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Counting Coup
By Perri Smith
Copyright 2001
 

Christmas morning dawns bright and clear, and cold as hell. As I pull my car
into the White House staff parking lot, I kick myself again for turning down
Abbey's invitation to stay in the Residence last night. I could have had a 
nice time with her and Jed and Zoey, and not have had to haul myself out of 
bed and into the snow this morning. 

But no. I wanted to go home to my lonely apartment, call Mallory, miss 
Jenny, and brood about Josh. You know, your classic Christmas Eve 
celebration.

At least I know the kid's okay -- if 'okay' is really the word you want to 
use for someone who's having problems telling up from down and right from 
left at the moment. But he's not going to do anything stupider than usual 
any time soon; I suppose that�s comforting.

The West Wing is as empty as I've ever seen it when I swing through the 
foyer and into the bullpen. Only two phones are ringing (who the hell thinks
anyone is going to answer on Christmas morning? Who the hell wants to talk 
to anyone on Christmas morning?), and every single office is empty. It's 
actually a little eerie; I walk quickly through the halls, heading for my 
equally empty office.

Except the door to the Oval Office is open.

"Mr. President?"

"Leo!" As I lean through the door, Jed stands up from the couch to greet me,
wearing his faded Patriots sweatshirt and the patented Bartlett smile. 
"You're late, we were expecting you hours ago."

I shrug my coat off as I walk into the room, laying it over the back of the 
couch. "I don't have children under the age of ten anymore, sir. Sleeping in
on Christmas morning is one of the little luxuries of old age, and I decided 
to enjoy it."

"Old age," Jed snorts, shaking his head as he clears the files he'd been 
reading off of the cushions. "Don't you start with that old age crap, Leo. 
If you get old, I get old, and that's just not something I'm going to let 
happen."

"I'll make sure God gets the memo, Mr. President," I assure him. He laughs 
and gestures me over to the couch; I settle beside him with a sigh, laying 
my head on the back of the couch and closing my eyes. It's been a long 
couple of days. "Zoey have a good Christmas?"

"Seemed to. The necklace went over well; so did the concert tickets."

"Has Ron Butterfield stopped screaming yet? Protecting her at a rock concert
is going to be an issue."

"I already talked it over with him and Gina," Jed waves the problem off. 
"They can manage it."

"Good." A long moment of silence. "Charlie coming over?"

"For dinner. He's bringing Deena; she's very excited about eating in the 
Residence again."

"She was a sweetheart at Thanksgiving."

"Yes, she was. Abbey got her a very nice sweater set for Christmas; she'll 
look beautiful."

"That's nice."

Another silence stretches out through the most important office in the 
country. I know what's coming, as soon as Jed works himself up to it.

"So," he finally asks, "did you talk to Josh last night?"

And there it is. 

"I saw him for a few minutes," I respond, still without opening my eyes. "He
looked... better. He went to the hospital with Donna to get his hand checked 
out. I've got a hundred bucks that says she took him home and stayed there 
last night."

"I don't take sucker bets." Jed shifts next to me, slouching and stretching 
his legs out over the carpet. "Hiring that girl was the best thing Josh ever
did -- for the rest of us."

"Amen. You remember the first time you met her, when she interrupted that 
meeting at campaign headquarters? All big eyes and stammering and trying 
not to get in anyone's way--"

"--Until Josh gave her trouble over those polling numbers for... whatever 
that was, ethanol taxation or something -- and she gave him hell." Jed 
chuckles at the memory. "Standing right there in front of God and everyone, 
reading him chapter and verse on why any reasonable person gives their 
assistant longer than ten minutes to do research before they start yelling."

"Complete with a run-down on the causes and failure of Prohibition, and that
weird sidetrack on automatic coffee makers." The vision of Josh's face is 
still clear, and still priceless. "You know, I was worried about her up 
until then; I didn't think she could handle Josh."

"Boy, was that the wrong call."

"Everybody's got to be wrong sometime." 

Jed laughs with me, but it fades off pretty quickly. I open my eyes to look 
at him, and find him staring off into space. Oh, hell, I know that 
expression. That's the 'I'm about to have to deal with a situation I don't 
want to deal with, and I'm still trying to think of a way to hand it off to 
Leo' expression. I really hate that one, since Jed's a pretty smart guy and 
figures out a way to hand whatever it is off about 60 percent of the time.

"So," I ask casually, wanting to get it over with, "what brings you to the 
Oval Office on one of the few national holidays we can usually enjoy for a 
couple hours? And why hasn't Abbey dragged you back to the Residence yet?"

Jed taps his fingers against the arm of the couch, the quiet crunch of the 
leather oddly loud in the silent office. "Josh called this morning," he says 
finally. "I told the switchboard to put him or Donna through to the 
Residence, just in case.... You know."

"Yeah." I know.

"He asked if he could come over to speak to me for a few minutes."

"Ah." That boy is gonna be the death of me. I know exactly what happened; he 
woke up this morning clear-headed, probably for the first time in weeks, 
remembered shouting at the President, and worked himself into a state about 
it. And probably paced around his apartment agonizing until Donna shoved the 
phone at him and made him do something constructive, like interrupting the 
President's Christmas morning. "When's he coming?"

Jed checks his watch. "Should be here any time now."

"Ah."

Jed looks at me. "Do you plan on saying anything useful, something other 
than 'Ah'?"

I shrug. "Would you rather place bets on whether he shows up with Donna in 
tow?"

"Holding his leash is more like it," Jed points out, with a fair amount of 
accuracy. "You do realize that it'll be another month before Donna lets 
Josh out of her sight for more than five minutes?"

I can only shrug again. "We survived it the last time. If we could find 
anyone else to tolerate Josh for that long, we could fire her, but I think 
we're stuck."

"I suppose." He dismisses the conversation, getting up to roam restlessly 
around the office, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ancient jeans. 
He finally winds up at the window behind his desk, staring out at the sun 
gleaming off of the snow, and probably sending a couple of agents into 
paranoid fits. The Secret Service really hates those windows, even if they 
are bullet-proof glass. "Do you think she's doing all right?"

My mind wanders easily after a sleepless night; caught on agents and glass, 
it takes me a second to trace the conversation back. "Donna?"

"Yes, Donna."

I sigh, something I seem to be doing a lot of lately. That ATVA shrink would 
have a field day with the two of us, hanging around talking about Donna 
because we don't want to talk about Josh. "I think she's tired, but everyone
is. Comes with the territory."

"That's not what I mean."

"Yeah." I know that's not what he means, I just don't want to think about 
it. I don't want him to think about it either, but fat chance of that. When 
Jed decides to worry about someone, he goes all the way. Not unlike a few 
other people I could name....

I saw Donna's face last night, when we were both waiting in the foyer for 
Josh to come out. She didn't say anything; she just sat in the chair next to 
me, her hands clasped in her lap, and a look on her face that was damn near
identical to the one she wore for all those hours in the hospital, when she 
was waiting to see if Josh was going to live or die. Like her life depended 
on it.

"I worry about her sometimes," I muse out loud, not really talking to Jed 
anymore. "She's maybe a little too, I don't know... dependent on Josh?"

"I would have said the other way around... but I know what you mean. She's 
tough, though," Jed adds after some thought.

"Yeah. She's tough." On the outside, anyway. She never wavered during those 
hellish three months of recovery, never let her efficient assistant/ruthless
mama bear routine slip for a second, not in public.

In fact, as far as I know, she only broke down twice. Once, when Sam tried 
to get past her to see Josh, she apparently started screaming and scared the 
crap out of both of them. That would be when she started letting Sam take 
the occasional night shift at Josh's place. I know about it because Sam got 
worried and told CJ, who told me. 

I dealt with it by sending Margaret to talk to Donna, then had to deal with 
Margaret crying all over me later, since Donna responded by crying all over 
Margaret. 

Funny how anything that happens to anyone in this place, winds up threading 
its way through to the rest of us. I wonder what Josh's 'universal theory of 
everything' would say about that.

I wonder what Josh's father would say if he knew what I'd gotten his son 
into.

"It's been a hell of a year, hasn't it, Leo?" Jed's voice breaks the silence
that has grown again. 

I can't see Jed's face, only his back; without thinking about it, my eyes 
find the spot where a bullet ripped through him. "Yes, sir. It certainly 
has."

"Think this next one will get any better?"

I'd like to be able to reassure him, to make some promises. I got him into 
this, after all, just like I got Josh into it. But at least I'm not 
responsible for Donna; she walked in on her own two feet. 

Oh hell. I bet if I try, I can blame myself for Donna, too. 

"I don't know," I finally answer Jed. "All we can do is face it head-on, and 
hope for the best."

"I guess you're right." 

He doesn't sound convinced. Pulling myself up from the couch and feeling 
muscles creak and joints pop -- I don't care what the President says, I feel 
a hell of a lot older now than I did a year ago -- I wander over to join Jed
at the window, staring out over the White House lawn. 

We spot them outside at about the same time; they�re walking up the long 
path from the Southwest Gate, rather than the shorter route from the staff 
parking lot, which means they didn�t drive here. Probably something to do 
with Josh's hand, and the sleep I'm sure Donna didn't get last night. 

Donna walks on Josh's right side; her arm is through his, and I'm honestly 
not sure which of them is holding the other one up. Judging from how much 
Donna's gesturing with her other hand, she's talking to Josh all the way, 
probably trying to distract him from his upcoming Presidential apology. 
Doesn't look like she's having a whole lotta luck, but you've got to give 
her credit for trying.

Jed watches them, his face sober. "Some American Indian tribes used to have 
a custom," he says absently, more to himself than to me. "They would go 
riding through other camps, waving around these sticks and trying to hit 
anyone in their paths. The more people they managed to make contact with, 
the more points they scored and the more honor they received. It came to be 
called 'counting coup'; they thought it was a lot of fun. But I bet it 
wasn't as much fun for the people they were raiding, the ones who got 
knocked down as they rode through."

His voice trails off and I wait, as Josh turns to Donna and says something 
that makes her stop walking. Her arm in his forces him to stop, too, and 
they stand there for a minute, talking very seriously. Then Josh leans 
against her, pulling her into a tight hug that she returns. I don�t know 
which of them is comforting the other one.

"I feel like those damn shooters are still counting coup against us," Jed 
says quietly, his eyes never leaving the pair on the sidewalk outside. "And 
every time I turn around, they've managed to knock another one of us down. 
Josh, Toby, Charlie, Donna, Zoey...." 

His eyes close wearily and he shakes his head, leaning it against the cold 
glass. "What happens when one of us doesn't get back up?"

I let one hand rest wordlessly on his shoulder, rubbing my eyes with the 
other. By the time I open them again, the kids have finally realized that 
it's too cold outside for emotional breakdowns, and are wandering back up 
towards the south entrance. 

As I watch, Donna half-turns to say something to Josh. They�re close enough 
now that I can see her teasing smile; even better, I can see the reluctant 
grin that tugs at Josh's face in return. I tap Jed's shoulder, making him 
look up and out again. 

"That's what happens," I tell him, gesturing at the pair as Donna catches 
Josh's hand and literally tows him, chuckling, towards the door and out of 
view. "One of us falls down, the rest of us gang up on him and drag him back 
up."

When Jed turns his head to look at me, his expression is lighter, not quite 
as old. "Whether he wants to come or not?" he asks with a pointed half-smile

"Damn straight," I nod back, grinning. He laughs and clasps my shoulder, and 
we turn back from the window. "Well, Mr. President, ready to deal with a 
guilt-stricken Deputy Chief of Staff?"

"Oh, God, no," Jed groans, only half-serious. "Anything but that."

"Tell you what: you handle Josh. I'll drag Donna to the Residence and 
Abbey'll make her get some sleep."

"Deal." We formally shake on it, then he points one admonishing finger at 
me. "But don't think I didn't notice you're going to turn your part of the 
deal over to my wife."

I just smile in response as Josh and Donna's voices begin echoing down the 
halls outside the office. The conversation seems to involve who was 
responsible for leaving the headlights on the previous night -- why they 
didn't drive is now explained -- and who's going start the coffee in the 
bullpen so it'll be ready when everyone else shows up. 

Which everyone else will, all of them with a damn fine reason for being at 
work that doesn't involve checking up on Josh. And I'll have to pretend to 
believe them or risk scarring their psyches, or some kind of crap like that. 
But I guess there are worse jobs....

"The hell with counting coup," I throw over my shoulder to Jed, as I head 
out to intercept the Bickering Wallendas. "We're all still here and we're 
all still standing; we win by default."

Try and beat that with a stick.

End



Perri's Notes
I wasn't going to do this. I didn't need to be writing West Wing fic (I had quite enough other stories out there I was supposed to be working on, thank you), and goodness knows the world doesn't need more post-'Noel' angst. But what are you going to do when Leo decides to tell you something? It's not like he'll go away.... :P I also had something very different planned for the Josh/Donna portion of the evening, but Leo has no patience with melodrama. < pout > I hate it when he's right.

I owe a big thank you to my beta readers -- Christina, Mary Beth, Celli, Jennifer and Diane, who held my hand through the attack of "first time in this fandom" nerves and assured me over and over that it really was okay.