Title: Keys
Author: coffeeplease
Rating: Between TEEN and MATURE (nothing too dirty, swears)
Category: angst, comedy, future, a bit of everything
Spoiler Info: Everything up to "The Cold"
Disclaimer: WB, NBC, John Wells, Aaron Sorkin.... owners. I just lease
and try not to stain the carpet. Lawsuits don't look good on me.
E-mail address for feedback: jamhandy1@yahoo.com
Archiving permission: Sure, just tell me first
Notes: It's really late, but I had to write this. Please let me know
what you think of it. A series of vignettes. Some of the health
matters I probably got wrong; I'm not a doctor. And I stole a line
from an episode of "Roseanne": ten points to anyone who can name which
one.



He didn't take the key.

I wash my face, brush my teeth and get ready for bed. I refuse to get
upset; instead, I compartmentalize. This whole incident can go in a
little box in the back of my brain, to be reopened fifty years down
the road when I'm looking for a laugh. I instead think about the many
phone calls I have to return.

Thank God I have a career that allows no time to wallow.

Oregon tomorrow. I don't think we should be doing this event, but some
California news stations are bound to pick it up, which means free air
time. Then on to Nevada, Las Vegas. Why couldn't I have just waited
and gambled there?

It was too forward of me. Too much for him; Josh's instinct is
strategy, not immediate action. Maybe I read the tea leaves wrong. A
strong woman would have done this years ago, simply so she could have
moved past the rejection by now. If I had passed him my key years ago,
I wouldn't feel deflated right now.

Those thoughts are just me wallowing. I plug my cell phone into the
wall and pull down the covers. I turn out the lights.

**************************

I didn't get to the key in time.

I run my hands through my hair. I'm sitting on the edge of my bed,
still in my suit and tie. Hell, I'm still wearing my jacket. It's not
like I'm going anywhere, though. It's not like I'm a strong enough man
to just go find her room.

I need to look over the schedule for tomorrow again; I don't think
Santos should go to Oregon. We've got Oregon the bag, even though the
press coverage will probably seep into Northern California. Maybe I
should just have him go to California.

Despite my swagger and the fan girls, I rarely get propositioned. I've
never had a woman attempt to pass me her hotel key before. Donna's
never done that before. If she had, I would have remembered. If she
had before...

If I had known she was willing, I may have done things differently.
But what would I have done, fired her so we could sleep together?
That's unethical and probably illegal, too. Would she have quit? Was
that what she was doing when she did quit?

No, that absolutely was not what she was doing when she quit. I know
enough to know that. I probably shouldn't ruminate too long on her
quitting. I won't be able to sleep. I'll worry that she'll do it
again. Oh God, what if she does? What if she decides it's too awkward
now and leaves?

We have to talk tomorrow. Not tomorrow; we're in separate states
tomorrow and we can't do this over the phone. Fuck.

I wish I had just taken that key.

*********************

We can't find his key.

This would be funny if it wasn't 4:58 in the morning. We're supposed
to catch a flight back to DC at seven. Which means we're supposed to
leave in a half-hour, which means he has to get to his room, shower,
shave, pack and be downstairs in about thirty minutes. We got about
two hours of sleep last night.

"I left it on the night stand, I swear to God."

I'm ripping the covers off the bed; maybe it got tangled in with them.
"Did you check your pants?"

"Donna, it's not in my pants."

I bite back the obvious reply.

He does not. "Well, it is in my pants, but we've only got thirty minutes, so..."

True to form, at this moment, there's a knock on my door.

We both stand there for a moment and then he races into the bathroom
to hide. Never mind the fact that his clothes are strewn all over the
place, along with two ripped Trojan wrappers and...

Oh, gross.

Whomever it is, they just keep knocking. Josh sticks his head of the
bathroom and mouths to me. "You gotta get that."

I pick up what I found on the floor and give him the same look I used
to give him after he pissed off half of Congress. His eyebrows raise
and he makes a face as he takes the offending item from me. He manages
to snare his pants, too, and bolts back to his hiding place.

He's just into the bathroom when I open the door. "Good morning, Bram."

"Hey, Donna."

I block his view of the room with my body. "What's up?"

"New numbers from Wisconsin and Indiana. Plus, a new CBS has us up three."

"Great!" I'm genuinely excited; however, Bram has to leave now. "I'll
see you downstairs."

Bram, however, does not get the point. Sometimes the pretty ones don't
pick up on subtlety. Also, he looks somewhat chagrined and nervous.
Seems like he drew the short straw on something. The part of me that
is slightly paranoid begins worrying.

He clears his throat. "Yeah. I was going to tell Josh, but I can't
find him. I knocked, Ronna knocked, Edie knocked..."

"He's a pretty sound sleeper." He isn't but now I'm sure Bram is
wondering how I know that. Well, I can just pass that off as knowledge
I gleaned from years of being his assistant.

Bram just shrugs.

"Did you call him on the phone?" No, you didn't Bram. I know because
the phone is on the night stand. Not the key, but the phone. If the
key were on the night stand, we wouldn't be having this conversation
now.

"No, but..." Bram stops. And an oh-so-familiar voice comes from behind
my shoulder.

"What's the margin of error on the CBS again?"

Bram looks stunned. Oh, pretty boy, don't tell me you didn't suspect
something. Or, more likely, Ronna and Edie suspected something and
they filled you in.

He recovers. "Four points."

Josh leans into me a bit. "Okay. Go find me an issue breakdown and
we'll meet downstairs in 25 minutes. And call next time."

I shut the door in Bram's face, which is still a mask of shock. Josh
sits on the bed and begins pulling his pants on. He begins to talk. "I
need you to do some interviews today. Hype the poll... especially if
we get some big jumps on "shares our values." CNN would be good; not
MSNBC, I don't like the way Keith Olbemann looks at you..." He looks
up at me and grins cockily. I just look back at him. "What?"

I can't help but smile back. "You know that Bram is now telling Edie
and Ronna..."

He walks over to me and kisses me before I can go any further.

And what can I do but keep smiling. "You brushed your teeth."

"Anything for you, dear."

"But you couldn't put your pants on."

He smirks. "I just wanted to see the look on Bram's face."

I notice something his hand. "Oh, good. You found your key. Where was it?"

The smirk disappears. Now he just looks sheepish.

"It was in my pants."

***************************

"Give me your key to my apartment."

Wow, that was not the look on her face that I was going for.

"What?!?" She sounds annoyed, hurt, angry... yet again, Josh Lyman
goes for sweet and misses on the delivery.

"Trust me. Don't get upset. Just trust me. This isn't a bad thing."

She looks confused, but that might be the bottle of Chardonnay we've
already drank. They haven't even brought the salads out yet. I thought
this place was supposed to be one of the best in DC. They sat us at an
excellent table, grant you, but I haven't seen our waiter since
Bartlet's first term.

Donna bends down under the table to get her bag, which gives me a
wonderful shot of her cleavage. I love wonderful shots of her
cleavage. I can see and touch and taste both of them pretty much
whenever I want now, but the thrill of seeing them partially hidden is
potent and arousing. If the waiter doesn't bring the salad within the
next ten minutes, I'm taking her on the table.

I take another sip of wine and smile at her as she digs through her
purse. "Why do you want my key back, Josh?" She still sounds pissed.

"I... I don't... trust me on this, okay?"

There are about ten thousands keys on Donna's key ring, so we may get
through dessert before she actually finds mine. Is Freeride's key
still on that thing? And if so, will she give it to me, along with his
address, a physical description and a large polo mallet?

She takes mine off the ring and hands them to me.

I clear my throat. I have to do this right. This is the dry run, the
dress rehearsal. The next time I give a speech like this to Donna, I'm
going to be on one knee with a ring. That is, if I don't completely
screw up this one.

With a sense of timing I thought was only reserved for Bram and Ronna,
the waiter brings the salads. Donna smiles tepidly at him. I order us
another bottle of wine.

She doesn't pick up her fork and start eating. She looks at me
instead. I didn't think I'd have to do this with salad on the table;
not the mood I was going for.

Nevertheless, I dive in. "I gave you this key, what, a decade ago?"

Her anger seems to have warn off and now she just looks curious and a
bit apprehensive as to where I'm going with this. I can read her
moods. Like I just said, it's been a decade. "Yeah."

"You were my assistant. I gave you this key so you could check my mail
when I was gone and, you know, water my plants."

"You don't have any plants."

"Water my proverbial plants." Wow, now that just put sex with Donna
right back into my head. Not that the thought ever is far away or
anything. And yes, thoughts of sex with Donna are a decade old, too.

She licks her lips. I'll do her on the table right now; I don't care
that the salad dressing will mess up her dress.

She reads my mind. "That sounds dirty, Joshua."

I have to steer this back the original point before my pants explode.
"Well, anyway, I gave this key to you as my assistant a decade ago."

"Yes."

"I wanted you to give it back to me... so I could... so I could give
it back to you. Give it back to you, not as my assistant. And to ask
you... I'm asking... I'd like you to move in with me."

She stares at me. Her eyes wide, her mouth open. She stares for about
two minutes, during which the silence becomes unnerving. "Donna, don't
leave me hanging like this..."

Then she smiles.

Oh brother. My heart explodes.

She holds out her hand and I press the key into it. Still holding her
hand, I lean over the salad, as does she. We kiss briefly above the
salads and I close her hand around the key.

We start to eat our salads, still grinning at each other like fools.
My heart has yet to recover from its explosion earlier. To think I was
so worried about my pants.

***************************

I'm shaking when I put the car key in the ignition.

He collapsed, they said. Right there in the Oval. That's the part
stuck in my mind: how could Josh collapse in the Oval? He wouldn't do
such a thing. The room is too sacred to him. That's not Josh. My
husband didn't just collapse...

Fuck it. I'm not driving.

I hail a taxi instead and get to GW. I hate everything that's playing
in my head right now. I'm not going to get there and see Toby, C.J.
and Charlie in a room, right? That's not what's going to happen. I'm
not going to have to sit in one of those uncomfortable chairs. Josh
probably has already been released.

I get there and they tell me where to go. I pace. Shouldn't someone
come out and tell the wife something? Isn't that the way this works?

It seems like I've been waiting since the Santos' first term. At this
point, my head is about to explode. I'm near hysteria, panic,
everything grips me at once. Ronna and Bram are there, but I don't
even see them. This is different then the last time. Worse, even.

When Ronna sits me down, she pats my hand. It's not the same as Mrs.
Landingham. "Everything's going to be fine, Donna."

I look at her and everything just rushes to me. My voice doesn't even
sound like mine when I tell her, "Ronna, I've been with him since I
was twenty-four years old."

She looks confused, but I'm not going to explain. I'm not lying; in
fact, I don't think I've ever said anything more true.

The doctor comes out and talks to me. He says the most beautiful words
in the English language. "Mrs. Lyman, your husband is fine."

Then he goes into the harder stuff. Not a heart attack, but his heart
isn't in great shape. He absolutely has to have less stress in his
life or he will have that debilitating heart attack within the year.
And yes, he would have a much, much stronger heart had two fucking
white supremacist ass holes not shot a bullet in him over a decade
ago.

I wish the secret service hadn't killed them so I could do it myself right now.

When I see him, he grins sweetly at me. I figure it's the medication.
He's embarrassed about passing out in the Oval. The relief of seeing
him, seeing him smile calms me down so much that I remember.

I remember I left my car key in the ignition.

***************************

He's pounding on the piano keys again.

He's taking lessons, but I don't see (well, hear) much improvement. Of
course, he's only six. I'm sure Beethoven wasn't gifted at... okay,
bad example.

His sister sits in front of me as I flip through the channels and she
covers her ears dramatically. She's a drama queen, my little girl. I
wouldn't have her any other way, although her mother blames that
particular character trait on me. I'm not the one who had drama as one
of their thirty-seven majors, but I let it slide.

She crawls up on the couch next to me and lays her head on my arm. I
kiss the top of her head and keep flipping. Baseball game, baseball
game, please tell me there's a baseball game...

"Josh?"

I hear Donna over the racket. I glance behind me at the staircase.

"What?"

"Can you come up here a second?"

I flip back to the cartoon channel and hand the remote to my daughter.
"I'll be right back."

I climb the stairs and see her sitting on the bed, her top off,
feeling around her breast. And it's just like that. Panic, more panic
than I've ever felt in my life save one CODEL explosion, fills me. I
already know what she's going to ask, but I walk in and sit next to
her. "What's going on?"

"When we've been making love recently, have you felt anything?"

She's touching around a spot on her left breast and I'm forgetting to
breath. "No."

She sees my face and smiles weakly at me. "Josh, women get them, you
know, for other reasons. Caffeine."

I place my hand over hers and began feeling. This may be the first
time that touching Donna's breast hasn't turned me on. I don't know
how to do this, how to check, but I feel a small lump.

"Don't panic, Josh."

How is it that she's telling me not to panic?

She stands up and puts her shirt back on. Downstairs, our son isn't
quite getting "Heart and Soul." Our daughter is watching cartoons. And
I know I'm going to remember this moment for the rest of my life.

Oh God, I've been with this woman for most of my adult life. You could
say the first decade or so we weren't with each other, but I don't
feel that way. What am I going to do if...

She kisses me. "I'll call the doctor right now and make an appointment."

I nod and pull her to me. I hug her so fiercely I'm afraid she might break.

A week later, I find out that Donna was right. The lump is benign and
we celebrate late into the night.

It's nine months later and I have another little girl.

My son still can't play the piano

***************************

I push the key toward him.

He looks down at the key and then back up at me. There are other
people at the table talking, but I tune them out. All I can hear is my
heart beating and Billie Holiday. "Body and Soul."

He looks into my eyes.

He takes the key.

Then the smirk: "You shouldn't give me the key. I can't work 'em and I
always lose 'em."

I push the gray strands of hair away from my face. A second ago, I had
the strangest feeling this had happened before, but the feeling's gone
now.

"You've gotten a lot better at it over the years."

He leans back and squints at me. "Only because of you."

I take a sip of wine. "You're getting maudlin in your old age, Josh."

"Old age?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Why are we at this hotel again?"

The smirk returns. I've spent the last fifty years staring at it. I'd
gladly spend fifty more. "I believe one of our children is getting
married."

"Yeah, we're old now, Josh."

"I'm old. You're still young and beautiful."

I cackle at that. I stand up and hold out a hand to him. We should be
getting to bed; no late nights for us anymore. "Whatever you say,
Joshua."

We shuffle off towards the elevator. He grips my arm; the man is still
too proud to use a cane in public. I know I don't have fifty more
years with him. Hell, I myself don't have fifty years left on this
planet. But I bargain with God every night for one more year with him.

He presses for the elevator and looks around. "Are you sure we aren't
at this hotel because we're trying to elect a president?"

I smile at him. "No, we've done that before."

"Did it a couple times, I remember."

We get into the elevator and I remember another elevator ride, so many
years ago, when we couldn't even look at each other. And then I
remember the key.

"Hey, I just had the strangest memory..."

"When you passed me your hotel key during the Santos campaign and
Ronna grabbed it before I could?" His eyes are shining at me.

"Yeah."

He bits his lip. We've been together so long we share mannerisms. "I
always thought it was a mistake for Santos to have gone to Oregon the
next day."

Damn his memory is still good. I nod. "We had Oregon in the bag."

"We won it by a wide margin."

"But it was free media in Northern California."

"Which was also won."

I take his hand, which is holding the key, and I squeeze it. He smiles at me.

We ride the elevator to our floor.