza? No, I waited until I knew she wasn't brain
damaged and then hopped the next flight to DC."

"Hey, you dropped everything to catch the next flight to Germany in
the first place. That's not nothing."

"Yeah, I'm a real prince," Josh spat, his voice spilling self-hatred.
"Because then she came back and I pushed her away. How much has she
given up for me over the years? When we went away before the
Inauguration we talked about everything in our past. We made
confessions. All these years she's loved me and she didn't
think...never considered that I might feel the same way. She pushed me
towards other women thinking that they would make me happy. Can you
believe that?"

"It was the center of many discussions among the rest of us," Charlie
nodded.

"How selfless is that? She's a goddamn angel and I don't deserve
her." He paced the blacktop relentlessly, only peripherally aware of
Charlie's presence beside him.

Sensing that their basketball game had come to an end, Charlie led
Josh to the edge of the blacktop where there were steps leading down
to the sidewalk. He sat on the top step and tucked the basketball
between his feet on the step below.

"And yet, she chose you."

"Yeah," he sighed, his brow wrinkling with confusion, as he took a
seat next to Charlie. "Why'd she do that?"

"Beats me," Charlie shrugged. "Maybe it's because she knows you'll be
there when she really needs you. Maybe it's because you've proved
that you'll risk everything to protect her when she makes a mistake."

Josh sat up straight, his head spinning towards Charlie. "You know?"
he cleared his throat, his tongue suddenly abrasive like sandpaper.
"You knew about that?"

"Not until much later, but...yeah, I knew about that."

"She swore she'd never tell anyone."

"You and Donna weren't the only ones there that night," Charlie hinted.

"Calley?"

"I wasn't happy with CJ's decision to bring him onboard," Charlie
explained. "I thought he was a risk to the president...a wildcard with
shifting loyalties and I didn't like that he was sitting in your
chair. I wasn't vocal about it or anything, but it must have been
obvious, because one night he decided to tell me a story. He wanted
me to know that he was a decent guy, and that he knew the difference
between right and wrong. We all suspected that he might have been the
reason Leo's testimony to Oversight was cut short in the nick of time,
but I could never quite get beyond the idea that he did it because
there was something in it for him."

"He did it because it was the right thing to do. Both times. Calley
may be a Republican but he's one of the good guys."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed.

"She might have ended up with him," Josh shuddered, his stomach
clenching. "If things had been different...if the timing hadn't been
inconvenient; she might've ended up with Cliff Calley. He's not a
selfish bastard."

"Like many things in this world, Josh, selfishness is a choice."

"I want to be the kind of man she deserves, Charlie. I don't want to
spend the rest of my life watching her sleep at night and wondering
why she stays."

"Why does it seem like I've been waiting for years to hear you say
something like that?"

"It's time I started putting as much into this relationship as she does."

"I'm glad to see you're coming around. Now," brown eyes met brown
eyes, "what are you going to do about it?"

An hour of brainstorming with Charlie left Josh with only a series of
half-baked plans and thoroughly unoriginal ideas.

"You could take her to the Arboretum," Charlie tried with a look on
his face that suggested even he knew that was bad idea.

"Yeah, because my last adventure in the Arboretum turned out so well,"
Josh sarcastically replied. "Besides, it's not really my style."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "You know what you need?"

"A grand gesture?"

"A grand gesture," he nodded. "Something that says, `I'm a changed man'."

"I think I should aim lower. I'm shooting for, `I'm a schmuck but I
love you and I'm hoping you stick around for a long time'."

"Girls can never resist that." Charlie's eyes rolled with a mixture
of disappointment and disgust.

"That's what I'm banking on," Josh sighed.

"There's always the other thing."

"What other thing?"

"You could bribe her with a new house."

Josh cringed. "As I recall that didn't work out so well for Toby."

"Oh...right. Sorry, man."

"Could you imagine if I bought a house for Donna? Without her input?
I mean...this is Donna we're talking about. She'd kill me."

"Well, maybe not kill you," Charlie chuckled, his eyes gleaming with
humor as he considered the potential look on Donna's face. "But you'd
definitely be in the doghouse for the foreseeable future."

A fleeting second went by before an idea exploded in his brain. A
wide grin spread across his face because the idea was brilliant. It
was perfect. It was a grand gesture...without being too grand. It was
romantic without being completely unlike him. After all, he didn't
want Donna to wonder if he'd been taken over by aliens or something.

"What is it?" Charlie asked.

"I got it."

"You got it?"

"I got it," Josh repeated as he shot from his seated position on the
steps. He spun around twice as his brain short-circuited with a
sudden overload. Josh ran towards the car before stopping abruptly
and turning back to his friend. "Look, Charlie I have to go. Donna's
going to be home this evening and I have a lot of...stuff to do before
she gets home.

TBC

****



This might be the last one for today. I'm rethinking the epilogue and
it may take some rewriting, so I'll probably parcel out the last two
parts to play for time. Maybe. Hell, I don't know.

See disclaimers in part 1



****

The Hardest Wager 16/18


Three trips to Wal-Mart and two days later, the Santos' attic
succumbed to the superior organizing abilities of one Donnatella Moss.
Many had challenged her, but few had survived. And she'd yet to meet
a mess she couldn't wrestle into submission. The mission had been
overwhelming, but the champion and her stalwart squire had proved
themselves worthy.

"Is that it?" Denise DeMarco queried wearily. The diminutive intern
took a swig of her bottled water while swiping a rivulet of sweat from
her forehead.

"I think that's everything," Donna sighed. She surveyed the attic
with the pride one only found in the completion of a job well done.
Sixty eight large plastic buckets, color-coded and labeled, stood
stacked floor to ceiling against the slanted walls of the attic. The
center of the room once cluttered and a jumble was now clear of
hazards, leaving plenty of space to maneuver.

Hours of categorizing, folding, filing, boxing, labeling, lifting, and
carrying had given her time to think. She'd worked Denise hard, but
no more than she required of herself; and she spent much of the time
pondering Josh's surliness and her matching lethargy of late.

"It's a thing of beauty," Denise's whispered voice interrupted Donna's
reverie.

"Yes, it is." Donna agreed.

They stood for a moment in respectful silence.

"Can we go now?" Denise asked.

"Yes, please."

One at a time they scrambled down the steep ladder and Denise closed
the trap door behind them. Already removed from the attic, and
waiting below, were six neatly packed buckets containing the items
they had been sent to retrieve.

After a rejuvenating shower and changing into some a little less ripe,
Donna called the White House, primarily to inform the necessary people
of her travel plans so the appropriate security measures could be
taken with the President and First Lady's personal belongings.

Donna, Denise and the six boxes returning to DC were to travel via the
regular military transport out of Lackland Air Force Base in San
Antonio. The cargo had been inspected, inventoried and sealed with
official tape that was to remain unbroken until the Secret Service
gave the boxes and their contents the all clear in DC. The journey
home would undoubtedly have both Donna and Denise wishing for the
comforts of flying coach.

San Antonio was a three hour drive from Houston which they took with a
Secret Service driver who was part of the secondary team assigned to
protect the Santos house at all times, whether they were in residence,
or not.

At the airstrip the cargo was loaded, along with a dozen other
pallets, aboard the transport plane under the watchful eye of the
agent while Donna and Denise strapped themselves into the utilitarian
seats. When the plane took flight Denise dropped quickly into an
exhausted sleep, leaving Donna alone with her thoughts. It wasn't
until the plane reached its cruising altitude that it occurred to
Donna that she'd forgotten to call Josh to tell him when she'd be
arriving, and now it was too late.

Denise's light snore made Donna wish she too could sleep for the
remainder of the flight. She was worn out from the work but the
thoughts filtering through her mind generated entirely too much mental
energy to allow for sleep.

Fridays night's discussion with Denise had led to other talks, both
subtle and obvious. Though she had spent much of the last two years
trying to put the previous eight behind her, she often forgot that
those were times that had led her to the place she was now --so many
near misses and character defining moments.

Eleven years of traveling a long and treacherous road where she
frequently waffled between believing that there was a greater plan at
work, or whether this was as good at it got. Not that what they had
together was unfulfilling in any way, just that Donna had often
wondered if Fate had meant to lead her somewhere else in the end.
Especially in those days when it seemed that her relationship with
Josh was all played out. Had they gone as far as they were meant to
go together, or did Fate have a few more screws yet to turn?

She'd flown the gilded cage and now she returned home holding all the
keys. Empowered by her independence, she was prepared to take what
she had coming to her, or to release it forever depending upon how it
all played out.

But loving Josh had always been challenging and risky, requiring
unprecedented amounts of patience and soothing. He was a fear-based
creature and therefore had always been a man that wouldn't give his
heart freely. A character trait that often disallowed using personal
pressures and guidance often required to push a partnership from one
level to the next. Knowing this, as no one else could, Donna needed
now to be sure in her stance and steadfast in her resolve.

The last six months had been eye-opening and foundation shattering.
Her life had been ideal...until she'd been forced to confront the
visions of all the things she didn't have; forced to confront the
truth that she and Josh didn't always have the same goals.

Things had been just fine, she told herself, until Mrs. Santos had
worriedly informed her that she might be pregnant; and until Josh had
so insensitively and gleefully celebrated the empty state of her own
uterus. Things had been just peachy, damnit. Donna had been happy,
then, content even - married to her career but dedicated to her man.
With no ambitious urges to reverse those positions.

When Donna had finally stumbled on the Santos children's baby clothes
in the attic, she unexpectedly found her throat tightening and tears
spilling down her cheeks. Even the remembrance of it caused her heart
to weigh heavily in her chest. Blindsided, she'd grieved the path not
chosen.

She hadn't connected her own sadness with her decision or Helen
Santos' progressing pregnancy. But now, after being taken off guard
by her own rampaging emotions, she recalled that the searing pangs of
sadness had almost always been conversely related to the First Lady's
displays of happiness.

When she'd told Josh she wouldn't pressure him to do anything he
didn't want to do, and that she would be okay if he didn't want more,
she'd meant it. It wasn't something she'd said to put him at his ease
so that she could spring it on him later. She'd thought only that she
didn't want to risk what they had. In truth, she recognized now that
it was an echo of her younger self, deferring to his needs and desires
rather than putting her own on the table.

She knew that she would have to talk to Josh; have to find a way to
gently walk back what she'd said. For her own peace of mind.

Donna dozed lightly for the remainder of the flight, returning to full
consciousness when she felt the plane shift and drop gently beneath
her. Their descent into Andrews had begun.

Moments after the cargo plane landed and rolled to a complete stop on
the tarmac, Donna was disembarking with her travel bag clutched
tightly in one hand and Denise stumbling tiredly behind her.

As promised, a black SUV driven by Treasury Department agent pulled up
to plane and met them on the runway. Trained to work quickly, a squad
of airmen was already unloading the cargo from the back of the plane.
According to protocol, the presidential packages were removed first
and placed in the direct care of the agents, who examined the security
tape for tampering and catalogued the appearance of each box.

With a signature, Donna released the packages into their care,
effectively ending her responsibility for the day. When the agents
piled back into the SUV and pulled away, Donna noticed a familiar car
and face in the background.

Fifty yards away, Josh stood leaning against the side of the town car,
his hand lifted in greeting. She raised a hand in return to
acknowledge his presence, confusing though it was. She hadn't called
him to let him know when she'd be getting back, so she had no reason
to expect him to pick her up at the airstrip.

On the other hand, he was the White House Chief of Staff and one call
could have gotten him the information he needed to find out when she'd
be arriving at Andrews. It was one of four daily cargo jumps from
Lackland, after all.

"You're okay getting home?" Denise asked.

"Yeah," Donna answered.

"Do you need me to come back to work?"

"Go out of here. Take a long hot bath and get a good night's sleep.
I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you then," Denise smiled, before hitching her duffle bag up on
her shoulder and heading off towards the terminal.

Donna watched her go for a second and then turned back to Josh. What
was he doing here? Her stomach flip-flopped with worry. Her fingers
tightened on the grip of her suitcase as she began the long walk in
his direction.

Both of his hands were stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans; the
jeans that made her go all weak in the knees when he wore them. A pair
of dark sunglasses shielded his eyes from the rapidly sinking sun;
those same sunglasses that always lit a fire in parts of her anatomy
unmentionable in polite company. This time was no different. Donna
tried unsuccessfully to suppress the feelings that welled within her.
As usual, she wanted to jump him.

But there was so much to talk about, so much she needed to say to him,
and she couldn't afford to allow her hormones to take control. Not if
she wanted him to take her seriously.

She graced him with a smile of greeting and he stepped forward to
relieve her of the suitcase. The trunk of the car popped open and
Josh deposited the bag there, while the driver held the car door open
for them. She climbed in first and slid to the far end of the seat.
A moment later Josh joined her, the door closed behind him and
enveloped them both in a thick silence.

It took only a millisecond for Donna to pick up on his nervousness.
Sitting beside her, his leg appeared to fidget uncontrollably. She
placed a hand on his vibrating knee and his leg came to an abrupt
stop. Josh's head snapped in her direction and grin swept across his
face, his cheeks lighting up with dual dimples.

"Hey," he breathed.

"Hey. This is a surprise," she pointed out. "I wasn't expecting you
to pick me up."

"I can occasionally be unpredictable," he shrugged with a
self-deprecating manner.

"No argument there." She turned her face to the window, watching the
scenery slip by as the car passed down the main thoroughfare of
Andrews Air Force Base. Men and women dressed in BDUs bustled about
the streets performing their daily duties. Andrews was a small town
housing some 20,000 men, women and children.

She noticed that preparations for a July 4th celebration were underway
as they passed several buildings draped with red, white and blue
bunting. A park area near the elementary school hosted a group of
children playing in the quickly waning evening light.

They passed beneath the monstrous water tower that announced simply
`AIR FORCE' in bold blue lettering, alongside a winged crest. Only
ten miles from the metro area Donna wondered if now was the time to
begin a conversation that would take much longer than their ride would
allow.

"Are you tired?" Josh's question interrupted her inner debate.

She nodded. "It was a bigger job than I was expecting."

"Let me guess, the Santoses may now boast the most meticulously
organized attic in all of Houston, Texas...possibly the world."

Donna couldn't help but snicker at his delivery. "You know me too well."

"Better than you think," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"I know you better than you think."

Donna sighed. The weight of her thoughts, which had been briefly
lifted, was returning with an unpleasant heaviness. "Josh. We need
to talk."

"I know. You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The look that says, `I've been doing some thinking so watch out world'."

"I do not look like that!"

"Yes, you do," he smiled. Josh grabbed her hand and threaded his
fingers through hers. "I thought we could wait until we got home. I
have a surprise for you."

"A surprise," she echoed warily.

"You're not the only one who's been doing some thinking."

"Heaven help us all," she proclaimed. "This thinking...this is the
reason you're acting like you're about to jump out of your skin?"

"I'm excited," he informed her. "About your surprise."

"Should I be worried?"

"Nah," he answered quickly, but a downward shift of his eyes concealed
a fair amount of anxiety.

"Josh, did you do something stupid?"

"Why would you ask that?"

Her answer was to pin him with a deeply meaningful glance that spoke
of all the years they'd known each other.

"Okay. See, I'm trying to prove something to my woman, and all she
can do is mock me. Where is the justice in this world?"

"You're trying to prove something to me? What are you trying to prove?"

"I'm not telling. You'll just have to wait the five minutes until we
get home."

She realized he was right; they were almost home, and she no longer
had time to ease into all the things she knew she needed to say to
him. Damn it! "Remember when we had the talk a while ago?"

"We have lots of talks." He answered evasively, which in her mind did
not bode well.

"The talk where you proposed and I said no."

"Oh...that talk."

"Yeah, that talk." Donna inhaled a deep, nervous breath. "I'd like
to revisit some of the things we discussed that night."

Josh's lips pursed together and tension infused his shoulders. "Okay,
shoot."

"You asked me before I left if you were reason I was so sad."

"And?"

"And the answer is yes...and no."

"Well, that clarifies things."

"I'm not entirely happy with some of the decisions that were made that
night."

"Define: not entirely happy."

"Not at all happy."

"And by *some* of the decisions you mean...?"

"All of them," she filled in the blank.

"Ah."

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you freaking out right now?"

"No," he chuckled. "I told you I know you better than you think I do.
I had all that figured out already."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I mean, the more I thought about it, the more it just didn't
make sense that you would be okay about...what you said you'd be okay
about."

"You figured that out."

"It came to me in a flash."

"Just like that?"

"Just that that," he confirmed. "We're here."

Donna glanced out the window to see the front of their building. An
agent was already opening the door and Josh was sliding out, reaching
a hand back to offer assistance. She took his hand and gracefully
disembarked to the sidewalk.

"Okay, it wasn't just like that," Josh confessed. "I was angry. You
were the one that pointed that, remember?"

"You were angry with me?"

"I was angry with myself, Donna, and then...maybe a little with you."
She opened her mouth to respond, but Josh waved her off, letting her
know he wasn't finished. "Maybe this isn't a conversation we should
be having on the sidewalk."

"Definitely."

Josh grabbed her hand and tugged her up the steps to the front door,
which the agent was holding open for them. When they arrived at the
door to their unit, Josh stopped and turned to face her, effectively
blocking the door.

"Before we go in, I need to say something."

"Yes."

"I just want you to know that I'll explain everything, so don't throw
a fit, or anything." He gulped nervously.

"Josh?" Her voice held the tone of warning that Josh had learned over
the years to respect. "Is this about my surprise?"

"A little bit, yeah. Just promise me that you'll give it a chance
before you fly off the handle."

Warning bells clanged incessantly in Donna's skull. Fly off the
handle? This can not be good. "What have you done?"

"I'm asking you to trust me." Josh swallowed hard and tiny beads of
perspiration were breaking out on his forehead.

"Did you redecorate, Josh? Dear God, tell me you didn't redecorate."

"I did not redecorate," he parroted like a good little boy.

Donna growled in the back of her throat, causing Josh to step back,
which only flattened him against the door. "Just open the damn door,
Josh."

"Okay, but I want you to know that I have my reasons."

"So noted. Open the door," she demanded. The sound of keys rattling
was followed by the door opening. He stepped aside to allow her
entrance. Donna cast her gaze frantically about the living room.
Relief washed through her as she noticed that walls were the same
color and the complementary furniture was still in place. She'd
worked very hard to make his place livable as well as aesthetically
pleasing. Her eyes closed and she felt the tension seep out of her.

Then she heard the jingling sound of metal on metal.

Standing across the room, staring at her with round, bright eyes and a
wagging tail was, what looked to be, a full-grown dog -- a golden
retriever to be exact. Tied around its neck were the tattered remains
of what she could only guess had once been a bow. The dog, breaking
its gentle stillness, vanished behind the couch, only to reappear with
something in its mouth. He...she...it approached Donna, its head lowered
slightly and tail moving so fast it appeared as though the tail was
wagging the dog rather than the other way around. It dropped the
package near her feet, and then proceeded to flop down on the floor in
front of her and roll over on its back. Him. It was definitely a him.

At her feet lay one of Donna's favorite throw pillows, its guts
savagely ripped out. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Josh
standing behind her.

"For some crazy reason you agreed to dog sit for someone, right?
That's what this is."

"Yeah...not exactly," Josh's voice rose a full octave, "but no worries
because he comes completely housebroken."

Donna's gaze dropped down to the viscously murdered throw pillow.
"All evidence to the contrary."

"Right. Chester! Bad dog!"

Chester, who was obviously a `he', had the gall to look not at all
chastened. His tail, swish-swish, didn't even skip a beat at the
sound of Josh's harsh approval. "Okay," she began, "I really would
like to know what's going on now."

"I got us a dog." Josh bent down to pick up the pillow and cast about
for a place to put before tossing it on the couch.

Which, of course, in the language of retrievers everywhere is the
international symbol for `fetch.' Chester leapt after the remnants of
the pillow landing squarely on the sofa with his heavy paws. His
teeth tore into it, his head jerking violently back and forth. Donna
felt the hope of repairing the item slipping swiftly away.

Something built inside her, a sound she hadn't used in a long time,
not even when Josh was at his most willful and childlike. A sound she
hadn't used since living in Wisconsin.

"Aaaaannnggh," she verbalized, aiming the full measure of her
displeasure at the dog. Chester responded instinctively, halting his
attack on the pillow, his ears perking up. Even his tail ceased its
wagging. She couldn't help but notice that Josh's head, too, snapped
in her direction, his eyes widening and his forehead wrinkling. "DROP
IT!"

The pillow fell from Chester's mouth.

"OFF!" She pointed to the ground. Chester slinked down off the couch
and onto the floor. "Sit." Chester obeyed, but the tail began its
swishing again. "Josh?" She pivoted towards him, her hands now
resting on her hips. "What is going on?"

"That was...amazing," he whispered, his voice tinged with awe.

"Please explain to me why you got a dog."

She watched as his mouth opened and then snapped shut. He ran his
hands through his hair and began to pace the floor. The dog, having
had enough of sitting for the time being, joined him. "Okay," he
finally said, winding up for what she could tell would be a rambling
oration that could only charitably be referred to as a prepared
speech. "Let's go back a bit. Why don't you...have a seat? I think I
can do this better if you're sitting down."

"Josh, you and the dog are both making me dizzy. Why don't you sit
down." Donna grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him to the dining
table. She pulled out a chair for him, before taking the one opposite.

TBC

****



Disclaimers in part 1

****

The Hardest Wager 17/18


This was not going as planned. He realized that the moment he'd
stopped them outside the door. Already his mind was replaying the
event and seeing all the ways he could have done better. Not that it
was a total loss. Yet.

"It may seem like I've gone over the deep end." He held both hands up
to ward off, or perhaps dilute, the glare in Donna's eyes. His heart
sank when there was no reaction from her. "God," he sighed, dropping
his head into his hands, "if ever there was a time when I needed you
to be in tune with me, it's now."

Chester leaned his full weight against Josh's side and placed his head
on the man's thigh. Either begging attention or possibly offering
moral support; Josh couldn't discern which. Accepting the latter and
offering the former, Josh placed his hand on the dog's head and began
rubbing Chester beneath one ear. Chester responded by closing his
eyes and giving in to the bliss.

"Okay. Back in the car you said that you were angry with me."

"No," Josh corrected. "I said I was angry with me...and then I was
angry with you."

"Explain."

"When you said you'd be okay with what you said you'd be okay with, I
just went with it. I guess because it seemed like the easiest thing
to do at the time. Or maybe because I was feeling a lot of pressure
and that seemed to alleviate it. Briefly."

"And that made you angry...why?"

"I let you down, Donna."

"What?" Donna asked, incredulously, torn between confusion and laughter.

"I remember that night I asked if you were really okay with not having
more and you said, `I don't want to do anything you don't want to do.'
If you think about it that really didn't answer my question." Josh's
voice trailed off for a moment before he began speaking again. "And
the thing is...I was so busy feeling relieved, I never bothered to ask
what you needed. What you wanted. That's when I let you down, Donna."

"So that's why you were angry?"

"Part of it...yeah."

"What's the other part of it? Why were angry with me?"

"Because you said all that in the first place. You said it because
you thought that's what I needed to hear, not because that's how you
really felt."

"Why should that make you angry?"

"Here's the thing...for as long as I've known you...you've been the most
selfless person I've ever met. From the moment we met you gave me
your all. You put up with crap from me when most people would have
given me a well-deserved kick in the ass. And that night you were
doing it again. Selflessly throwing yourself on the proverbial sword
and - worst of all - I let you." He took a fortifying breath and then
plunged back in. "I don't want you to make any more sacrifices
because you think that's what I need. I don't want you to lock away
your hopes and dreams because...I don't know...you think you might lose me
or something crazy like that. Because...let's face it...I need you a hell
of lot more than you need me."

"Josh, I-"

"When we spent that week in Hawaii, I told you that I was going all
in. I meant that. I want a life with you, because I still remember
what it was like when we were apart and I don't want a repeat of
that...ever. So, if you need something, you want to get married, you
want to have a baby, you tell me. You don't pretend to my face that
you're okay with settling for the alternative."

"Really?" Donna's eyes glistened with moisture and Josh stretched his
other hand across the table to take hers.

"I love you, Donna, and it's time I started proving that in ways that
have nothing to do with taking off your clothes."

Donna laughed, the sound of tears clogging her throat. "It's not that
I want to have a baby right now," she cried.

"It's not?"

"I admit it's been hard dealing with the First Lady's pregnancy. And
there were times when I was so...jealous of her." Donna sniffed and
cleared her throat to ease the tightness there. "I was sad that we
shut the door on the possibility."

"Then tell me what you need."

"I need to leave the door open, Josh."

Josh smirked, his dimples coming out in full force, as his hand
gripped hers more tightly. "Now, see? Was that so hard?"

"A little, yeah." Donna paused, glancing down at Chester who was
still blissed out by Josh's unconscious attentions. "Josh? None of
this explains why you got yourself a dog."

"Us," he corrected. "I got *us* a dog."

"Why was that again?"

"It's my grand gesture."

"Your grand gesture."

"Exactly. I thought about taking you someplace romantic, like the
Arboretum. But I can't think about the Arboretum without remembering
the night Zoey was taken. I even thought about buying us a house, but
that didn't turn out so well for Toby."

"Plus, you know I'd have your balls in a vice if you did that without
asking."

"Yes, the distinct possibility was mentioned." Josh grimaced at the
gut-curling imagery her words evoked. "When you said I wasn't ready
for more you weren't wrong, but you weren't entirely correct either."

"A lot of that seems to be going around."

"It was just a little too much, too soon. So I thought we could start
small. You know, move in together, which we've already done. Get a
pet. Check. Get married at some point in the not-too-distant future.
Buy a house. Start a family somewhere down the line. Baby steps -
no pun intended."

"So...Chester here symbolizes your desire to...move forward?"

"I knew you'd get it."

"But, Josh? A dog? That's a huge commitment." Donna pointed out.

"Not as much as having a child," he countered.

"Fair point."

"I thought you liked dogs."

"I do. I just wish we'd talked about it first."

"That's the downside with grand gestures. They're meant to be a
surprise."

"Mission accomplished." Donna examined the dog more closely from her
sitting position, and then something in her eyes changed. The harsh
tension that had been there since she'd seen Chester, dissipated and
her expression melted. "He is kind of adorable. You said he's trained?"

"And housebroken." It occurred to Josh that there would be no better
time to sell her on his decision and launched into his pitch. "I got
him through a rescue organization in Maryland that Erin's sister works
for. After my game with Charlie, I called Erin for some advice. She
was pissed that I called her on a Sunday though, can you imagine?"

"Yes, I can," Donna deadpanned.

"She calmed down once she realized I wasn't asking her to work. When
I explained what I wanted she fell all over herself trying to help.
Anyway, she got me an appointment to go to the kennel at noon."

"You did all this today?"

"Yeah, it didn't take as long as I thought. I looked at a couple of
dogs before they showed me Chester. I mentioned that Chester was a
great name for a dog and Erin's sister said that he was actually a
registered golden and that Chester was just a shortened version of his
name. When she told me his real name that's when I knew he was the
one. It was kismet."

"Okay, I'll bite. What's his real name?"

"Manchester Promise," Josh revealed. Donna's smile brimmed with
understanding. "So, I said I'd take him. I filled out the paperwork
and paid all the fees, and they even gave me a bunch of stuff to go
with him."

"Stuff?"

"Yeah, there's a crate and a leash and a giant bag of dog food. We
have to get him some toys though; otherwise he really will tear up the
place. Erin's sister said that if he has plenty of things to chew on,
he's less likely to chew on other stuff."

Donna held out a hand and snapped her fingers. Chester's head
swiveled in her direction, then back to Josh, mentally debated which
human was most likely to give the best scratch. Donna snapped again,
somehow making it known that it was a demand and not a request.
Chester lowered his head submissively and left Josh's side for
Donna's. "Sit. Good boy," she cooed, when Chester obeyed.

"You're really good at that."

"I've had years of practice. It's all about letting them know who the
alpha is."

"Suddenly many things about our relationship make sense."

"Look who's finally catching up," Donna rolled her eyes humorously,
while still scratching behind Chester's ears.

"I want to marry you, Donna."

Donna's head snapped up. "What?" she choked.

"Look, I'm no good at this stuff, and at this point there's no reason
to believe I ever will be. I thought of a hundred different scenarios
that were all incredibly romantic, but none of them seemed right.
None of them were...me."

"And this is...you?"

"Let me put this as simply as I can. I'm unromantic, and when I try
to be I'm no good at pulling it off. I'm always going to be saying
the wrong thing, especially when I want it to be right. I want to
marry you. I want to have all those things with you that we talked
about. I'm not ready of all of it yet, but I promise to try to be. I
promise to work on not being so scared. This is me, Donna. For
better or for worse. Take it or leave it." Josh ran out of breath
then, and was unable to inhale until Donna gave her answer.

"Oh, I'll take it."

*****

Following Josh's unconventional proposal and her happy acceptance,
they talked of their fears in a manner they'd never done before -
taking their partnership to what she considered a new level of
intimacy. The talk had left them both emotional, and Donna had
eventually suggested that Josh take Chester for a walk. He'd hastily
agreed, something she might have found suspect had she not known that
he was looking for an excuse to be alone, to pull himself together.

While Josh took Chester for a much needed walk Donna showered and
changed into her pajamas before she went about creating a comfortable
nook for the their new dog to sleep. The crate she placed in a corner
of the living room and inside she layered a few old towels that
remained from Josh's `bachelor' days, as well as an old terry cloth
bathrobe she'd replaced but hadn't gotten around to getting rid of yet.

Paperwork was right. Her task completed, Donna perused the packet of
items that came with Chester, including advice on the care and feeding
of golden retrievers, medical records, and a brief history of their
new pet.

Chester had once belonged to a retired couple of empty nesters who had
purchased him in hopes that he would provide companionship and love.
From the accounts, Chester had fulfilled their wishes for the first
three years of his life. And then, without warning, tragedy struck.

Early one morning, a fire had broken out in the couple's home.
Trapped in his crate in the mudroom, Chester could do nothing but bark
and whine. By the time rescue workers had arrived much of the home
had been destroyed, and Chester's beloved owners were dead. The dog
was found, unconscious from smoke inhalation, by responding
firefighters who provided oxygen to bring him around. He was taken to
an emergency veterinarian until his owners' next of kin could be notified.

The couples' daughter (name withheld) unable to cope with her parents
death had decided to surrender the dog to the rescue in hopes that he
would find a new forever home.

Donna's heart, understandably raw from her earlier talk with Josh,
went out to Chester when she read his story and she couldn't help but
wonder if the history she was reading was another reason Josh chose
this particular dog. Chester wasn't the only one in this "family"
that had nearly lost everything in a fire.

One of his fears they had discussed had been the fear of loving and
then losing a child. He was intimately familiar with the aftermath of
such a horror.

Donna was folding the paperwork and returning it to the envelope when
she heard Josh and Chester at the door.

Smiling, she soaked in the sight of `her boys'. Josh looked a little
worse for the wear, while Chester was energized. The dog had the
leash clipped to his collar, but his teeth gripped the leash about
halfway up and he was embroiled in a one-sided game of tug-of-war with
Josh.

"How did it go?" she snickered.

"Great!" Josh answered sarcastically. "Although there could be some
debate over who was walking whom."

"You have to be firm," she reminded him. "You have to show him who's
boss." With a sultry tone and bedroom eyes she continued, "I know you
know how to do that."

It amazed her that after weeks of indecision and uneasiness they could
slip so easily back into their thing. Their earlier confession
session had gone a long way to ease her anxieties and Josh, too,
appeared to be more relaxed.

"Donna," Josh reprimanded with an aroused squeak, "not in front of the
child."

Standing from her seat at the dining table she crossed to Chester and
leaned down to unclip his leash. Chester responded by flopping down
to the floor with a groan and rolling over on his back, making
reaching the clip slightly more of a challenge. Once the mission was
accomplished she gave his belly a scratch and patted him on the leg.

Josh's hands on her hips pulled her to him. Donna turned and wrapped
her arms around his waist, placing her head on his shoulder. Josh
released his hold on the leash and snaked his arms around her.

She felt much of the tension of the last few months seep out of her as
his skilled hands traced up and down her spine.

They'd talked for a while longer after she'd accepted his proposal.
An event which she was still struggling to believe was real. It
seemed that Josh, whose strategies were brilliant, but whose plans
inevitably lacked coherency (or intelligence of any kind), had
succinctly presented a plan for their future. Well thought out, but
allowing for deviation, the plan included a wedding within the next
twelve months. They both agreed that after two years of marriage they
would revisit the idea of having a child and that, in the interim,
Josh would work a little harder on not finding the concept quite so
paralyzing.

Even if it was a plan they couldn't adhere to completely, she felt
infinitely better knowing it was there to fall back on. It also
helped knowing Josh had been its author and that he was willing to
speak freely about the things that frightened him. Especially those
aspects that potentially affected their partnership and the future,
which had a nasty tendency to be so damned nebulous.

"You were reading his history when I came in?" Josh's voice had
dropped, and his tone informed her that he too knew about Chester's
first life.

"Uh huh," she murmured. "It wasn't just because of his name that you
chose him. Was it?"

"I told you," he answered, soberly. "It was kismet."

"You're two peas in a pod."

She caressed his cheek with one hand before turning his head and
taking his lips with her own. After a leisurely kiss that kindled a
fire within both of them she pulled back, a groan from Josh
demonstrating his disappointment. Donna met his warm brown eyes with
hers and quietly announced, "We're going to be okay."

"We are," he agreed. "We're going to be better than okay. Why shoot
for mediocrity?"

"Why, indeed." She placed an open-mouthed kiss on his neck that sent
a shiver through him. "Remember what you said earlier about it being
time you proved your love in ways that had nothing to do with taking
my clothes off?"

"Mmmmm. I do."

"I just wanted to let you know I still like that you can prove your
love in ways that do involve taking my clothes off."

"Good to know," he smirked. "I should point out that one of the men
in this household has been neutered, and you'll be happy to know it
wasn't me."

Pressing her hips more snugly to his she pointedly purred, "I think I
knew that already."

"What do you say you take me to bed and show me who's boss."

Donna couldn't control the giggle that bubbled up from within. "Oh,"
she laughed, "so it's my turn tonight?"

"What can I say? It gets me hot when you're the alpha."

Donna untangled herself from Josh's arms and led Chester across the
room. "Chester," she demanded firmly, pointing to the open door of
his kennel. "Crate."

His tail still wagging, Chester entered the crate, turned around and
sat down. He stared up at Donna with a look in his eyes that could
only be described as hero-worship. Donna rewarded him with a treat
and scratch behind the ears before closing the kennel door. "If only
you'd been that easy to train," she lamented to Josh.

"I'm easy now," he chuckled.

She pulled her tank top over her head as she walked toward the
bedroom, tossing it over her shoulder with a come hither glance
towards her new fianc‚. "Come along, Josh."

Josh easily caught the fluttering fabric in mid-flight. "Yes, dear,"
he grinned, following behind her, his line of sight glued to her
delicious backside.




TBC - There are two versions of Chapter 18. Stay on JDFF for the PG
version. Go to JDFFNC-17 for the smutty version.

****



See part 1 in disclaimers


The NC-17 version of this chapter can be found at JDFFNC-17.

****

The Hardest Wager 18/18
PG Version.


She awoke later groggy and dazed; the bedside clock revealing that
she'd only dozed for a quarter of an hour. It was usually Josh that
succumbed to sleep straight after sex, but she chalked her exhaustion
up to a weekend of hard labor and even harder reflection.

Snuggling back into Josh's chest, she noticed something new and
different. The third finger of her left hand, which had previously
been naked like the rest of her, now hosted a gorgeous diamond ring.
She brought her hand closer to her eyes to study it in the dim light
of the room. Sometime after she dozed he must have slipped it on her
finger. Either she'd been out cold, or Josh had utilized a heretofore
undiscovered talent for stealth.

Her weekend must have really taken it out of her.

The ring winked at her, bragging of its clarity and the many facets of
its cut. It was simple but elegant, wholly appropriate for their
professional positions yet reminiscent of their past together.

"You like it?" His voice was gravelly and unintentionally sexy.

Her head turned up to his. She hadn't realized he'd been awake.
"It's beautiful," she answered.

"It's us," he countered.

Donna caressed the underside of the band with her thumb, liking the
feel of a ring on that particular finger. She blushed at her own
secret admission. "We should...set a date?" she suggested.

"I was thinking April," he smirked.

"I was thinking February," she countered, pinching him on the hip.

"Ow! That's going to leave a mark. How about we split the difference?"

"March?"

"But not the 15th."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snickered.

"I think you and I have tempted Fate enough in our acquaintance. I
refuse to get married on the Ides of March. Shall we have a Saint
Patrick's Day wedding for my Irish bride?"

"Half-Irish," she corrected, "and there's no way I'm having green beer
at my wedding."

Josh harrumphed with melodramatic disappointment, causing Donna to
chuckle. "There's also Passover to consider. I'll look at our
calendars and see what I can come up with."

"You do that."

He pulled her tighter into his embrace and kissed the top of her head.
She molded her body against his and sighed deeply. "We're really
going to do this," she whispered in awe.

"We really are," he assured her. "Get some sleep. There's a lot to
do tomorrow."

She fell asleep while concocting a to-do list that had nothing to do
running a country, and everything to do with planning a wedding.

****

Monday night Matt found his wife lounging in silk pajamas in the
middle of their king-sized bed. It had been an unusually long and
busy day of governing the world's last superpower and he hadn't seen
her since breakfast this morning. Just the sight of her eased his
mind and relaxed his spirit.

"Sorry, I missed dinner," he said.

Helen, flipping through a magazine, smiled brilliantly up at him.
"It's okay," she said, then turned back to her reading. "I know you
were busy. Are you up for the night?"

Matt flopped down next to her on the bed and placed his hand on her
extended belly. "Yeah," he answered. "Is the baby kicking much today?"

"Some," she informed, turning another page in the magazine. "Not too
much."

Bemused by her seemingly flippant response to his presence her cocked
an eyebrow at her. "What are you reading?" Matt flipped the cover
up, so he could read the title. "Bride Magazine? Isn't it either way
too late or way to early for you to be reading that? Shouldn't you be
reading magazines about babies?"

"I told a friend I'd help her plan," Helen lay the magazine down in
what remained of her steadily shrinking lap.

Matt's ears perked up, as did his eyebrows. "Oh, really?" he drawled.
"Do I know this friend?"

"You do."

"Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

"Donna had a new piece of jewelry on her ring finger this morning."

"Josh didn't mention anything," Matt huffed. "All day long he's been
in my face about everything from choosing a new SecNav to raising
taxes on casino revenues. Not once...not once did he mention getting
engaged! He must be punished." Matt rocketed off the bed and began
to pace, an evil gin lighting his face. "I'm just going to have to
make sure he's so busy he doesn't even *see* Donna for the next few
nights."

"A punishment that sounds completely unfair to Donna. Who is my
friend, by the way," Helen pointed out. "Who was there for me when I
was worried that this pregnancy would reflect badly on your
administration. Donna was there for me when I had no idea what I was
doing when it came to being the First Lady of the United States.
You're really going to punish Donna?" Helen pouted, while
simultaneously pinning her husband with a telling glare.

"Maybe not."

"I didn't think so," Helen flipped another page of the magazine.
"Because I know the man I love would never do that sort of thing."

"There must be some way I can punish him."

"Why, Matt? Because you're hurt that he didn't come running to his
Commander-in-Chief when Donna said yes?"

"Yes!" he shouted, before quickly correcting with a too-hasty `no'.
"Where would they be without us, Helen? We've watched them dance
around this for two whole years! That's insanity."

"I agree, honey," she murmured.

"Of course I always knew there was an attraction back on the campaign.
You'd have to be blind not to notice! I thought for sure he'd have a
ring on her finger by the end of the transition. I tried," he
confessed, "I tried to let the man have his space, give him his lead,
but it became clear that some guys you just have to push."

"And push you did."

"That's right."

"You are a regular Cupid," Helen soothed. Matt sensed a distinct
level of mock in her tone. "Does the man have no respect for the
efforts you expended to bring him and Donna together?"

"That's what I'm saying."

"All those romantic dinners you sent them on," she said.

"Huh?"

"Then throwing them together in situation after situation until they'd
been forced to recognize their love for each other. That was a truly
inspired aspect of your plan -- so subtle as to be practically
unnoticeable."

"Wait a minute."

"Secretly sending her flowers and chocolates, but signing Josh's name-"

"Okay, you can stop now. I get your point."

"Matt, if you had anything to do with getting Josh and Donna together,
your role was insignificant...at best."

"Do you know how long it's been since anyone has called me insignificant?"

"Just a tiny little cog in the wheel of the universe," she chuckled,
elongating the vowel in `tiny'. "It's been in the works a lot longer
than you or I have ever known either of them."

"I guess," Matt admitted, sinking back onto the mattress. "Can you
imagine knowing them back then?"

"I hesitate to consider it."

"I would have killed one or both of them after the second year. How
President Bartlet put up with it, I'll never know.

"Perhaps you can ask him on March 20th."

"What's March 20th?"

"The wedding."

Matt clambered to the head of the bed and took his wife into his arms.
Gripping the magazine he disconnected it from her hands and threw it
across the room. "Later for that," he demanded.

"You had a better idea?"

"I did, indeed."

"And that would be...?"

"Right now, I thought I'd show you just how significant I am." Helen
laughed and tilted her head back; allowing Matt to attach his mouth to
her inviting neck.

"You're so easy," she mock-scolded.

"Only for you, babe," Matt grunted, his mouth occupied with teasing
Helen's sensitive neck, "Only for you." As he feasted on his wife's
delectable flesh another thought occurred to him. He lifted his head
with a snap. "Can I at least claim credit for doing what President
Bartlet couldn't?"

"Well, they did get engaged on your watch. I'd say if it makes you
happy, then you can take credit."

"It does," he grinned. "You know what else makes me happy?"

"What?"

"This," he announced, lowering his mouth back to his wife and
capturing her earlobe between his teeth,

"That makes me happy too," she declared, sinking into his embrace.

THE END


****



AN: Sorry this has taken so long. I had to completely rethink the
epilogue because my beta read it and said, "There's like...two more
stories in here." So, I wasn't originally planning a sequel or
anything, but now it looks like there will be at least one.

Yeah, I know you guys are all broken up about that.

Anyway, a lot stuff I wasn't expecting came out when I wrote the first
epilogue that is going to serve as the outline, more or less, for at
least one more story -- possibly two. But I'm not making any promises.

Don't be holding your breath though, because it's my personal policy
not to post stories until they're done -- just in case I'm struck with
a massive case of writer's block (keep your fingers crossed). So it
could be a couple of weeks before you see anything. Sorry. Also, my
mind won't be swayed on the waiting-til-it's-done issue, so please
don't try.

That's all -- and here's the epilogue.






****

The Hardest Wager: Epilogue



Donna watched Josh worriedly from the corner of her eye. Like
hospitals, churches tended to be a font of bad memories for him.
Places filled with bereavement and heartrending whirlpools of loss;
spaces where words echoed like gunshots. The last time he'd been
here, in the National Cathedral, was to say his final goodbyes to his
mentor; a man who had -- more than once -- altered the course of
Josh's life.

But today was meant to be different; a day filled with joy and promise
for the future. He seemed nervous; his hands clasped tightly, too
tightly, behind his back, as though conscious of his own tendency to
fidget and therefore taking all measures to hold back the inclination.
Donna's lips twitched in a lopsided smile when she caught his eyes.
The wrinkles of anxiety melted from his brow and he gifted her with a
smile in return. For a moment it was as if there was no one else in
the cavernous hall. No guests, no dignitaries, and no priest.

After completing the beginning part of the ceremony, the priest turned
to the couple and spoke, bursting the bubble of isolation around them.

"Joshua and Donnatella, as Sponsors to this child, God will give you
the wisdom and ability to hold within your heart forever its spiritual
welfare. You are charged with the responsibility of seeing to the
welfare of this child should the need arise and it is you who stands
as spiritual counselors. Do you accept this duty and charge?"

"We do," they spoke in unison, though Josh's voice sounded slightly
less confident than Donna's.

"Do you promise to love, honor, support and encourage this child
throughout its life?"

"We do." Again, they complied, though this time Josh's voice was firm
and sure.

When Matt and Helen had asked Josh and Donna to serve as Godparents to
their unborn child, Donna had happily agreed, but Josh had been
floored - to say the least. He worried and deliberated his decision
long before reluctantly accepting. He'd had difficulty picturing
himself as anyone's "spiritual counselor", and he'd expressed these
concerns to the President. Matt, however, waved off his concerns,
informing Josh that he and his wife merely wanted someone they could
trust to see to the child's welfare in the event of the unthinkable.

The open and honest display of trust had been the final gust that
shoved him off the cliff. Though still terrified at the implications
of making the vow, he was proud of the President's faith and belief in
him.

As practiced, Helen Santos turned to Josh and placed the sleeping
bundle, swathed in yards of white satin and lace, in his waiting arms.
He cleared his throat nervously, and Donna noticed a bead of sweat
popping out on his forehead. The wrinkles of anxiety returned for a
repeat performance, but a reassuring smile and nod from the First
Lady, eased the tension. Josh, bundle in his arms, stepped with Donna
toward the priest and the dais. Matt and Helen took their positions
on either side of them.

The priest, adorned in his formal robes, asked the infant's parents.
"What names have you chosen for this child?"

"Noelle Evangeline." Matt and Helen spoke with one voice.

"So be it," the priest declared. "We christen you Noelle Evangeline
Santos in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
I christen you that you may know the pure and holy spirit of God,
your eternal source of faith. May you come to know God within your
heart all the days of you life, and express your highest potential in
Christian service." His voice and cadence soared through the chapel,
filling all present with a sense of warmth and possibility.

With due reverence, the priest poured holy water on the infant's head,
causing her to squirm and protest in Josh's arms. With an instinct
Donna found both surprising and promising, Josh rocked the baby in his
arms to ease her distress. Carefully he lifted his right hand and
tickled the baby's palm with his index finger. Noelle's tiny digits
(with tiny fingernails!) wrapped reflexively around the offered
plaything, bringing out a never-before-witnessed smile of tenderness
from Josh.

"I baptize thee in the name of the Father, in the name of the Son, and
in the name of the Holy Spirit."

Matt and Helen, in turn, repeated these words and made the symbol of
the cross on Noelle's forehead.

"Let us pray." All heads bowed in response to the priest's edict, as
his voice once again carried throughout the cathedral. "Almighty God,
to whom all hearts are open, all desires are known, and from whom no
secret is kept...."

The ceremony continued with a personal blessing and candle ceremony
before the final benediction, and was later followed by a photo op
with the entire family on the steps of the Cathedral, where Noelle's
name was officially revealed to the press.

Dignitaries and other guests gathered at the White House for a
reception where refreshments were served. Donna was engaged in
conversation with the Democratic Senator from Wisconsin when Josh
approached her with a glass of white wine in one hand and red in the
other.

"Excuse me, Senator." She politely nodded goodbye and decamped to
Josh's side. "There you are." She relieved him of the glass of white
wine and chastely kissed him on the lips. "Where have you been?"

"Around," he answered cryptically.

"The Sit Room?"

He nodded slightly and took a sip of wine. "Just getting some
updates. No need to worry, yet."

"That's good. Are you okay?" Donna stroked his upper arm with her
free hand.

"Fine."

"I was very proud of you today," she whispered.

"All I did was say a couple of `we dos' and hold the baby for a few
minutes."

"Yes, but you were very composed, even though I know you were freaking
out on the inside."

"I was not!"

"And your baby-soothing technique was stellar."

"Really?" His brow wrinkled once more, but one dimple managed to
express his earnest desire for her compliment to be the truth.

"Really," she confirmed. "Gives me hope."

"Well, I'm trying."

"I can tell. It was really very cute."

"What was cute?"

"The way you watched her face so intently."

Josh scoffed, his voice filled with a machismo only she would
recognize as false. "I was looking for signs of imminent vomiting.
This is my best suit, you know."

"She's got you hook, line and sinker."

He pinned her with a glare before relenting beneath the knowing weight
of her grin. "Fine," he consented. "But let's you and I be clear on
something. My...devotion...or whatever you want to call it, to our
goddaughter in no way reflects a readiness, on my part, for producing
offspring of my own at this time. We're sticking to the plan," he
declared.

"You sounded a little bit like Ainsley just then," she snorted.

"Shut up," he groused. "Sticking to the plan," he repeated, gesturing
for emphasis.

"I like the plan, Joshua. It's a good plan."

"Damn straight."

"But you should take into account that if you spend a lot of time with
Noelle then you might be ready to have a baby ahead of schedule."

"I make no promises."

"I'm placing faith in your overachieving nature."

"How about we worry about getting married first?" His fingers
threaded with hers, toying briefly with the ring on her finger.

"Okay," she grinned.

"You think we can get out of here soon?"

"I don't know...can we?"

"We'll have to inform the President and Mrs. Santos of our intentions
to leave," he pointed out. Her gaze followed his to a table across
the room, where the Matt and Helen Santos held court with `America's
Little Princess.' Donna knew Josh had no problem with this prospect,
but she also knew what he was hiding beneath his unsure expression.

"I already took care of it," she informed him.

"You did?"

"Yeah. They said that if we were needed the switchboard would contact
us."

"Oh." He sounded uncharacteristically disappointed.

"Perhaps there's someone else over there you want to say goodbye to,"
she suggested with a knowing, lopsided smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Josh shrugged, and then
placed his empty wine glass on a tray carried by a passing porter.

"Let's go then." She deposited her glass on another passing tray and
reached down to grab his hand. "I've been fantasizing all day about
taking that suit off you."

"Wait," he said, tugging her to a stop.

Donna giggled. Her plan had worked. "Yes?"

Josh turned back to look at the table where the Santos family was
seated. "I just need to ask the President something."

"Josh," she rolled her eyes. "Fine. Go say goodbye to Noelle, but
don't take long."

"I was not going to...you see there's this thing with the...I forgot there
was something...." Josh's voice trailed off and his shoulders slumped
in defeat. "I'll just be a minute."

"I won't tell anyone that the big, bad Chief of Staff is a sucker for
babies."

"Who do you think you're kidding? You're going to leak it to the press."

"Probably," she agreed.

"No one will ever take me seriously again," he whined.

"Don't be silly, Josh. No one's ever taken you seriously," she
countered. The laughter in her voice belied the insult of her words.
"Go...I'll have them bring the car around. I'll meet you at the
Northwest entrance."

"'Kay," he spun around and sauntered away, making a beeline for the
Santos' table. She watched him for a moment. The President
trustingly handed Noelle to Josh and she couldn't help but be struck
by an enormous flash of hope.

He would be ready, she knew. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but
soon. After they were married and, in one year, when they've won
Santos another term, he would be ready to take the next step. After
collecting her coat she left the reception behind, languorously making
her way to the building's exit, her hands tucked in her pockets and a
wistful, whimsical smile on her face. Josh would be a few more
minutes so she felt no need to rush.

Outside, as she waited for the car to be brought around, she turned
her head up to the Sunday afternoon sun, soaking in its residual
warmth. But what she felt inside, in the center of her chest, had
nothing to do with the sun. It was the kind of feeling you get when
something goes right. The kind of feeling you get when puzzle pieces,
scattered but whole, finally fall into place after a difficult and
time-consuming struggle.

The kind of ambient glow you feel when you discover a long-nurtured
faith has been rewarded.


The End. Really.


*****

A few more notes from the author:

1. The text from the ceremony was taken from a website on Catholic
ritual -- I didn't write it or nuthin'

2. If you're thinking about adopting a dog, please, please, please
research animal rescues in your area. There are a lot of older pets
that need good forever homes.

I guess that's it. Hope to see you again soon!


Lacy