Chapter Text
It’s been a long time coming.
Years of playing political hardball, sleepless nights, debating and negotiating with people too caught up in their own agendas to listen, being tasked with the impossible and being expected to get it done by close of business.
Josh Lyman can’t quite remember the future he’d imagined for himself when he first came to Washington. He supposes he couldn’t really have predicted anything that’s happened in the last twenty years. It certainly didn’t include acting as Chief of Staff to the first Latino president in United States history.
The last twelve months changed his entire world over—something he hopes will not happen again for at least another twelve months. He’d been in a career nosedive until he hit the campaign trail with Matt Santos. He knew the odds had been stacked against them, that next to no one believed they’d be able to pull off the political comeback of the last several decades. But they did it.
They won.
And now the road ahead is long, filled with uncertainty and new challenges, a Republican Senate, and a White House teeming with more new faces than familiar. But Josh is ready to face every problem head-on, to lead his new staff, and support his new president.
If he knows how to do anything, it’s how to work.
This is his fresh start.
There is an unmistakable pep in his step as he walks into his corner of the West Wing on this chilly but sunny Monday morning. The first Monday after Santos’ inauguration. The first Monday of this administration. There’s an agenda for the day, of course, but it feels like the possibilities are endless.
His new assistant isn’t sitting at her desk yet, but that’s alright. Josh is early.
He takes out his new key and revels in the clunk of the lock shifting, the satisfaction of pushing open the door to his new office.
“What the–” he breathes, taking in the mountain of folders and briefing books stacked haphazardly on the round table across from his desk, tarps crumpled up in front of a set of new brown leather couches, wires hanging from a void in the ceiling and the smell of fresh paint burning his nose.
“PAMELA!”
The room, despite its south-facing windows and the bright morning outside, is claustrophobically dark. He tosses his backpack on his desk and tries to click the lamp on. He tugs on the power cord and pulls it right up from the floor; he shakes the computer mouse but the screen remains dark.
He flings the black-out curtains back and opens the windows to start filtering the pungent air and sees the walls have been painted a green that’s bordering on a deep charcoal. His office has become a dungeon of darkness over the weekend and all of his my-eyes-only files are sitting unorganized in a pile, not a filing cabinet in sight.
“Josh?” comes a gentle voice from behind him. “You’ve got the—oh my gosh.” Josh leans around his desk and sees Ronna’s wide eyes scanning the room and landing on the dangling ceiling wires. “I don’t think your office is up to code right now.”
“Yeah, well, don’t tell OSHA and we won’t have a problem,” Josh sighs. “What were you saying?”
“The senior staff are waiting for you in the Oval, and the President will be down in a couple of minutes. Where’s Pamela?”
“That’s a great question,” he huffs, voice pitching higher than he’d intended. “I’ll be there soon, thanks Ronna.” She smiles and ducks out as quickly as she’d popped in.
Josh had asked Pamela to leave the folders he needed for this morning on his desk, but they are nowhere to be found. He stares helplessly at the tower of papers and groans, and decides to wing his first official senior staff meeting.
This is not the start he’d been hoping for.
He sheds his coat, drops it onto a free corner of the couch, and strides into the Oval, blinded for a moment by the brightness of this space compared to his office. The senior staff is silently standing around in the center of the room: Bram, Edie, Lou, Sam the newbie, and Adam the newest newbie.
“What a lively bunch,” he says, catching their attention and closing the door behind him. “Morning, everyone.”
“Does anyone smell...paint?” Edie asks.
“No,” Josh says, joining the group.
“I definitely smell paint,” Adam says.
“How’re we looking in the Senate for confirming Baker?” Josh asks, sitting in one of the armchairs. The rest of the staff settle around him. The new furniture is throwing him off despite the number of times he’s been in here. This spot is where Leo sat countless times over the last decade, berating himself and Toby and Sam and CJ (and even President Bartlet at times), but now it’s just a chair.
“Obviously we have complete Democratic support,” Edie says, “but we’ll need those key Republican votes to put us over a majority.”
“In an ideal world, Congress would just give us a damn Vice President,” Adam grumbles.
“Welcome to the White House,” Sam quips. Lou snorts into her binder.
The Secret Service agents standing out on the colonnade shuffle around, and the one closest to the door swings it open, declaring,“The President of the United States.”
President Santos bursts into the Oval Office, sunlight streaming through the glass doors behind him and illuminating his enormous frame. The senior staff wordlessly rise to their feet as he strides to his desk and casually drops his briefcase onto it with the conviction that a young, vibrant Leader of the Free World should have. He looks positively presidential. Josh’s breath hitches—he’ll never take standing in this room, serving at the pleasure of his Commander-in-Chief, for granted.
“Good morning,” he booms. “Happy Monday. Where are we on acquiring a Vice President?”
“Good morning, sir,” Josh says. “We’ve identified five Republicans whose votes we’ll need for a definite majority confirmation in the Senate. Mostly moderates in a second or third term.”
“As well as three cushion votes that aren’t exactly necessary but would broaden the margin and, we think, send a message to the Senate Majority Leader if we can swing them,” Bram adds. Santos nods as he walks around to the front of his desk, leans against it and crosses his arms.
“When has the vote been scheduled for?”
“Friday night, sir,” Sam says, “at eight o’clock.”
“And who’s working on getting these votes?”
“Amy has been speaking with Senator Mitchell and is confident that he’s on board,” Edie says.
Josh adds, “Sam is meeting with Lockmore and Lynch, and Bram is meeting with Ramsey and Fischer. I’ll be talking to the cushion votes, who are...” Josh remembers the notes he needed for this morning had those names scribbled on a sticky note, while a thousand other things in his mind fight for his attention. Wherever it is now, it’s useless to him.
“Haper, Clemmon and Schiavone,” Sam finishes. Josh nods, and Santos claps his hands together.
“Fantastic. What else?”
“There’s a winter weather advisory in place for tomorrow evening, covering the D.C. area and most of the mid-Atlantic” Lou says, “and there’s a good chance it’ll become a warning.”
“Keep me in the loop on that, I’d like to hear some updates later this evening. Anything else?”
“Architectural Digest wants to know when renovations will be done in the Residence,” Adam says, “and if any staffers would like their offices featured in a spread–”
The loud, short, “No,” escapes Josh’s mouth before he can stop it. He feels everyone’s eyes shift to him as he does his best to gaze nonchalantly out the windows. He clears his throat. “I’d really prefer that AD stays out of the West Wing proper while we’re still getting into the swing of things,” he adds.
“Fair enough,” Santos says. “Tell them the Residence should be done late next week.” Adam nods, but not without giving Josh another critical look. “Is that everything?”
A chorus of “Yes, sir,” answers, and Santos stands up straight.
“Thank you all for your work,” he grins. “Let’s keep this momentum heading into this Friday’s vote, when we will have our Vice—does anyone... smell paint–”
“Sir, you’ve got a meeting here about five minutes ago,” Josh says, turning to face the senior staff. “I’ll touch base with you all later this morning.” They shuffle out, and when the door closes, Josh heaves a great sigh.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Santos says, lifting a knowing eyebrow at Josh as he sits down behind his desk.
“It was fine,” he answers. “They haven’t quite gelled, yet. Sam and Adam are at a disadvantage because–”
“There’s a learning curve, Josh, they’ll be an airtight team in no time. Who am I meeting with?”
“Funnily enough, I have no idea. My office looks like a rogue librarian broke in over the weekend, and my schedule is either trapped on a computer without a power connection or in the Mount Vesuvius of files on my conference table.”
Santos slips his hands into his pants pockets and tones back the Commander-in-Chief energy. “You also have a learning curve to work with, Josh.”
“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to include a turf war with the White House interior design team. I also can’t walk down my street without a Secret Service detail. And I have no idea where Pamela is.”
“I think we should all expect the unexpected in this job,” Santos smiles. “And I can’t go to the bathroom without a Secret Service detail.” He winks at Josh as he presses the intercom button. “Send in my nine o’clock, Ronna.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Josh says, showing himself out and back into his black hole.
A flurry of movement catches his eye down the hall leading to the rest of the West Wing, and he sees Pamela rushing toward him, puffy winter coat half-zipped, her mane of dark brown curls and her scarf flapping behind her.
“You’re late,” Josh snaps. “What the hell happened to my office?”
“What do you m–holy shit,” Pamela pants, tossing her coat and scarf onto the standing rack in the corner of her allotted floor space, eyes fixed on the dark walls and the leaning tower of papers. “If you think I turned your office into the Black Lagoon, you’re sorely mistaken. And I’m sorry, there were delays on the blue line.”
“You take the metro to work?”
“I live in Virginia, yes I take the metro to work. I can’t afford luxurious D.C. housing. Or a car.”
“It’s not that luxurious,” Josh rolls his eyes.
“Oh, like you don’t live in a fancy one-bedroom in Georgetown?”
“I don’t!” He protests. Pamela raises an eyebrow at him. “I live in a fancy two-bedroom in Georgetown.”
“Two bedrooms? Are you kidding? Can I live with you?”
“No! Look—I need this fixed like, yesterday. Get the interior designer back here as soon as humanly possible. Where are the paint samples?” Pamela takes her place behind the desk, shuffles a few binders and pulls out the sheet for Josh’s office.
“Jeeze, look, I circled this one,” he says, pointing at a grey-green sage, “but it bled through to the back and it looks like I circled this one.” He flips the paper and shows her. Pamela considers it and then peers back into his office.
“Yeah, that looks like German Chocolate Forest to me.”
“Can you get them to fix this?”
“You bet. And I’m really sorry I’m late. I promise that’s not a habit of mine.” Josh hands the paper back.
“Don’t worry about it. The learning curve here is pretty steep, and everyone’s playing catch-up this week. Sorry for snapping at you.”
“No hard feelings.”
“Do you at least have an extra copy of my schedule while I’m waiting for the 21st century to return to my office?” Pamela moves another binder and pulls it out for him. “See? You’re doing great already, Miss Lewis,” Josh smiles, gazing at the list of people he has to see just this morning. “Let’s move all of my meetings to the Mural Room, though.”
“You bet. Can’t have the Senate Minority Leader get lost inside the German Chocolate Forest.”
Josh, despite the morning already veering wildly off-track, cannot help letting out a bark of laughter.
***
The interior design team leaves Pamela a message for Josh about how very sorry they are for the misunderstanding, and although it won’t take more than a day to fix what had been done wrong, they’re pressed for time to finish the Residence for the Architectural Digest shoot at the end of next week. Until then, Josh would be taking meetings in whatever spaces were available around the West Wing.
By Tuesday morning, maintenance had at least re-established electricity and hooked his desktop up to ethernet so Josh didn’t have to hunch over a laptop in the Roosevelt Room or walk (or shout) across a very public hallway to get his assistant’s attention. There is still a dark void in the ceiling where overhead lighting was supposed to be installed, and though most of his files were put away many of them are still laying in an unorganized mess on his conference table. Compromise was the name of the game, and Santos’ words kept floating through Josh’s head: Expect the unexpected .
It wasn’t all bad news—in the last day, Josh received confirmation that Amy had gotten Senator Mitchell on their side, and Bram had already tackled Senators Ramsey and Fischer. Josh himself had secured a cushion vote from Senator Clemmon, meaning Team Santos was tied with the Republican leadership for a successful V.P. confirmation. The tie-breaker in a Senate confirmation is supposed to come from the Vice President. It would be in bad form to have the House Speaker be that tie-breaker in the absence of a V.P., so Josh was eagerly awaiting word from Sam. He’d like their first move as an administration to be an organic victory.
Around lunchtime, Josh is finally doing work at his desk, doors still closed to the outside world and sunshine, when he hears Pamela raise her voice.
“Hi, do you have an—you can’t just barge in there— hey!”
The doorknob rattles and Adam lets himself into Josh’s office.
“Woah,” he laughs, “this place looks like the Bat Cave.”
“It’s a work in progress,” Josh retorts. “Did I hear Pamela say you couldn’t come in here, and then you decided to come in here anyway?” Pamela pokes her head in through the door.
“You heard right,” she says, her southern twang coming out just a touch.
“I just have a question about the V.P. vote,” Adam says.
“You are way out of line right now,” Josh says, pointing a pen at him, “but I’ll humor you.” The day they met for his interview, Josh recognized the youthful but determined energy stirring in Adam. A drive that very few people are born with. Josh is willing to help direct that energy if Adam is willing to cooperate.
“Sit down. Close the door, Pamela?” She does, and Adam sits. “What’s your question?”
“It’s more of a suggestion, actually,” he replies, pushing his shirtsleeves up and crossing pale, freckled arms over his chest. “I think I can help whip votes. I’d like to, anyway.”
Josh raises his eyebrows at him, barely concealing an astonished smile.
“You’re the Press Secretary,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You’re supposed to whip good will with the Press Corps, not run around the Hill pretending to—”
“Woah, I wouldn’t be pretending,” Adam says, “I worked for Congresswoman Johnson, I know–”
“Don’t interrupt me,” Josh deadpans. “Whipping congressional support for transportation legislation in Oregon is a lot different than talking to three-term senators about the confirmation of the next Vice President of the United States.”
“I know I can–”
“I’m not saying you can’t do it, I’m telling you that you can’t do it, on principle. It’s not your job.”
Adam’s mouth twists into something like a frustrated grimace. “I don’t see why–”
“I’m telling you why. It would look bad for the most high-profile public figure in the White House, whose actual job description includes reporting facts and recounting our political procedures, to be on the Hill convincing Republican senators to do what we want them to. You’d be briefing others on your own actions.”
“It would look bad?”
“Very bad.”
“That’s your reason?”
“It’s the reason. You went to journalism school, this is Year One ethics stuff.”
Adam blows air out his mouth, ruffling a few auburn curls, and claps his hands against his legs.
“Well,” he says, “sorry to bother you then. I’ve got a briefing in two hours, anything new I should know?”
“Not right now, but I’ll be sure to tell you if something comes up.”
“Kay.” And Adam leaves just as quickly as he came, not bothering to shut the door behind him. Josh sighs and closes it himself. It seems he has more ambition than Josh originally calculated.
Not fifteen minutes later, Josh hears a conversation much like from before start up outside.
“...people have to schedule appointments, y’all can’t just waltz in whenever you want.” It’s only been a day and Josh is already quite fond of Pamela.
“Can you tell him it’s me?” replies an all-too familiar voice.
“Let him in, Pamela, it’s okay,” Josh calls. The door knob rattles again, and this time it’s Sam that strolls in. Sam Seaborn, the oldest and friendliest face currently working in this White House. At least to Josh.
Something that Josh absolutely could not have predicted twenty years ago was meeting Sam, becoming fast friends, and endeavoring to change the world together as senior aides to two sitting presidents. Josh still can’t believe they’re working together again.
Sam blinks a few times, rooted to the spot, squinting into the dark abyss of the office.
“Go on, shoot your shot, see if I’ve heard it already,” Josh grins.
“Did you pick a purposefully repulsive paint color to keep people away? Like the aesthetic opposite of bright colors on a poisonous frog?”
“Huh. I was expecting you to take a funnier route,” Josh sighs. “That was pretty lame.”
Sam shrugs his shoulders and remains standing, more than a few paces from Josh’s desk, tucking his hands into his pockets.
“I got Lynch and Lockmore this morning,” he says.
“Really? You got ‘em?” Sam nods. “Sam, that’s great, we’ve broken the tie! We’ve got a V.P.!”
“To my understanding, we’ll know for sure about that after eight on Friday night.”
“You know what I mean. This is big, this is our first major move as an administration. How does it feel to be giving Republicans a hard time as part of your job description again?”
“About the same as it always did. I don’t want to keep you, I just wanted to tell you in person. And if you need help, I can spare a half hour to convince another moderate that upholding democracy should be their main priority right now.”
“Ah—right.” Something’s... wrong. “Yeah, I’ll let you know. Uh, thanks, Sam.”
“Sure thing.”
Josh knows whipping votes isn’t the most glamorous part of the job, but he figured Sam might show a little enthusiasm.
“I’ll get out of your hair, then,” Sam adds, already halfway out the door.
“Sam, wait–” Josh starts, but as he gets up to stop him, Pamela sticks her head in the door.
“Sorry, pardon me. Josh, Secretary Vinnick is waiting for you in the... Situation Room? Is that bad?”
“Huh?” Before Josh can think of what to say to get him to turn around, Sam turns the corner and disappears down the hall. He sighs, turning his attention back to his assistant. “No, no, for this meeting it’s just a secure room. It’s the unscheduled, impromptu meetings in the Sit Room you wanna look out for. Thanks, Pamela.”
“Uh-huh. Who was that again?”
“Hm?”
“Who was just here? Still trying to put faces with names.”
“Oh—Sam Seaborn.”
“And he’s...?”
“Deputy. Er, my deputy. Deputy Chief of Staff.”
***
“Josh, that is terrific news.”
“I’m glad you think so, sir.”
Long after the sun has set, and after Vinnick is able to deliver his first official update on Kazakhstan and take any remaining wind out of his sails, Josh is able to catch Santos during a free moment in the Oval. The snow storm had moved over D.C. a couple hours ago, and now the flakes are falling heavy and fast out the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the president.
He looks much more like he did on the campaign trail, jacket folded over the back of his chair, tie gone, and sleeves rolled up past his elbows, but always determined. Josh half wonders where the White House photographer is. This is the hardworking man they need to capture for posterity.
“Now we just need to keep a low profile until Friday night. I wasn’t expecting a soft confirmation until at least Thursday afternoon. You must be pleased as anything. These are big moves.”
“I can assure you I’ll still be holding my breath until Friday night, sir,” Josh smiles, clasping his wrist behind his back. “And Sam, Bram and Amy have done most of the legwork on this one.”
“You’re too humble, Josh. Don’t start selling yourself short so soon. You’re their boss, you have plenty of pull.”
“All at the pleasure of the president, sir. That’s why we’re here.”
“I was hoping you hadn’t forgotten little old me,” he smirks. “Is everything else all in order?”
“Sir?”
Santos signs another paper and continues on without missing a beat, “I thought you might’ve been a little more ‘to the victor’ with this news. There’s no senator going to come out of left field and derail this whole process, right? How was your meeting with Secretary Vinnick?”
“I wouldn’t worry about the confirmation, sir, it’s resting on a bedrock foundation of bipartisan support. And the Kazakhstan meeting went about as well as it could, given the circumstances.”
Santos pauses his signing, and levels Josh with a gaze as sincere as anything, dark eyes boring into his own. “Are you okay, then?”
He gives half a shrug. “Let’s chalk it up to first day nerves.”
“But it’s your second day.”
“And that’s why I went into politics instead of law. The sentiment still stands.”
Santos laughs at that, and signs one last paper with a flourish before flipping the file folder closed. “Go on and get out of here, before the snow gets too bad. Good evening, Josh.”
“Good evening, Mr. President.”
Out his own window, Josh can see the ground is already carpeted in an inch of snow—the wet and heavy kind, nearly impossible to shovel.
Pamela knocks on the door frame behind him. “You leaving?” she asks. “Need anything? Everything good?”
He pulls on his coat and says, “I’m all set, thanks. Hey, how’s that learning curve going?”
“I’ve had easier jobs,” she says, wrapping her scarf around her neck and giving it a satisfied tug. “But I signed up for this one, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we all did, didn’t we? C’mon, I’ll walk you out.”
As Josh hits the lights behind them on the way, Pamela asks, “How’s your learning curve going?”
“I’ve had easier jobs,” he parrots. “But I signed up for this one. Tell you what, the ongoing war with the interior decorators was unexpected.”
Pamela laughs, and Josh is glad she hasn’t been turned completely off by himself or the gig, yet. Lots of support staff don’t make it past the first day. Thinking of learning curves, he supposes that, all things considered, he’s been a little hard on himself today. Expect the unexpected. He just wishes he felt a bit happier about getting Baker’s votes. Maybe a bit more enthusiastic about his own staff, and sympathetic of their own learning curves.
And he still can’t shake the feeling that something’s just... wrong.