This Text file is old! In a 🏛️Museum, an unsorted archive of (user-)pages. (Saved from Geocities in Oct-2009. The archival story: oocities.org)
--------------------------------------- (To 🚫report any bad content: archivehelp @ gmail.com)

TITLE: Transfigured Night with a Strange Communion 
AUTHOR: Marguerite (Marguerite@operamail.com)
CATEGORY: Ens.
DISCLAIMER: Standard ones apply. 

***
 
He'd wept as he watched his best friend kneel down in prayer. He'd
consoled the young man who still stood in dry-eyed shock with his hand
on the telephone. He'd made the necessary calls and arrangements. He'd
resisted taking a drink. 

Now he had to tell everyone else.
 
"What's next?" the President was always asking him, but tonight he
truly had no way of knowing. One tragedy atop another, Job in the White
House. Endless. 

His back ached and he walked like an old man. When he caught sight of
himself in the reflection from the patio window, he winced. The milky
distortion of the glass was unflattering, merciless. He was indeed an
old man tonight, probably the next to go if no more gunshots were fired
or drunks got behind the wheel. 

Drunks like him. Drunks like the one who killed Mrs. Landingham. 

It was a new car, Bartlet had told him, the first new car she'd ever
driven. And she died coming back to the White House so that he could
tell her that he'd deceived her right along with the rest of the world. 

"It's not your fault," Leo had said. 

He knew better. He knew, in the chamber of his heart that held this
most cherished of friends, that Bartlet would blame himself until his
dying day. 

Leo shuffled into his office, too weary to lift his feet. Sam was
there, leaning against the bookcase with his glasses dangling from his
fingers. 

Sam was still fragile from having yet another father figure betray his
trust. "You can only go to that well so often, Mr. President," Leo had
said to Bartlett after Sam had been told about the M.S. "Sam isn't
bottomless." But the pain in his eyes was depthless and full of fear,
and Leo was torn between wanting to embrace him and wanting to punch
his lights out for being so damn needy. 

C.J. was sitting on the sofa, world-weary but with so much to do that
there was no time for respite. In her hand was a notebook full of
details for the upcoming interview and press conference, and she
clutched it like a talisman against evil. She had the most to lose of
any of them, apart from the First Family, but if she feared for her
future she never spoke of it, at least not to him. Maybe to Toby. 

Toby sat beside her. So much softer now that the shock had worn off,
and so protective of C.J. Almost more worried for her than for the
President. Not true, not true, he just had different levels of
protectiveness. He loved his country, loved Leo and Josh and the
President who had wounded him so deeply, but it was C.J. he guarded
with all his considerable might. 

Then there was Josh. The man was twitching in his seat as if his life
force were trying to break free of his body. Nervous energy that could
not be contained, only harnessed, and even then by only the thinnest of
tethers. "Leo, it's almost nine. Can we go?" 

"Not yet." God, he didn't want to do this, didn't ever think that being
the Chief of Staff would mean breaking so much bad news. Breaking so
many hearts. He realized that he was leaning against his desk and
straightened his spine. Behind the rush of blood in his ears, he could
hear Mrs. Landingham's voice: "Stand up straight in this office, Leo,
or no cookies for you." 

"Leo?" C.J.'s eyes were piercing behind her glasses, looking enormous
because of the smudged makeup that darkened her skin. "Leo, what is
it?" 

He looked at each of them, feeling something come loose from deep
inside. Sorrow spilling out, a hemorrhage of grief. "I'm so sorry to
have to tell you this. There was an accident tonight on 18th and
Potomac." No one moved. No one breathed. "A drunk driver ran a light
and hit Mrs. Landingham's car. She...she's dead." 

"Shit." Toby lowered his head and rubbed his forehead with his hand.
"Ah, shit." 

"Charlie took the call. I informed the President, then I called the
police. They have the driver in custody. They say Mrs. Landingham
must've died instantly. She didn't suffer." 

Josh blinked. "How is he?" 

Leo glared at him. "He's dancing the Macarena in the Oval Office, Josh,
how do you think he is?" 

He didn't mean to yell, especially not at this man. Josh studied his
fingers, swallowing convulsively. 

"Jesus, Leo, don't take it out on Josh," Toby growled. 

"I'm sorry. Josh, I'm sorry." 

"Yeah. It's...yeah." He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and gave Leo
a watery smile, then turned to Sam. "You gonna be okay?" 

Sam smacked his glasses down on the bookcase, hard enough to rattle the
shelves. "I just wanna know - when does it end?" His voice came out
edgy and rough. "I mean, how much of this can we take before someone
finally snaps? We're gonna have a whole building full of post-traumatic
stress victims before the trauma is even 'post.' " 

"Sam," C.J. said, casting an imploring look from Sam to Josh. "We can
do this. We can survive this." 

"How? HOW? I just can't keep going and going like a deranged Energizer
bunny while fate or life or whatever keeps sucker-punching me in the
gut." 

"It's not about you right now, Sam," Leo said, but gently, his voice
soothing the electricity in the room. "It's about Mrs. Landingham, and
the President, and the business of running a country the best way we
know how." 

"I know. I'm sorry." He looked at Josh and turned up one corner of his
mouth. "Sorry." 

"It's okay." Josh ran his hands through his rumpled hair. "Have you
told the staff?" 

"I'm gonna tell Margaret, let her handle it." 

"Start with Donna," Toby said, his voice careful and neutral. "I think
she should get the assistants together and talk with them." 

Josh shook his head. "Donna's been through enough today." 

There was something behind that conversation. Leo could almost feel
static from the two men. "Gentlemen, I'm going to tell Margaret because
she's my assistant and she needs to be told. By me. If all of you want
to handle this yourselves, then fine. You know your people better than
I do. And what're you not telling me about Donna?" 

Toby cleared his throat. "She knows." 

"About Mrs. Landingham?" 

About the M.S.," Josh clarified. 

"How?" 

Silence. Leo's gaze was the wrath of an ancient warrior god. He
repeated the question. 

"How?" 

"Me," said Toby. 

"You." 

"Yeah." 

Leo shook his head, which felt as if it weighed three times as much as
the rest of his body. "You." 

"Me." 

"Why?" 

There was a beat of silence. Toby spoke in the middle of a sigh. 

"Josh." 

Another beat. 

"Hey. I was told not to tell anyone." Josh's voice was an exercise in
self-righteousness. Leo hated that tone, knew it meant that Josh was on
the edge of civility, but he decided to wait the argument out and see
where it went. 

"Yes, you were," Toby agreed. "I'm not disputing that. But look at
yourself. You're a wreck." 

"We're all wrecks." 

"But the rest of us don't have ten-inch scars down our chests, Josh.
You think we haven't seen the coughing fits? You think we don't know
that you put a new hole in your belt with a goddamn staple remover?" 

"The three-hole punch has been broken since Easter," Josh said too
evenly. "And I'm alluringly slim." 

"You're a walking corpse, Josh." 

"Stop it!" C.J.'s hands fluttered alongside her ears. Tears were
welling in her eyes and she accepted Toby's handkerchief without even
looking at it. "I don't want to hear about corpses or drunks
or coughing fits. I've lost a friend. More importantly, the President's
lost a friend, and he is gonna need us with him, united, not bickering
about who's got the short end of the stick when we all know that HE has
it himself." She sat up straight and nudged Toby's shoulder. "Let's
straighten out these priorities." 

"Thank you, C.J." Leo walked over and put a hand on her shoulder as he
addressed Toby. "So is Donna okay?" 

"As okay as the rest of us, I guess," Toby shrugged. 

Sam looked at Toby. "She's not gonna get flustered or weirded out or
anything, right?" 

"Sam, believe me when I tell you that Donna Moss is the least
weirded-out person in this building tonight." He put his fingertips
together, steepling them just below his beard. "When I first found out,
I didn't ever ask how he felt, beyond wanting to know if it was fatal.
Not once. But that was the only question she asked me. She asked me,
was he in pain. That was her concern. For him." 

C.J. put her hand on his arm. "You know that you cared. How he was
feeling." 

"Yeah, but I never asked it. She did. She puts me to shame." 

"Okay, so Donna's on board," Sam said, nodding and putting his glasses
back on. They were slightly askew from the beating they had taken, and
he straightened them out while Josh spoke. 

"She's tough, Sam. She held the bowl in the hospital when I was puking
from the anesthesia. She didn't blink when I needed a bedpan, held my
hand when they took the stitches out, and never once complained that I
smelled like the crap in the bottom of the vegetable crisper that's
gone liquid." 

"Stop right there," Sam said, twisting his mouth as his face turned
sickly pale. "I mean it, I'm absolutely gonna toss my cookies." 

"Oh. Cookies." C.J.'s eyes brimmed over. "Mrs. Landingham's cookie
jar." 

Leo could taste the subtle flavor of oatmeal. It would be the woman's
ghostly visitation to him forever. 

"I loved her cookie jar," Josh whispered. "It was like a congressional
medal, getting one of those cookies." 

Toby's response was grumpier. "I hated that damn jar. She wouldn't ever
give me a cookie. Never." 

Leo chuckled. "Because you're a grouchy and intractable man, Toby, and
there's no point wasting sweetness on the desert air." 

"Leo, you wound me." 

"Then my job here is done." Leo squeezed C.J.'s shoulder and nodded
toward the door. "And I've got another one. I'm gonna go do this thing.
I'll come get you when it's time to go to the residence." 

He left, feeling the mournful eyes of the staff on him. It weighed him
down. 

He forced himself to stand up straight and pick up his feet as he went
to deliver the news of a fallen comrade.
 
***

She wandered the halls, trying to reconcile herself to two horrors in
the space of a single day. "We don't have time to be shocked," Toby had
said to her, and she had tried to go back to work, back to Josh, but it
was just so damn hard. 

And now this. 

She felt in her pocket for the little tortoiseshell clip, the one Mrs.
Landingham had given her the first week she worked in the White House.
"Professionals wear their hair above the collar, dear," Mrs. Landingham
had told her. By the end of the second week Margaret had already
succumbed and cut her soft red hair into a bob, but Donna resisted. 

Now she checked her reflection in the window as she pulled her long hair into a roll at the nape of her neck. She looked gaunt. She looked
tired. She looked like a reflection of Josh and wondered if assistants
took on their boss' characteristics the way dogs started to look like
their owners. 

"You missed a strand." 

She jumped and whirled around, her hand over her heart. "Oh! Sir!" 

Bartlet's eyes were red-rimmed but he looked composed. "What're you
doing out here?" 

"I just..." She nodded toward Mrs. Landingham's desk. "Margaret just
told me." 

"You okay, Donna?" He took a couple of steps toward her, his head
inclined upward so that he could look into her eyes. 

She could no more lie to this man than to God. 

"I'm...I'm...It hurts, sir." She heard herself talking too fast, felt
her eyelids moving out of synch the way they did when she was
distressed. "She was just here. I can still smell her cologne. I can
see the cookies in the jar and they're still fresh, but she's gone." 

"I know, Donna. I know." 

"But that's not the worst of it. She was your friend. She worked for
you for, what, almost twenty years, and now that you need every one of
your friends more than ever..." 

He narrowed his eyes at her and she felt her heart sticking in her
throat. "Why do I need my friends more than ever?" 

"Because of the...the thing. Sagittarius." 

He grimaced. 

"Josh Lyman has a big damn mouth." 

"Yes, sir, he does, but it was Toby who told me. I think he was worried
about Josh. I'm the only one who knows. Besides, you know, the senior
staff." 

"Ah." She felt a wave of compassion for him as he looked away from her,
toward the empty desk, this noble man suddenly unable to meet her eyes.
"So...how angry are you?" 

"At whom?" 

His laughter was a relief. "Only you would ask that question. At me.
Who else would you be mad at?" 

"I'm not mad at you, sir. I'm...afraid for you, and sad for you. I'm
mad that all I can hear in my head is the car crash, and I can't
remember what her voice sounded like, and it's driving me crazy that I
can't." She paused, needing to change the timbre of her voice. "I'm not
mad at Josh for not telling me because he wasn't supposed to, although
that wouldn't have stopped him in the long run. But I'm maybe a little
mad at God." 

"At God? Why?" 

"I'm not sure. Lots of things, I guess - letting you have this illness,
or letting Mrs. Landingham die." She shook her head. It ached with the
movement. "But then, it's stupid to be angry at God, isn't it?" 

"I wouldn't say stupid, Donna." He leaned against the desk and looked
at her with mild, gentle eyes. "It's part of being human, not to
understand all of what happens in the world. Sometimes you have to
think of reasons not to be angry at God." 

She nodded and let him continue. His voice was soothing. 

"I was furious when those skinhead bastards shot at Zoe and Charlie. I
was glad to take their bullet, no question about that. Any father
would. But what drove me crazy was the other people. The woman who was
just standing in the crowd. Ron Butterfield, who was just doing his
job. And Josh." He rubbed his eyes and tilted his head back, his eyes
focused on the ceiling. "That was the one I couldn't wrap my brain
around. If anyone should've had a bullet in his heart, it should've
been me." 

"But Josh recovered, sir. He came back to me...us..." She felt heat
rising in her face and leaned over, wishing that her hair were loose so
that she could use it as a blonde veil. Oh, please, not this, not now,
she thought as embarrassment made her light-headed. 

But the President surprised her as he often did, standing in front of
her and putting two fingers under her chin until her eyes were level
with his. "You're right, Donna. He came back to you and because of you,
and for that - I thank God every day." 

Tears filled her eyes and clogged her throat. "I understand, sir." 

"Good. Now we can work on this." His fingers moved away and he indicated Mrs. Landingham's vacant place. "We're going to have to find
something to thank God for, you and I, and we need each other's help." 

She gave him a tired smile as she tried to recall a particular feeling.
"I think I know," she whispered. "Do you want me to tell you?" 

"I can't remember a time, in the three years I've known you, when you
held back a single opinion. Fire away." 

She laughed, the unexpected sound ringing through the empty office.
"Okay. I was remembering the night Josh was shot. Actually, the next
day, when the surgery was over and they said he might be out of the
woods. That's a weird expression, isn't it, 'out of the woods?' Do you
know..." 

"As a matter of fact, I do, but I don't have much time, Donna, so if
you could cut to the chase?" 

"Anyway, I was so happy that I started to cry, and part of that
happiness was that by the time I had to call his mother, he'd be waking
up and she wouldn't have to live through what we'd just experienced."
She looked at him, knowing how sad she must seem. "Mrs. Landingham
loved you, Mr. President. And as awful as this is, as much as we'll
miss her, at least she was spared knowing about your illness." 

"And she won't have to see the aftermath of me telling the rest of the world." He sighed. "It's a rather extreme way of finding something for which to express gratitude." 

"Well, sir, if you think of anything better, please let me know." She felt the tears rising again and she blinked them back until her vision swam. "Because I'm not sure how much more of this I can take." 

"I've seen what you can take and how well you can take it. You're going
to be fine." He took her hands in his and squeezed them. "I have to
meet them in the residence. I'll send Josh down when I'm done. Where
will you be?" 

"Next door to the conference room. I'm going...I'm going to get a
little rest so that I can spell Josh when he needs a break during the
night." 

She felt warmed by his smile, but it was his words that sent a flood of
emotion through her. "It's an honor to have you on my staff - for
however long that lasts." 

"I'm hoping for four more years, sir." 

"Yes. I think you are, Donna." He released his grip on her hands,
nodded at her, and strode toward the residence. 

She watched him leave, looking for any sign of awkwardness or pain in
his movements. He turned around and waved his hand as if to shoo her
away. Only when she was back in the corridor, away from Mrs.
Landingham's desk, did she remove the clip and let her hair caress her
neck.
 
*** 

He opened the door gingerly, grimacing as the hinges squealed in rusty
protest. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dimness
but he found her in a pool of light from the one little lamp in the
corner. 

She was lying on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek while the
other clutched some sort of clip. Her hair cascaded around her face
like a blonde veil. A pillow had fallen from beneath her head, and even
from the doorway Josh could see the dark, damp spots where she'd wept
into it. 

He remembered a morning a couple of days after he'd been released from
the hospital, when he'd staggered into the living room on colt-wobbly
legs to retrieve the book he'd been reading. Donna had been there,
lying in just this pose on his sofa, holding a pillow stained with the
tears she'd never allowed him to see. It was too intimate, he'd
thought, to see her with her guard let down. But he'd stayed there as
if rooted to the spot and watched her sleep until his body simply
wouldn't let him stand any longer. 

His finger rested over his chest, idly rubbing the numb ends of his
scar. Where would the scars from everything else end up, he wondered.
What part of his body would be forever marked where Mrs. Landingham had
been taken away? 

And if a man ditches his own victory celebration to help you deal with
the loss of your father, how deep a scar is there when some of your
love is excised by deceit? 

Not true. Josh walked to the sofa and swiped away the moisture that
threatened to seep from his tired eyes. "If love can be changed by
death or happenstance, then nothing in life has meaning." 

Donna's eyes opened. "Josh?" 

"Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't know I was saying that aloud." He sat on his
heels, reaching out with affectionate grace to push a strand of hair
away from her cheek. "The President said he talked to you. How're you
doing?" 

"I'm fine. Not fine. I don't know." She struggled to a sitting
position, leaving a space where Josh could sit beside her. 

The cushions were warm from her body, comforting his tired muscles. He
sat with his legs slightly apart, his hands dangling between his knees,
looking down at the floor. When he stole a glance upward he could see
the hundreds of conflicting emotions running across her face. "Donna.
Talk to me." 

"I don't know what to say. It's so much. First Toby tells me about the
M.S., and now - poor Mrs. Landingham!" She tilted her head down so that
she could peer over at Josh when he met her gaze. "You had a couple of
weeks to work out how you felt about the first thing before the second
one hit. I've been - I don't know what you'd call it -  whammied twice
in one day. It's a lousy feeling, Josh." 

"Yeah, gettin' whammied ranks right up there with root canals and IRS
audits." Donna stared at him. "I'm sorry. I get flippant like that when
I'm this upset." 

"I've noticed." She toyed with the cuff of his untidy shirt. "So, how'd
it go up there?" 

"It went," he said cryptically. No one could know just yet, not even
Donna - besides, what would be the point of adding to her informational
burden just now? "I've got to get some stuff together, help C.J. get
the information she needs for the interviewers..." He glanced at his
watch. "Practically tomorrow. I'm gonna need a lot of files pulled,
Donna. You up for that?" 

"Yeah, I'm good. I slept for a little while." She indicated the pillow,
which she snatched from the floor and placed, wet side down, on the
couch. She was blushing. 

"Donna. It's okay." His face fell as he saw her fighting back tears,
more tears.
 
"Aw, Donna, c'mere, c'mere." He opened his arms and she fell into them,
sobbing with genuine pain. Her pulse was quick and birdlike beneath his
fingertips as he rubbed her neck. "It should've come from me. I'm sorry
you had to hear it from Toby." 

"No, it's all right," she managed to say between hiccoughing gasps for
air. "He was so kind..." 

"Toby" and "kind" weren't concepts Josh often thought of in one
session. 

"He was worried about you," Donna continued just before the sobbing
began afresh. 

Josh shuddered at the memory of that look on Toby's face, when he saw
Josh's blood spilling like a fountain over his hands. The way he called
out for help, the way he pressed his own hands over the wound to stop
the flow, all the while telling him he was going to be all right, he
was going to be fine, never letting Josh close his eyes. Toby. 

"I'm gonna be fine. I've got you watching my back, so what could go
wrong? You might lecture me or harangue me in your inimitable style,
but..." He was gratified that he made her chuckle, and relieved that
the flow of tears seemed to be slowing. 

The shriek of the door made them both look up. "It's just me," Sam
said, hands in the air. "They, uh, sent me to find you. He's got this
thing he wants to do. Can we come in?" 

"Well, you're in already." 

"Should I go?" Donna asked. 

"No, he wants you here, but you might want to...sit up or something."
Sam made vague motions in the air. "Or not. Nothing's normal tonight." 

Donna straightened up but Josh kept one hand behind her, rubbing her
back in small circles. Sam held the door and one by one they entered -
C.J. and Toby, in some sort of huddle over her notebook, Leo, his
expression less haggard than it had been earlier, and the President,
one hand clasped on Charlie's shoulder while the other cradled an
object wrapped in a dish towel. 

Josh sprang to his feet and helped Donna rise, keeping one hand in
constant, gentle contact with her back. "I feel like a kid in a
clubhouse." 

"The Sagittarius Club," Bartlet said, and Josh winced. "The First Lady
has gone to a function and won't be back for a while, so we have
exactly the right number." He removed the towel to reveal Mrs.
Landingham's crystal cookie jar. 

"One of the many important things I learned from Mrs. Landingham was
never to let anything of value be wasted. Here we have eight of the
most beautiful oatmeal-raisin cookies on the face of the earth, and
they are the last of their kind. I simply cannot accept that Mrs.
Landingham can go to her final resting place with eight perfectly good
cookies going to rack and ruin." 

"This is like communion," C.J. muttered to Toby, who poked her in the
ribs and pointed to the President. 

"I heard you, young lady, and you'll be doing Hail Marys for that one."
He smiled to himself as he opened the jar and sniffed. "Look, C.J., I'm
inhaling. Call in the media." 

"We'll be seeing plenty of them, Mr. President," Leo said gently. "What
do you say we make it just us for tonight?" 

"Well spoken, my friend. Here." Bartlet offered the open jar to Leo, then to Toby and C.J. "Charlie, Sam, take one. Donna," and his voice
was soft when he said her name. "And Josh, if you behave." He took the
last one for himself. "To Mrs. Landingham," he said, blue eyes
shimmering with tears. "And God bless." 

"God bless," seven voices chimed in. As the others took careful bites
of their cookies, Charlie turned his over and over in his hands as if
memorizing its texture. 

"What is it?" asked Leo. 

"It's...when I eat this, it'll be gone. Like her." He started to put
the cookie in his pocket, but Bartlet stopped him. 

"You get crumbs in that suit jacket, you'll be the recipient of an
ass-kicking from the great beyond. Just eat it. And the first person -
and by that I mean Josh - who asks, 'got milk?' will be tossed into the
rose garden and eaten by aphids." 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Josh said, affecting a wounded expression.
"Besides, this isn't the time." 

"This is exactly the time," Bartlet countered. "I'm going to need all
of you, because while Mrs. Landingham is indeed with God - and probably
telling Him not to slurp His coffee - our world is a lesser place
because she's no longer in it. So I need your humor, Josh. Maybe not
first thing in the morning, but I need it. I need Toby's plainspoken
common sense, C.J.'s quick wit, Charlie's devotion, Donna's intuition.
Sam - I'd be lost without your words. Well, maybe not lost, but slowed
down a little." He turned to Leo. "And I need you with me, my stronger and smarter brother, making me a better man against my will." 

Josh saw a fierce gleam of pride in Leo's eyes, quickly subdued but
present nonetheless. He felt Donna's muscles relax against his palm,
heard Sam's grateful sigh. C.J. wiped her eyes with the handkerchief
she'd been holding since the meeting in Leo's office. 

And Toby smiled. 

"That was lovely, Mr. President," Donna whispered. Her voice was thick
with sorrow and she leaned against Josh's hand a little. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome. And now I'm going back to the residence to catch a
little sleep. I suggest you do the same." 

"I've got papers..." Toby began. 

"I strongly suggest, then. Get some sleep, everybody. There's nothing
that won't keep until morning." He turned around, taking Charlie by the
arm, and walked out of the room. C.J. and Sam followed, talking about
sharing a cab. 

"I'll be in my office. Sofa," Toby said, jerking his thumb upwards.
"Leo, go home for a while. I'll call you at five." 

"Four-thirty." 

"Don't push it, Leo." The two men left together, Leo pausing for just a
moment in the doorway. 

Donna was already back on the couch, her head on the bolster, and Josh
was putting a blanket over her. "You coming with?" Leo whispered,
inclining his head toward the door. 

"Nah. I'm good here." 

"Sleep, Josh. Don't just stare and brood. Okay?" 

"Okay. Night." Josh went to the door and locked it, then walked to the
second sofa. He untangled the blankets and puffed up the pillow, but
the discontented scowl worked its way across his face until his mouth
was pursed in a tight line. 

He went back to where Donna lay fast asleep. 

After he toed off his shoes and removed his tie, Josh carefully moved
Donna just enough so that he could sit on the sofa with her head in his
lap. He made sure she was still asleep, then caressed the side of her
face with his fingertips. Perhaps her peace would spread its sheltering
wings over him and let him sleep. It would be good to dream of his
father and his sister and the extraordinary lady who was probably
getting them caught up on him right...this...moment...
 
And the taste of oatmeal lulled him to sleep.
 
***
 
End