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The campaign issue itself had dissolved somewhere between Toby’s second rant about polling numbers and C.J.’s fourth sarcastic comment about “optics.”
“Which,” Toby said, stabbing a finger toward her as they walked down the sidewalk, “is not a strategy.”
“It is if you want people to like you.”
“They don’t vote based on liking you.”
“They absolutely vote based on liking you.”
“They shouldn’t.”
Jed Bartlet sighed dramatically and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. “This is why I make you all walk. The oxygen is supposed to help.”
Josh, walking beside him, snorted softly. “I think the oxygen’s making Toby worse.”
“That’s medically impossible,” Toby muttered.
The evening air was cool and quiet, the neighborhood around the residence mostly calm now that sunset had started bleeding across the sky. Secret Service agents kept a respectful distance, letting the senior staff circle around the block while they argued campaign messaging and education policy and whether or not Jed should start using the phrase middle-class tax relief more often.
Jed was tired of pacing around the front lawn.
“I’m beginning to feel like a zoo animal,” he’d complained twenty minutes earlier. “If I walk one more circle around the fountain, someone’s going to throw peanuts at me.”
So they’d left the gates for a quick walk.
It had almost felt normal.
Then they rounded the corner back toward the residence.
And the cameras started flashing.
“Oh, come on,” C.J. groaned under her breath.
The paparazzi had gathered near the gates in a loose, aggressive cluster, shouting over each other the second they spotted the President and his staff returning.
“Mr. President! Mr. President!”
“Any comment on the campaign numbers?”
“Sir, is there tension inside the administration?”
“Josh! Josh, over here!”
Josh visibly stiffened beside Jed.
It was still fresh. Too fresh.
The shooting had happened weeks ago, but the press cycle had never really let it go. Most reporters had enough decency to tread carefully around it.
Most.
One guy shoved forward aggressively, voice louder than the others.
“Josh, do you still have complications from being shot?”
Josh’s jaw tightened.
“Josh, did you think you were going to die?”
Toby immediately shifted closer.
“Back off,” he snapped.
But the reporter kept going.
“Was it true you lost consciousness in the ambulance?”
Josh looked down briefly, blinking hard.
Jed noticed instantly.
“Okay,” the President said firmly. “That’s enough.”
“Josh, are you still taking pain medication?”
Another flash exploded directly in Josh’s face.
“Josh, did the President visit you every day in the hospital because he felt guilty?”
Josh inhaled sharply.
That did it.
Toby stepped directly between Josh and the cameras while Jed put a hand against Josh’s back.
“We’re done,” Toby barked.
“C.J.,” Jed said calmly.
“I got it.”
And she did.
C.J. Cregg stepped forward with the terrifying confidence of someone who professionally dismantled reporters for a living.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said sharply, “what part of basic human decency escaped all of you?”
The shouting faltered.
Behind her, Jed quietly steered Josh toward the door while Toby blocked the path from the cameras.
Josh kept his head down. His breathing was getting uneven now, shoulders rigid with tension.
“It’s okay,” Jed murmured low enough only Josh could hear. “Keep walking.”
“I’m fine,” Josh said automatically.
“Sure you are.”
They got inside quickly.
The second the doors shut behind them, the noise disappeared.
Josh stopped walking.
For a moment he just stood there, staring at nothing.
Jed stayed beside him, hand still steady against the middle of his back.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Josh swallowed hard. “Sorry.”
“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”
Toby appeared beside them again after making sure the hallway was clear.
“C.J.’s skinning them alive out there,” he reported.
“Good.”
Jed glanced toward the Secret Service detail lingering nearby.
“We’re fine,” he told them gently. “Give us a minute.”
They hesitated only briefly before stepping back.
“Toby,” Jed said quietly, “go get Sam.”
Toby nodded once and left immediately.
Josh rubbed both hands over his face. “I’m okay. I’m okay, I just—”
“You don’t have to be okay,” Jed interrupted.
That finally made Josh look at him.
The President’s expression had softened completely now, all sharp authority gone.
“Josh,” he said gently, “you were shot.”
Josh looked embarrassed immediately, which somehow made it worse.
“It was stupid,” he muttered. “I don’t know why that got to me.”
Jed frowned. “A crowd cornering you and demanding details about the worst night of your life upset you? Shocking.”
Josh let out a weak laugh despite himself.
Jed guided him the rest of the way toward the Oval Office.
The room was quiet once the doors shut behind them.
Josh sat heavily on the couch, elbows on his knees, still trying too hard to pull himself together. Jed stayed nearby instead of retreating behind the desk.
“You scared the hell out of me that night,” Jed admitted quietly.
Josh looked down.
“And every time somebody drags you back through it,” Jed continued, “I imagine that hospital hallway all over again.”
Josh’s eyes shut briefly.
“I hate this,” he admitted in a whisper.
“I know.”
“They were all staring at me like—”
“Like vultures,” Toby muttered as he reentered with Sam close behind him.
Sam took one look at Josh and immediately crossed the room.
“Hey.”
Josh laughed once humorlessly. “You know, this is getting really humiliating for me.”
“No,” Sam said simply. “It isn’t.”
He sat beside Josh without hesitation, calm and steady in the way Sam always was when Josh was spiraling.
“You got ambushed,” Sam said. “Anybody would’ve reacted badly.”
“I didn’t even react badly.”
“You looked about ten seconds from passing out.”
Josh groaned softly and covered his face again. “Great.”
Sam gently tugged one wrist down.
“Josh.”
“I’m serious, Sam, I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.”
Josh blinked at him.
“You got shot,” Sam said firmly. “You almost died. And some jackass with a press pass thought that gave him the right to interrogate you in public.”
Toby crossed his arms. “I’m still considering homicide.”
Jed pointed mildly toward Toby without looking at him. “No homicide.”
“Fine. Severe emotional distress, then.”
That earned another small laugh from Josh.
His breathing had finally started evening out.
A few minutes later the Oval Office doors opened again and C.J. swept inside, visibly furious.
“Well,” she announced, tossing her briefing folder onto a chair, “I just reminded the White House press corps that they are, in fact, human beings and not hyenas.”
“How’d they take it?” Toby asked.
“One guy actually tried defending himself.”
“And?”
“I asked him if he’d enjoy answering questions about his near-death experience while thirty cameras flashed in his face.”
Josh looked mortified again. “C.J.—”
“Nope,” she said immediately, pointing at him. “Not one word out of you. You did nothing wrong.”
“She threatened to revoke credentials,” Toby guessed.
“I implied it very aggressively.”
Jed smiled faintly. “Proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The room settled into a quieter silence after that.
Josh leaned back against the couch at last, exhausted but calmer now, Sam beside him and the others close enough that he didn’t feel alone anymore.
Jed looked around the room at all of them and sighed.
“Well,” he said, “the brainstorm walk was a catastrophic failure.”
“That depends,” C.J. replied dryly. “Did we solve the campaign issue?”
“No.”
“Then yes. Complete failure.”