3000 Miles (1/1)
Title: 3000 Miles
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Fandom: West Wing
Characters: Josh/Sam, Josh & Sam, CJ, Toby
Length: ~4,800
Spoilers: Through 5.17 - The Supremes
Icon: by indigo_inferno
Summary: Sam comes back to help his former White House coworkers prepare for the nomination of two new Supreme Court Justices. This brings painful reminders of a past relationship.
Warnings: Brief mention of a canon abortion. Mild violence.
Author's note: This was supposed to be a CSI / West Wing crossover, but I stripped the ever delightful Nicky Stokes out of it because Josh's willingness to talk to him about various things became increasingly incongruent with Josh's personality. Don't you hate it when they do that?
5 am (EST)
“Oh, good. You’re in.” Toby stood in the doorway, already rumpled as though he had been at his desk on the other side of the communications bullpen for the best part of half a day.
“It’s five o’clock in the morning the day before we announce that we’re using the Supreme Court as the test bed for a civics class project. Where else would I be but at my desk trying to construct a statement that would explain all of this away?” CJ wore her exhaustion in the tiny creases next to her eyes. “So far, I’m writing variations on a theme of food poisoning. I have the President eating more than his fair share of a seafood buffet with the Senate Judiciary Committee? Does that sound plausible?”
Toby moved his arms away from his sides, portfolio folder flapping like the wing of a bird. “Only if it was in New Hampshire.”
CJ drummed her pen on the legal pad in front of her. “I thought of that. I think the President would be more pleased if we didn’t blame his hallucinatory choice of one good and one evil Supreme Court nominee on the seafood producers in his home state.”
“I think maybe evil is overstating it, Claudia Jean.”
CJ looked over her glasses. “Did anyone think to ask his opinion on Dred Scott?”
Toby snorted. “I’m more worried about Korematsu.”
There was a highly charged pause. Toby’s mouth worked on nothing.
“Do you still think this is a bad idea?”
CJ raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying this didn’t give you a sleepless night too, Tobus?”
Toby shrugged.
“Not that I mind when Josh has an idea, but the way it’s going to look above the fold on the New York Times front page is not always uppermost in his consciousness.”
Toby cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
6 am (EST)
One of the most annoying things about Sam, Josh reasoned, was that even at 6 am he looked as though he had stepped from the pages of GQ. Head bent over the first edition of the Washington Post and feeding himself apple Danish without looking at his plate, he smelt subtly of the kind of expensive cologne that men who earned seven figure salaries in California law firms wore. Good enough to eat, really.
(Sam had eaten off him once, spraying him with the very cheapest of whipped cream that he’d picked up from a convenience store. Josh had felt his face catch fire when CJ had spotted it in Sam’s basket along with the stack of newspapers and magazines and chewing gum, but she had just made some mild comment about people who still ate like they were in college. As time went on and Sam revealed himself to be one of the healthier eaters on the campaign bus, Josh wondered if she would realise what he’d really bought it for. If she did, she didn’t allude to it with so much as a lingering glance or the vestiges of a knowing smile.
Sam had sprayed the cream all over his chest and his stomach and licked it off, pink tongue swift and deliberate. He’d grazed his teeth deliberately over Josh’s nipples and Josh had been harder than he’d ever been in his life when Sam had sprayed the cream over his cock and balls. He’d expected to like this more, somehow, but he’d had to wait until Sam’s mouth, hot and strangely dry, had cleaned him up before he’d achieved anything like a satisfactory rhythm or pressure. Josh just wanted to get off and get done, but Sam had clearly enjoyed tantalising Josh by smearing the food over his flesh. Josh would have asked him if they could have done it again, if he could have a turn slurping cream from the muscled expanse of Sam’s belly, but the words stuck in his throat like dust.)
Feeling Josh’s eyes on him, Sam looked up. “Nothing in here. It’s all Brad Shelton. The writer mentions that he was walked past Evelyn Baker Lang twice, but he’s picking it as a shell game to placate the liberal wing of the party and energise the Republicans to play nice with Shelton.”
Josh’s mouth quirked up. “Which was exactly what we were doing until the President took my advice. I’m guessing Danny Concannon read that play. Donna said he was back in the building writing some profile on Shelton.”
Sam’s face was thoughtful. “You feeling ok? You look kind of pale.”
“We can’t all spend our days power lunching on the terrace at Spago.” Josh grimaced. “If this comes off then we’ll have a Chief Justice we can be proud of. If not, I’ll be on HotJobs by tomorrow evening.”
Sam went back to his paper. “This is a pretty surprising move for you, Josh.”
Josh stared at the top of Sam’s head. “What do you mean?”
Sam took off his glasses and polished them. “The potential for a communications disaster is enormous and the President is going to look both inept and utopian if this nomination process goes wrong. And that’s not all. We both know that the Court responds strangely to new Justices, and Lang isn’t necessarily going to sway the court much with Mulready there to counterbalance her positions. I mean, Chief Justice Ashland is a colossus. A liberal lion. She’s brilliant, but she’s not him.”
“You really don’t need to tell me that I’m betting it all on snake eyes, Sam. I got all of that.”
Sam’s lips twitched. “I’m not schooling you, Josh. I’m just saying that it’s a surprising play for you. Principled.”
Josh did his best to ignore the fact that Sam’s compliment was making him blush like a schoolgirl. “I appreciate you doing this, Sam. I know that being California state bar lawyer of the year twice in a row must be keeping you busy.”
Sam’s shoulders stiffened. “It’s no trouble. Those of us with little local jobs enjoy the occasional opportunity to play with the big boys in Washington.”
Josh frowned. “Sam, I wasn’t-“
Sam looked ashamed of himself, colour forming spots on both cheeks. “I know. I’m just struggling to transition from Pacific time. Ignore me.”
7 am (EST)
“Carol. Carol.”
CJ’s assistant appeared in her office. “Can you get me Greg Brock?”
“CJ-“
CJ rifled through some papers on her desk, shining curtain of hair framing her face. “I promised him a heads up on something.”
“CJ-“
“Goddamit, where is that nominee file that I keep losing.”
Carol shrugged her shoulders.
“Time was that I was the only guy you leaked things to.”
CJ’s head lifted. “Danny. How did you get back here?”
Danny Concannon laughed. “Good to know that you read those credential requests with such care and attention, Claudia Jean. I’m writing a profile on Brad Shelton. The Post is planning a pull-out section on SCOTUS once the confirmation process is underway and my piece on the new Associate Justice will be the centrepiece.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Although something tells me that I’m wasting my time if you’re looking for Greg Brock to leak things to.”
CJ moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “What exactly are we talking about here, Danny?”
He clicked his fingers. “The Supreme Court, CJ? Little thing we hacks like to call the highest court in the land.”
She tilted her head on one side. “And you feel like five thousand words of portentous bloviation is going to go to waste?”
“Don’t play coy, CJ. I’m better at it than you are.”
She put one hand on her hip and smiled. “No one is better at it than I am.”
8 am (EST)
“Do you have a first draft yet?”
(And God, he remembered asking that about one of the States of the Union while Sam sprawled on his bed naked as the day he was born, tapping on his laptop. They’d already had sex and Josh found himself hoping that Sam would at least put on some Calvins. Despite the fact that Sam was as beautiful as a Greek god Josh found himself rendered strangely uncomfortable by naked male flesh.
Instead of answering him, Sam had twisted over on to his back amid Josh’s rumpled sheets and slid one hand over his stomach and down to his cock while fingers on the other hand teased a nipple to stiffness.
“Come back to bed, Josh.”
Sam moved his hand languorously over his hardening cock, meeting Josh’s gaze steadily.
Josh felt a wave of revulsion like a punch in the gut and turned his back on Sam.
“We really need to get back to work. Could you get dressed?”
He’d heard nothing at all for a few seconds, and then the rustle of cotton and creaking springs that signified that Sam was getting off the bed.
As he walked out of the bedroom he heard the familiar sound of a zipper being pulled up.)
Sam raised an eyebrow without looking up from the screen of his laptop. “Josh, I don’t know how much you remember about my writing process but, even though I’m a little rusty, it has never taken me only three hours to read briefing books on two federal judges with lengthy judicial records and write Presidential remarks suitable for the occasion of nominating them for Chief and Associate Justice spots.”
His eyes met Josh’s then. “In fact, I would go so far to say that never in the history of human endeavour has such a task been achieved in that timescale.”
Josh put his hands on his hips. “Yeah.”
Sam sighed. “Don’t you have a call sheet to get through?”
Josh ignored him. “I need this to work, Sam.”
Sam’s expression was serious. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m pretty sure I remember how this works, Josh. The news of the failure to agree a federal budget made it all the way out west to California.” Sam took off his glasses. “The LA Times did find space, in between pictures of the Laker Girls and surfers, to note that the entire federal government was shut down.”
“Yeah.” Josh gritted his teeth. “I was the point person on those budget negotiations, Sam.”
“And I’m sure that your mother was very proud.”
“You’re missing-“ Josh turned away from Sam. “I gave up too much for this to be how this ends.”
Sam’s head was bowed. “You didn’t call. I had to work out what was going on with you by reading the paper.”
Josh whirled around. “I didn’t call? I didn’t call?”
Sam shoved his chair back from the table and stood up. “Oh, you’re saying that I should have called? After months of silence? After sporadic phone calls with the unmistakeable click of BlackBerry keys in the background? After making it clear that you don’t want me anywhere near you?”
Josh bit his lip, hard. “The California 47th, Sam. You were the one who chose to move 3000 miles away.”
Sam made a noise of disbelief. “If there had been any chance. If you’d given me any hope. If there was even the smallest shred of possibility-“.
There was a knock at the door and a staffer that Sam didn’t know stuck her head through. “Can I have Josh for five minutes?”
9 am (EST)
The intercom on CJs phone buzzed. “CJ, I have Greg Brock for you?”
CJ refastened her earring. “Send him in.”
“Morning CJ.” Greg Brock was standing in her doorway. She waved him to the sofa.
“How can I help my favourite journalist from the Grey Lady this morning?”
The corners of Greg’s mouth turned up. “Why CJ, you’re giddy as a schoolgirl.”
CJ crossed her legs, savouring the expensive swish of her stockings. “I knew that third martini with breakfast was a mistake.”
Greg’s mouth twitched. “So, there’s something floating around out there about Evelyn Baker Lang.”
CJ’s spine straightened. “Is this the kind of blind, unsubstantiated something that you know I’m not going to comment on in a million, trillion Sundays?”
“It’s the kind of blind, unsubstantiated something that we at the New York Times find ethically questionable and definitely at odds with our editorial policy. However, others out there in the United Media Conglomerates of America do not want for scruples.” He stood up. “It’s a friendly heads up.”
10 am (EST)
“Did you know this was going to be in Baker Lang’s briefing book?”
Josh turned away from the window he had been staring out of. “She told us herself. At her second meeting.”
(And he’d looked at her like she was crazy. Not only did he not want the electorate to know about her abortion but he didn’t want to know about her abortion. He’d become surprisingly squeamish about sex, about anything that happened below the waist, and the thought of a young Evelyn Baker Lang with her feet in stirrups made his stomach turn over.
Just like the thought of the time Sam had been sucking his cock while the tails of Josh’s shirt flapped in the breeze from the fan in his office. He had been trying, unsuccessfully, to not think about his suspicion that the Secret Service had some kind of heat-signature reader that would identify what they were doing and include it in a report to Leo or the President. Just as Sam had dipped his tongue into the slit at the end of his cock, he had gently but firmly adjusted the position of his hand so that a slick finger was teasing Josh’s asshole. And although Josh had been inside Sam, had felt Sam’s silken insides clamp around him like a vice, the thought of anything being there and him liking it had scared himself so much that he’d pushed Sam away hard enough to bruise him. Sam had looked as beautiful as he always did sprawled on Josh’s office floor but the look in his eyes as he’d buttoned himself back into his shirt and trousers was one of pained contempt.)
“And you still thought it was a good idea to go ahead?”
Josh shook his head. “Not us. The President. He asked who else was being cut from a spot on the shortlist because of something they’d done that was legal.”
Sam smiled. “That sounds like him.”
“CJ was pretty pissed. She’s afraid that this gets out there and then Lang becomes a tabloid joke.”
“She’s a lifetime appointee. The worst that could happen is that she has a few months as a feature of the late night comedy shows. The ones with no style or class.”
Josh cut a look at Sam. “You don’t think this would totally undermine her professional credibility?”
Sam frowned. “A quarter of American women have had an abortion, Josh. Exactly who do you think is going to care once the initial thrill of titillation is past? The kind of people who hate her anyway?”
“I think she’d find it harder to get stuff done.”
“Get stuff-? She’s a judge, Josh. She’s not a fixer for the Battaglia family.” Sam looked at Josh through his eyelashes. “She’s not you.”
Josh’s phone rang and he broke eye contact with Sam and flipped it open. “Yeah?”
11 am (EST)
“Hi Mark, this is CJ Cregg. Could you please give me a call when you have a moment.” CJ paused. “Actually, could you give me a call as soon as is humanly possible? I’ll definitely make it worth your while.”
She winced as she hung up. “Was that too desperate-sorority-girl?”
“Nuh-uh.” Donna shook her head, unconvincingly. “Muffin?” she asked, brightly.
12 noon (EST)
Behind Josh, the door swung open on a war room, with rows of tables laden with laptops and legal pads and phones and the ephemera of twenty busy staffers. The room looked like controlled panic, and it took Sam a moment to realise that it must be soundproofed because none of the shouted conversations currently going on had leaked into the thickly carpeted room in which they were working.
Josh was on a call. The fifty-seventh call that Josh had been on in ninety minutes. Sam had created himself a workspace at the long table in the centre of the room and was typing on his laptop, face blank with concentration. Josh’s end of the table was a jumble of papers, files and newspapers; shuffled together like a messy pile of cards.
(There had been stacks of paper on his desk the day that Josh had asked him in to talk to him about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. To loop him in on what Matt Skinner had been saying. Josh had repeated the Congressman’s words with a strange kind of respect, as though a gay Republican who had somehow made peace with his party’s homophobia deserved approbation rather than confusion.
Sam had counted the files on Josh’s desk that day to keep himself from screaming out loud; from jumping up and slapping Josh so hard upside the head that his teeth would rattle.
But he couldn’t have that conversation again. Couldn’t pierce the carapace of denial that Josh erected every time discussions of his sexual orientation arose. Couldn’t bear to listen to Josh describing his flimsy, brief relationships with women as anything other than a conjuring trick; a piece of misdirection to distract from where his passions truly lay.
Josh was a terrible, selfish lover. He was awkward, defensive, embarrassed and stiff in all the wrong places. But in the seconds that ran from just before Josh’s face contorted to when he got his breath back sufficiently to push himself off Sam, there were moments of truth so beautiful they nearly tore a Hallelujah from Sam’s throat. He would never form his mouth around the words to ask for it, but Josh loved Sam’s finger up his ass when he came. He had, once or twice, dropped his mouth to Sam’s as he’d shuddered inside him and the scrape of teeth against teeth had pushed Sam over the edge. Once he’d dropped his head to Sam’s chest, still fluttering weakly, and licked the sweat from the hollow in his throat.
So Sam couldn’t bear to hear Matt Skinner’s ludicrous position lauded as more than the pathetic political expedient that it was. Couldn’t listen to Josh making the case for servicemen and women with the same desires as he and Josh consigned, in Josh’s imagination, to experience more of the insulting doublespeak of a policy that resulted in real injury and pain.)
Josh flipped his phone shut without saying goodbye. "There's a piece of paper out there."
Sam's head jerked up. "A piece of paper? What kind of paper?"
"Medical records. Photos. An affidavit from a roommate or the boyfriend. Who knows?" Josh ran both hands through his hair. “CJ got a heads up from Greg Brock. She’s made a few calls to try and find out what it is and who has it but she’s drawing a blank.”
Sam’s fingers were still hovering over the keys of his laptop. "Can we outrun this? We sure as hell can’t get out in front of it."
Josh sighed. "However much the confirmation is going to be a cakewalk, it's still going to take time and there are a lot of column inches of newsprint that need filling every day."
"And this twofer angle isn't going to be enough."
Josh looked out of the window, jaw clenched. "Maybe. But even the quality press will be scrabbling around for human interest stories to underline the differences between the two."
Sam considered that. "It's not as though Christopher Mulready is the Isaiah-quoting demagogue that would enable the kind of Spy versus Spy stories you’re talking about."
"He’s a strict constructionist. A real John Bircher."
"Sure, and he has elements of cultural conservatism laced through his judicial philosophy. But his private life doesn't exactly lend itself to the writing of the Home on the Range profile."
Josh grimaced, guiltily. "Ok, let's assume that I skipped through sections of his FBI Briefing Book. That whole part about his mother's tupperware business was such a slow read I swear it compared unfavourably with the federal budget for narrative thrust."
The silence hummed between them.
"He's gay, Josh." Sam's voice was almost apologetic.
Josh opened his mouth as if to say something, and then clamped his jaw firmly shut.
"So if the conservative element of the press is willing to ignore that, then maybe the Lang paper won't be picked up. It's their base that will object to his sexual orientation. They have every interest in containing the personal attacks."
Josh's face was unreadable. "Well we can certainly try crossing our fingers and hoping for the very best."
"Josh." Sam's voice held a warning tone.
"Yeah." Josh rubbed his eyes. "I need to get with CJ. She's uneasy enough about this already."
1 pm (EST)
CJ looked up from her laptop. “Why the big smile, Carol?”
Carol proffered a plain brown envelope. “I have the piece of paper right here.”
Grabbing up her glasses, CJ reached for the envelope. Slicing through the paper with her letter opener, she pulled out a ten by thirteen print. Putting it on her desk, she glanced over it and looked up at Carol.
“Is this a joke?”
Carol’s grin got wider. “Nope, a friend of a friend is a stringer for one of the supermarket tabloids. She brought this to me. She’s a member of a pro-choice organisation and couldn’t believe the story she was being asked to write.”
CJ started to smile. “I’ll get in touch with Justice Lang and see if she knows what the building in the photo really is. Bonus for us if she has the actual photo. Could you get me one of the boys on the phone?”
“Sure.” Carol closed the office door behind her.
“There’s nothing I like more than bad, bad PhotoShop.” CJ smiled to herself in satisfaction as she waited for the call to go through. “And people who can’t even spell ‘Planned Parenthood’.”
2 pm (EST)
Sam turned the volume down on the television. “She did well. I forgot what a thing of beauty CJ’s briefings are.”
(Although it was CJ’s voice that had been detailing the recommendations of the Debate Commission in the background when Sam had realised it was over.
When Josh had stilled Sam’s hand on his zipper as though Sam were a chauffeur who was improperly valeting Josh’s car, Sam thought his heart would break in his chest.
This thing they’d had had always been one step forwards and two steps back, entrenched in the sex that was the only kind of physical affection that Josh, on a normal day, would accept. The years of treading a wire thin line between the friendship that Josh luxuriated in and the sexual relationship that he barely, stiffly tolerated had all at once been so exhausting to Sam that he couldn’t contemplate it lasting for another week.
And so, even as Josh stood in his office and turned his attention to the screen on which CJ was, with flair and élan, dismissing Ritchie even as she elevated the President, Sam knew that he had to get away. That standing in Leo’s office, in the Oval, next to Josh was going to be impossible. That years of patient work had turned to ashes in his hands.)
Josh flipped pages in Mulready’s briefing book. “Yeah. Where are we on the law and order messaging for the announcement?”
Sam shook his head. “Well, some elements of the public might be welcoming of Chris Mulready’s vehement opposition to Miranda.”
Josh put his head on the table. “Outstanding.”
Sam shrugged. “There’s no way that you can spin Baker Lang’s views in a traditional law and order direction. The best possible line you can hope for is that the views of the President’s nominees will ensure a vigorous discussion about how to keep America safe while protecting the rights of the individual.”
“Because if there’s one thing that tests well right across this union then it’s nuance and subtlety?” Josh lifted his head off the table. “Are there no moral majority judges who actually fought in a war?”
Sam raised his eyebrow. “Even if Chris Mulready wasn’t too young to have fought in any campaign except Desert Storm, they wouldn’t want him to, remember?”
The silence stretched out between them.
“Sam-“.
Sam slid his laptop into its bag. “I think we’re done here. I’ve sent Toby and CJ the last set of messaging notes and sent Toby my notes on the third draft of the remarks.”
“Sam-“.
“Was there something else you wanted me to do?” The words sounded more loaded than he had meant them to.
Josh scanned his face.
“I don’t want us not to talk.” His voice cracked on the words. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Josh.” Sam pushed his glasses up his nose. “I think I’ve always missed you.”
“You know that we can’t-“. Josh swallowed hard.
Sam shook his head. “No, I know that you think we can’t. But that’s not the same thing at all, is it?”
“Sam-“. The word was an invocation.
“Goodbye, Josh.”
And he touched Josh’s arm. Felt both the heat and the flinch. Couldn’t bring himself to look backwards over his shoulder as he walked out of the door of the suite and downstairs to call a car to take him to the airport.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Fandom: West Wing
Characters: Josh/Sam, Josh & Sam, CJ, Toby
Length: ~4,800
Spoilers: Through 5.17 - The Supremes
Icon: by indigo_inferno
Summary: Sam comes back to help his former White House coworkers prepare for the nomination of two new Supreme Court Justices. This brings painful reminders of a past relationship.
Warnings: Brief mention of a canon abortion. Mild violence.
Author's note: This was supposed to be a CSI / West Wing crossover, but I stripped the ever delightful Nicky Stokes out of it because Josh's willingness to talk to him about various things became increasingly incongruent with Josh's personality. Don't you hate it when they do that?
5 am (EST)
“Oh, good. You’re in.” Toby stood in the doorway, already rumpled as though he had been at his desk on the other side of the communications bullpen for the best part of half a day.
“It’s five o’clock in the morning the day before we announce that we’re using the Supreme Court as the test bed for a civics class project. Where else would I be but at my desk trying to construct a statement that would explain all of this away?” CJ wore her exhaustion in the tiny creases next to her eyes. “So far, I’m writing variations on a theme of food poisoning. I have the President eating more than his fair share of a seafood buffet with the Senate Judiciary Committee? Does that sound plausible?”
Toby moved his arms away from his sides, portfolio folder flapping like the wing of a bird. “Only if it was in New Hampshire.”
CJ drummed her pen on the legal pad in front of her. “I thought of that. I think the President would be more pleased if we didn’t blame his hallucinatory choice of one good and one evil Supreme Court nominee on the seafood producers in his home state.”
“I think maybe evil is overstating it, Claudia Jean.”
CJ looked over her glasses. “Did anyone think to ask his opinion on Dred Scott?”
Toby snorted. “I’m more worried about Korematsu.”
There was a highly charged pause. Toby’s mouth worked on nothing.
“Do you still think this is a bad idea?”
CJ raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying this didn’t give you a sleepless night too, Tobus?”
Toby shrugged.
“Not that I mind when Josh has an idea, but the way it’s going to look above the fold on the New York Times front page is not always uppermost in his consciousness.”
Toby cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
6 am (EST)
One of the most annoying things about Sam, Josh reasoned, was that even at 6 am he looked as though he had stepped from the pages of GQ. Head bent over the first edition of the Washington Post and feeding himself apple Danish without looking at his plate, he smelt subtly of the kind of expensive cologne that men who earned seven figure salaries in California law firms wore. Good enough to eat, really.
(Sam had eaten off him once, spraying him with the very cheapest of whipped cream that he’d picked up from a convenience store. Josh had felt his face catch fire when CJ had spotted it in Sam’s basket along with the stack of newspapers and magazines and chewing gum, but she had just made some mild comment about people who still ate like they were in college. As time went on and Sam revealed himself to be one of the healthier eaters on the campaign bus, Josh wondered if she would realise what he’d really bought it for. If she did, she didn’t allude to it with so much as a lingering glance or the vestiges of a knowing smile.
Sam had sprayed the cream all over his chest and his stomach and licked it off, pink tongue swift and deliberate. He’d grazed his teeth deliberately over Josh’s nipples and Josh had been harder than he’d ever been in his life when Sam had sprayed the cream over his cock and balls. He’d expected to like this more, somehow, but he’d had to wait until Sam’s mouth, hot and strangely dry, had cleaned him up before he’d achieved anything like a satisfactory rhythm or pressure. Josh just wanted to get off and get done, but Sam had clearly enjoyed tantalising Josh by smearing the food over his flesh. Josh would have asked him if they could have done it again, if he could have a turn slurping cream from the muscled expanse of Sam’s belly, but the words stuck in his throat like dust.)
Feeling Josh’s eyes on him, Sam looked up. “Nothing in here. It’s all Brad Shelton. The writer mentions that he was walked past Evelyn Baker Lang twice, but he’s picking it as a shell game to placate the liberal wing of the party and energise the Republicans to play nice with Shelton.”
Josh’s mouth quirked up. “Which was exactly what we were doing until the President took my advice. I’m guessing Danny Concannon read that play. Donna said he was back in the building writing some profile on Shelton.”
Sam’s face was thoughtful. “You feeling ok? You look kind of pale.”
“We can’t all spend our days power lunching on the terrace at Spago.” Josh grimaced. “If this comes off then we’ll have a Chief Justice we can be proud of. If not, I’ll be on HotJobs by tomorrow evening.”
Sam went back to his paper. “This is a pretty surprising move for you, Josh.”
Josh stared at the top of Sam’s head. “What do you mean?”
Sam took off his glasses and polished them. “The potential for a communications disaster is enormous and the President is going to look both inept and utopian if this nomination process goes wrong. And that’s not all. We both know that the Court responds strangely to new Justices, and Lang isn’t necessarily going to sway the court much with Mulready there to counterbalance her positions. I mean, Chief Justice Ashland is a colossus. A liberal lion. She’s brilliant, but she’s not him.”
“You really don’t need to tell me that I’m betting it all on snake eyes, Sam. I got all of that.”
Sam’s lips twitched. “I’m not schooling you, Josh. I’m just saying that it’s a surprising play for you. Principled.”
Josh did his best to ignore the fact that Sam’s compliment was making him blush like a schoolgirl. “I appreciate you doing this, Sam. I know that being California state bar lawyer of the year twice in a row must be keeping you busy.”
Sam’s shoulders stiffened. “It’s no trouble. Those of us with little local jobs enjoy the occasional opportunity to play with the big boys in Washington.”
Josh frowned. “Sam, I wasn’t-“
Sam looked ashamed of himself, colour forming spots on both cheeks. “I know. I’m just struggling to transition from Pacific time. Ignore me.”
7 am (EST)
“Carol. Carol.”
CJ’s assistant appeared in her office. “Can you get me Greg Brock?”
“CJ-“
CJ rifled through some papers on her desk, shining curtain of hair framing her face. “I promised him a heads up on something.”
“CJ-“
“Goddamit, where is that nominee file that I keep losing.”
Carol shrugged her shoulders.
“Time was that I was the only guy you leaked things to.”
CJ’s head lifted. “Danny. How did you get back here?”
Danny Concannon laughed. “Good to know that you read those credential requests with such care and attention, Claudia Jean. I’m writing a profile on Brad Shelton. The Post is planning a pull-out section on SCOTUS once the confirmation process is underway and my piece on the new Associate Justice will be the centrepiece.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Although something tells me that I’m wasting my time if you’re looking for Greg Brock to leak things to.”
CJ moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “What exactly are we talking about here, Danny?”
He clicked his fingers. “The Supreme Court, CJ? Little thing we hacks like to call the highest court in the land.”
She tilted her head on one side. “And you feel like five thousand words of portentous bloviation is going to go to waste?”
“Don’t play coy, CJ. I’m better at it than you are.”
She put one hand on her hip and smiled. “No one is better at it than I am.”
8 am (EST)
“Do you have a first draft yet?”
(And God, he remembered asking that about one of the States of the Union while Sam sprawled on his bed naked as the day he was born, tapping on his laptop. They’d already had sex and Josh found himself hoping that Sam would at least put on some Calvins. Despite the fact that Sam was as beautiful as a Greek god Josh found himself rendered strangely uncomfortable by naked male flesh.
Instead of answering him, Sam had twisted over on to his back amid Josh’s rumpled sheets and slid one hand over his stomach and down to his cock while fingers on the other hand teased a nipple to stiffness.
“Come back to bed, Josh.”
Sam moved his hand languorously over his hardening cock, meeting Josh’s gaze steadily.
Josh felt a wave of revulsion like a punch in the gut and turned his back on Sam.
“We really need to get back to work. Could you get dressed?”
He’d heard nothing at all for a few seconds, and then the rustle of cotton and creaking springs that signified that Sam was getting off the bed.
As he walked out of the bedroom he heard the familiar sound of a zipper being pulled up.)
Sam raised an eyebrow without looking up from the screen of his laptop. “Josh, I don’t know how much you remember about my writing process but, even though I’m a little rusty, it has never taken me only three hours to read briefing books on two federal judges with lengthy judicial records and write Presidential remarks suitable for the occasion of nominating them for Chief and Associate Justice spots.”
His eyes met Josh’s then. “In fact, I would go so far to say that never in the history of human endeavour has such a task been achieved in that timescale.”
Josh put his hands on his hips. “Yeah.”
Sam sighed. “Don’t you have a call sheet to get through?”
Josh ignored him. “I need this to work, Sam.”
Sam’s expression was serious. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m pretty sure I remember how this works, Josh. The news of the failure to agree a federal budget made it all the way out west to California.” Sam took off his glasses. “The LA Times did find space, in between pictures of the Laker Girls and surfers, to note that the entire federal government was shut down.”
“Yeah.” Josh gritted his teeth. “I was the point person on those budget negotiations, Sam.”
“And I’m sure that your mother was very proud.”
“You’re missing-“ Josh turned away from Sam. “I gave up too much for this to be how this ends.”
Sam’s head was bowed. “You didn’t call. I had to work out what was going on with you by reading the paper.”
Josh whirled around. “I didn’t call? I didn’t call?”
Sam shoved his chair back from the table and stood up. “Oh, you’re saying that I should have called? After months of silence? After sporadic phone calls with the unmistakeable click of BlackBerry keys in the background? After making it clear that you don’t want me anywhere near you?”
Josh bit his lip, hard. “The California 47th, Sam. You were the one who chose to move 3000 miles away.”
Sam made a noise of disbelief. “If there had been any chance. If you’d given me any hope. If there was even the smallest shred of possibility-“.
There was a knock at the door and a staffer that Sam didn’t know stuck her head through. “Can I have Josh for five minutes?”
9 am (EST)
The intercom on CJs phone buzzed. “CJ, I have Greg Brock for you?”
CJ refastened her earring. “Send him in.”
“Morning CJ.” Greg Brock was standing in her doorway. She waved him to the sofa.
“How can I help my favourite journalist from the Grey Lady this morning?”
The corners of Greg’s mouth turned up. “Why CJ, you’re giddy as a schoolgirl.”
CJ crossed her legs, savouring the expensive swish of her stockings. “I knew that third martini with breakfast was a mistake.”
Greg’s mouth twitched. “So, there’s something floating around out there about Evelyn Baker Lang.”
CJ’s spine straightened. “Is this the kind of blind, unsubstantiated something that you know I’m not going to comment on in a million, trillion Sundays?”
“It’s the kind of blind, unsubstantiated something that we at the New York Times find ethically questionable and definitely at odds with our editorial policy. However, others out there in the United Media Conglomerates of America do not want for scruples.” He stood up. “It’s a friendly heads up.”
10 am (EST)
“Did you know this was going to be in Baker Lang’s briefing book?”
Josh turned away from the window he had been staring out of. “She told us herself. At her second meeting.”
(And he’d looked at her like she was crazy. Not only did he not want the electorate to know about her abortion but he didn’t want to know about her abortion. He’d become surprisingly squeamish about sex, about anything that happened below the waist, and the thought of a young Evelyn Baker Lang with her feet in stirrups made his stomach turn over.
Just like the thought of the time Sam had been sucking his cock while the tails of Josh’s shirt flapped in the breeze from the fan in his office. He had been trying, unsuccessfully, to not think about his suspicion that the Secret Service had some kind of heat-signature reader that would identify what they were doing and include it in a report to Leo or the President. Just as Sam had dipped his tongue into the slit at the end of his cock, he had gently but firmly adjusted the position of his hand so that a slick finger was teasing Josh’s asshole. And although Josh had been inside Sam, had felt Sam’s silken insides clamp around him like a vice, the thought of anything being there and him liking it had scared himself so much that he’d pushed Sam away hard enough to bruise him. Sam had looked as beautiful as he always did sprawled on Josh’s office floor but the look in his eyes as he’d buttoned himself back into his shirt and trousers was one of pained contempt.)
“And you still thought it was a good idea to go ahead?”
Josh shook his head. “Not us. The President. He asked who else was being cut from a spot on the shortlist because of something they’d done that was legal.”
Sam smiled. “That sounds like him.”
“CJ was pretty pissed. She’s afraid that this gets out there and then Lang becomes a tabloid joke.”
“She’s a lifetime appointee. The worst that could happen is that she has a few months as a feature of the late night comedy shows. The ones with no style or class.”
Josh cut a look at Sam. “You don’t think this would totally undermine her professional credibility?”
Sam frowned. “A quarter of American women have had an abortion, Josh. Exactly who do you think is going to care once the initial thrill of titillation is past? The kind of people who hate her anyway?”
“I think she’d find it harder to get stuff done.”
“Get stuff-? She’s a judge, Josh. She’s not a fixer for the Battaglia family.” Sam looked at Josh through his eyelashes. “She’s not you.”
Josh’s phone rang and he broke eye contact with Sam and flipped it open. “Yeah?”
11 am (EST)
“Hi Mark, this is CJ Cregg. Could you please give me a call when you have a moment.” CJ paused. “Actually, could you give me a call as soon as is humanly possible? I’ll definitely make it worth your while.”
She winced as she hung up. “Was that too desperate-sorority-girl?”
“Nuh-uh.” Donna shook her head, unconvincingly. “Muffin?” she asked, brightly.
12 noon (EST)
Behind Josh, the door swung open on a war room, with rows of tables laden with laptops and legal pads and phones and the ephemera of twenty busy staffers. The room looked like controlled panic, and it took Sam a moment to realise that it must be soundproofed because none of the shouted conversations currently going on had leaked into the thickly carpeted room in which they were working.
Josh was on a call. The fifty-seventh call that Josh had been on in ninety minutes. Sam had created himself a workspace at the long table in the centre of the room and was typing on his laptop, face blank with concentration. Josh’s end of the table was a jumble of papers, files and newspapers; shuffled together like a messy pile of cards.
(There had been stacks of paper on his desk the day that Josh had asked him in to talk to him about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. To loop him in on what Matt Skinner had been saying. Josh had repeated the Congressman’s words with a strange kind of respect, as though a gay Republican who had somehow made peace with his party’s homophobia deserved approbation rather than confusion.
Sam had counted the files on Josh’s desk that day to keep himself from screaming out loud; from jumping up and slapping Josh so hard upside the head that his teeth would rattle.
But he couldn’t have that conversation again. Couldn’t pierce the carapace of denial that Josh erected every time discussions of his sexual orientation arose. Couldn’t bear to listen to Josh describing his flimsy, brief relationships with women as anything other than a conjuring trick; a piece of misdirection to distract from where his passions truly lay.
Josh was a terrible, selfish lover. He was awkward, defensive, embarrassed and stiff in all the wrong places. But in the seconds that ran from just before Josh’s face contorted to when he got his breath back sufficiently to push himself off Sam, there were moments of truth so beautiful they nearly tore a Hallelujah from Sam’s throat. He would never form his mouth around the words to ask for it, but Josh loved Sam’s finger up his ass when he came. He had, once or twice, dropped his mouth to Sam’s as he’d shuddered inside him and the scrape of teeth against teeth had pushed Sam over the edge. Once he’d dropped his head to Sam’s chest, still fluttering weakly, and licked the sweat from the hollow in his throat.
So Sam couldn’t bear to hear Matt Skinner’s ludicrous position lauded as more than the pathetic political expedient that it was. Couldn’t listen to Josh making the case for servicemen and women with the same desires as he and Josh consigned, in Josh’s imagination, to experience more of the insulting doublespeak of a policy that resulted in real injury and pain.)
Josh flipped his phone shut without saying goodbye. "There's a piece of paper out there."
Sam's head jerked up. "A piece of paper? What kind of paper?"
"Medical records. Photos. An affidavit from a roommate or the boyfriend. Who knows?" Josh ran both hands through his hair. “CJ got a heads up from Greg Brock. She’s made a few calls to try and find out what it is and who has it but she’s drawing a blank.”
Sam’s fingers were still hovering over the keys of his laptop. "Can we outrun this? We sure as hell can’t get out in front of it."
Josh sighed. "However much the confirmation is going to be a cakewalk, it's still going to take time and there are a lot of column inches of newsprint that need filling every day."
"And this twofer angle isn't going to be enough."
Josh looked out of the window, jaw clenched. "Maybe. But even the quality press will be scrabbling around for human interest stories to underline the differences between the two."
Sam considered that. "It's not as though Christopher Mulready is the Isaiah-quoting demagogue that would enable the kind of Spy versus Spy stories you’re talking about."
"He’s a strict constructionist. A real John Bircher."
"Sure, and he has elements of cultural conservatism laced through his judicial philosophy. But his private life doesn't exactly lend itself to the writing of the Home on the Range profile."
Josh grimaced, guiltily. "Ok, let's assume that I skipped through sections of his FBI Briefing Book. That whole part about his mother's tupperware business was such a slow read I swear it compared unfavourably with the federal budget for narrative thrust."
The silence hummed between them.
"He's gay, Josh." Sam's voice was almost apologetic.
Josh opened his mouth as if to say something, and then clamped his jaw firmly shut.
"So if the conservative element of the press is willing to ignore that, then maybe the Lang paper won't be picked up. It's their base that will object to his sexual orientation. They have every interest in containing the personal attacks."
Josh's face was unreadable. "Well we can certainly try crossing our fingers and hoping for the very best."
"Josh." Sam's voice held a warning tone.
"Yeah." Josh rubbed his eyes. "I need to get with CJ. She's uneasy enough about this already."
1 pm (EST)
CJ looked up from her laptop. “Why the big smile, Carol?”
Carol proffered a plain brown envelope. “I have the piece of paper right here.”
Grabbing up her glasses, CJ reached for the envelope. Slicing through the paper with her letter opener, she pulled out a ten by thirteen print. Putting it on her desk, she glanced over it and looked up at Carol.
“Is this a joke?”
Carol’s grin got wider. “Nope, a friend of a friend is a stringer for one of the supermarket tabloids. She brought this to me. She’s a member of a pro-choice organisation and couldn’t believe the story she was being asked to write.”
CJ started to smile. “I’ll get in touch with Justice Lang and see if she knows what the building in the photo really is. Bonus for us if she has the actual photo. Could you get me one of the boys on the phone?”
“Sure.” Carol closed the office door behind her.
“There’s nothing I like more than bad, bad PhotoShop.” CJ smiled to herself in satisfaction as she waited for the call to go through. “And people who can’t even spell ‘Planned Parenthood’.”
2 pm (EST)
Sam turned the volume down on the television. “She did well. I forgot what a thing of beauty CJ’s briefings are.”
(Although it was CJ’s voice that had been detailing the recommendations of the Debate Commission in the background when Sam had realised it was over.
When Josh had stilled Sam’s hand on his zipper as though Sam were a chauffeur who was improperly valeting Josh’s car, Sam thought his heart would break in his chest.
This thing they’d had had always been one step forwards and two steps back, entrenched in the sex that was the only kind of physical affection that Josh, on a normal day, would accept. The years of treading a wire thin line between the friendship that Josh luxuriated in and the sexual relationship that he barely, stiffly tolerated had all at once been so exhausting to Sam that he couldn’t contemplate it lasting for another week.
And so, even as Josh stood in his office and turned his attention to the screen on which CJ was, with flair and élan, dismissing Ritchie even as she elevated the President, Sam knew that he had to get away. That standing in Leo’s office, in the Oval, next to Josh was going to be impossible. That years of patient work had turned to ashes in his hands.)
Josh flipped pages in Mulready’s briefing book. “Yeah. Where are we on the law and order messaging for the announcement?”
Sam shook his head. “Well, some elements of the public might be welcoming of Chris Mulready’s vehement opposition to Miranda.”
Josh put his head on the table. “Outstanding.”
Sam shrugged. “There’s no way that you can spin Baker Lang’s views in a traditional law and order direction. The best possible line you can hope for is that the views of the President’s nominees will ensure a vigorous discussion about how to keep America safe while protecting the rights of the individual.”
“Because if there’s one thing that tests well right across this union then it’s nuance and subtlety?” Josh lifted his head off the table. “Are there no moral majority judges who actually fought in a war?”
Sam raised his eyebrow. “Even if Chris Mulready wasn’t too young to have fought in any campaign except Desert Storm, they wouldn’t want him to, remember?”
The silence stretched out between them.
“Sam-“.
Sam slid his laptop into its bag. “I think we’re done here. I’ve sent Toby and CJ the last set of messaging notes and sent Toby my notes on the third draft of the remarks.”
“Sam-“.
“Was there something else you wanted me to do?” The words sounded more loaded than he had meant them to.
Josh scanned his face.
“I don’t want us not to talk.” His voice cracked on the words. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Josh.” Sam pushed his glasses up his nose. “I think I’ve always missed you.”
“You know that we can’t-“. Josh swallowed hard.
Sam shook his head. “No, I know that you think we can’t. But that’s not the same thing at all, is it?”
“Sam-“. The word was an invocation.
“Goodbye, Josh.”
And he touched Josh’s arm. Felt both the heat and the flinch. Couldn’t bring himself to look backwards over his shoulder as he walked out of the door of the suite and downstairs to call a car to take him to the airport.