See Disclaimers in part 1
****
All Before Noon 4/4
By Lacy
My lingering anger propels me out of Leo's office into the West Wing
corridors. Thankfully though, I'm still in control enough to know I
need to cool off before going back to Donna. Toby catches me in the
hallway, providing a needed distraction.
"Hey," he greets as he steps into stride with me.
"You're taking Sheldon and his resolution," I inform him without
preamble.
"What?"
"Sheldon," I say again. "Leo wants you to take it."
"Was I a Republican in my last life? What did I do deserve this?"
"Nothing, Toby. It's not you."
"What did you do to make me deserve this?" he asks over his shoulder
as I follow him into his office. I drop on to the couch across from
his desk.
"Leo thinks I'm too close to it," I respond. "He thinks you'll handle
it better."
"Better than you? Well that could be true of just about anything."
"Maybe he's right," I mutter, turning the videotape over in my hands.
"What's with the tape?" Toby asks.
"It's the reason Leo wants you on the resolution."
"Can I ask a personal question?"
"Since when do you ask if you can ask a personal question?"
"I'm turning over a new leaf," he deadpans.
"Sure, go ahead."
"Is Donna pregnant?" He's picked up a paper weight and is passing it
from hand to hand without looking me in the eye.
"Why do you ask?" He's piqued my interest with his question. Donna's
not showing yet, and I think we've been very careful to avoid talking
about in the office. His conclusion is correct, and I want to
understand how he leapt to it.
"Just something Ginger said to me the other day. She suggested that
Donna could maybe...be pregnant."
"How could she possibly know?"
"I don't know," Toby sighs in that exasperated manner he has. "It's a
woman thing. That's what she said. 'Women know these things'."
"Yes, I've been noticing recently that women have an unfair advantage
that seems to manifest itself as extra sensory perception."
"It's called women's intuition and you're changing the subject."
"Yeah," my smirk fades, "she's pregnant."
"Damn," he mumbles. "If it's not one thing it's another. And the
videotape?"
"Our first sonogram."
After working as closely with someone as I've worked with Toby, you
see when their mind launches into certain modes. Toby's in strategy
mode right now. I can't bear the thought of strategizing this -- my
child -- so I've decided to leave it up to the rest of the senior
staff. I don't want my child to become some pawn in a political game.
She deserves better than that.
"Leo was right," Toby declares. "You shouldn't be anywhere near
Sheldon."
"Look, Toby. I'm unsure about a lot of things right now, but the one
thing I *know* is that I'm still capable of doing my job."
"You'll still do your job. You'll just do your job on something
else."
"Yeah."
"Get up to speed with Sam," he advises me. "I'll handle Sheldon, and
I'll do it with my usual aplomb."
"Yeah," I ease myself from the couch and reach for the door knob.
"Toby," I say before I open the door. "Nobody knows better than I do
that the timing could've been better than this, but if you ever so
much as imply that my child is a political inconvenience again, I'll
personally kick your ass."
It's not every day you can shock the hell out of Toby Ziegler, but I
think I just did. He can't even manage an apology through his gaping
mouth, before I open the door and leave his office.
I step right next door to Sam's office and nearly bump into him as
he's coming out.
"I was just coming to look for you," he tells me.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Come in and shut the door." He motions me inside, shoving his hands
in his pockets as he leans up against the front of his desk.
"What's going on Sam?" I ask, when I am assured of a private
conversation.
"I just got a call from Detective Anderson," he informs me in an
ominous tone.
"Did they set a trial date?"
"There isn't going to be a trial, Josh."
"What?"
"Leon Proctor is dead."
"How?" I ask, when my mind is able to process this new information.
"Suicide by cop," he says.
"What does that mean?"
"According to the report, Proctor got into a fight with another
inmate. He pulled a homemade knife and killed him. The guards drew
their weapons as per procedure and when Proctor went after one of them
with the knife they were compelled to shoot him. He forced their
hands."
"So, what does this mean?"
"It's over, Josh," he drops a hand on my shoulder. "Donna will never
have to testify. And Proctor will never hurt anyone else."
"He's dead," I whisper.
"Yes."
I feel cheated. I never got the chance to wrap my hands around his
throat and choke the life out him myself. I know I shouldn't think
such things, let alone feel them, but I do. I should be sympathetic
towards him somehow. I tell myself that he had a crappy childhood --
that he was a product of a system that needs changing. But I can't
bring myself to believe it.
He deserved a chance to rehabilitate himself. He deserved at least
that.
Nope. That one's not working for me either.
I don't believe in the death penalty. I believe that everyone
deserves the opportunity to pay their debts to society. Except Leon
Proctor. I keep seeing Donna's battered face and her blonde hair
matted with oozing blood. In my mind's eye I see the sonogram of the
tape I'm still holding in my hand.
Yeah. Proctor can rot in hell, and I will gleefully dance a jig on
his grave.
"Josh?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah."
"Do you want me to tell Donna?" he asks.
"No, I'll tell her. Thanks for handling all of this Sam."
"You bet. Let me know if you need anything."
"Uh...yeah. Look, Leo took me off Sheldon."
"Because of the--?"
"Yeah. So, I'm working 387 with you now."
"I'll get Cathy to copy my files."
"Fine. I can get up to speed with you Monday."
"Okay."
"I have to...go talk to Donna...now."
"I'll see you later."
Donna's not sitting at her desk when I walk into the Operations
bullpen, but the door to my office is closed. She's sitting in my
chair facing the window, when I walk in on her. She's been crying.
Her eyes are puffy and there are red splotches on her cheeks from
where she rubbed away her tears.
"What's wrong?" I ask. "Are you all right?"
"What happened, Josh? With Leo...what happened?"
"Nothing," I tell her. Has she been sitting in my office all this
time worrying about what Leo was going to do? "He offered his
congratulations." I reach into the left-hand top drawer of my desk,
retrieve a handkerchief, and hand it to her. My mother sent them to
me a few months back. She still manages to get in the occasional
lesson about the art of being a gentleman. Even after all these
years, she's still holding out hope. Lucky for me though, because, I
have a feeling I'm going to get plenty of use out of them for the next
few months.
"That's all?" she asks, taking the handkerchief and wiping gently
beneath her eyes. "Nothing else?"
"He took me off Sheldon."
"Really?"
"Yeah. So, now we have to do the thing with Sam."
"The train thing?"
"Yeah."
"I'll talk to Cathy."
"Have you been sitting in here this whole time crying?" My simple
question -- delivered with the utmost sensitivity, I might add --
causes a fresh torrent of tears from her. "Donna? What's wrong?"
"I was just so worried," she admits. "Leo looked...well...not happy."
"He's anticipating censure from the Christian Right."
"Mary Marsh?"
"Yeah."
"Bring her on," Donna says, getting fired up. "I'll rip her heart out
with my bare hands."
"As much as I appreciate your mother bear impersonation, I don't think
that will be necessary," I smile.
"I'm not scared of her." She's pacing the office floor in front of
me.
"I know."
"I'll get right up into that sourpuss of hers and give her a piece of
my mind."
"Did you just say sourpuss?"
"It's a word," she insists.
"Yeah," I say, "my grandmother used it a lot."
"If she so much as says--"
"My grandmother?"
"Mary Marsh," she corrects. "If she says anything to try to blame
this," she places her hand on her stomach, "on the President, I'll
call her to the carpet."
"I could sell tickets."
"I'm serious here."
"I can tell." Have I ever mentioned how breathtaking she is when
she's filled with all of that righteous indignation? I consider
briefly saying something that will get her even more worked up, just
so I can watch her go.
"Aren't you the least bit concerned, Josh?" she asks after taking one
look at the smile on my face.
"About Mary Marsh?"
"Yes."
"No. I'm not concerned. Why should I be concerned when I have you to
shield me?"
"Josh," she warns, signaling that it's time for me to consider the
problem with more gravity.
"Okay," I admit. "I'm a little concerned. But Leo's already on top
of it, and pretty soon CJ will be covering us."
"I don't like this, Josh?"
"What?"
"Why can't we have a baby like normal people?"
"Because we're not normal, Donna. We're servants of the people and
we're accountable to them for our actions. We knew that when we
signed on."
"So, there's nothing that's just for us? Our every move is going to
be second guessed and analyzed for wrong doing?
"It is if we want to be together," I tell her. Her shoulders slump in
defeat and for a long moment I say nothing. "Donna, come here." I
hold out my hand, beckoning her. She steps into my embrace and drops
her head into the crook between my shoulder and neck. I can feel the
heat of her tears against my skin. "They're just preparing for the
worst. It's our job to hope for the best, okay? So, we go on, and do
our jobs. We prove that we're still capable, even if our priorities
are changing. Concentrate on that, all right?"
"I just don't want it to be my fault if the President doesn't get
reelected."
"First of all, you didn't get pregnant all by yourself. Second, it's
too early to be thinking like that. And third, if this turns into a
thing it'll be one news cycle -- two at most. It'll be forgotten long
before the people have to go to the polls.
"I wish I could believe that."
"You're putting too much stress on yourself, Donna. And I think the
people will bear me up on that. You were worried about going public
when we got together and it turned out to be nothing. Remember what
the doctor said -- relax."
"I'm trying."
"Go home, Donna. Get some rest, it's been a long day."
"It's not even noon, Josh."
"Are you going to take advantage of my unusually kind offer, or not?
Because, I could certainly use the help around here. I have to round
up all my files on Sheldon's resolution and cart them down to Toby's
office."
"I'm out of here."
"Take the car, I'll get a ride back with Sam or something."
"Okay."
It's not until half an hour later that I realize I forgot to tell her
about Proctor. I hope that she doesn't find out about his death from
the news -- I'd much rather it came from me.
Thinking about Proctor gets the pit of my stomach rolling at a slow
boil. Once the thought enters my head, I can't stop thinking about
how Donna and I were cheated out of proper justice. On the other
hand, when it comes to Proctor, I'm having difficulty defining the
meaning of proper justice. He should have received due process --
that's what the law says. But the knot in my gut says he should have
been forced to beg for his life in a back alley somewhere --
preferably by me.
I'm having a slight crisis of conscious. My need to cling to my
political beliefs and my primal desire for blood justice are at war
with one another. When it comes to Donna, I'm not able to separate
myself. Loving someone can do that.
This is why Leo reassigned me. He saw the potential for
this...conflict of interest. He already knew what I'm just beginning
to understand. I won't be able to separate my unborn child from the
hundreds of thousands of unborn children that Sheldon's guys will
bring to the table. No more than I can separate Leon Proctor from the
devastating impact he had on my life.
It's all too fresh. And I am too close.
So, now this crisis is leading me down a path for which I have no map
-- no compass for discerning direction.
The End