The Schedule - Defiance

by: Jenna

Character(s): Josh, Donna
Pairing(s):Josh/Donna
Category(s): Romance, General
Rating: YTEEN
Series: The Schedule Number: 12
Written: Nov, 01
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, but you knew that already.
Feedback: Is a rare and precious commodity and always welcome.

Note: Since ABS gave TWW about 4 weeks between May (Two Cathedrals) and early-October-ish, (Manchester) I feel entitled to do so as well. Obviously I can't really ret-con this to follow the show, so don't look too closely at the time frame 'cause there's nothing there but smoke and mirrors. ;-)

(Voiceover) Previously in 'The Schedule': The Setup, Week Five, Special Dispensation, A Memorable Event, Safe Harbor, Shared Dreams, Memorial, Memories, Dispositions, Depositions, Declarations [Wherein our Josh (undergoing grueling questioning from the Senate Judiciary Committee) as a pre-emptive measure announced that he had been diagnosed with PTSD.]

* * *

* * * Friday, Early October, Week 12, Washington, D.C. * * *

CNN started carrying the feed from C-Span the morning after Josh's press conference admitting to having been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. The dissection of White House Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman's psyche was excruciatingly embarrassing, painful to watch, strangely compelling, and 'must see TV'. Thursday's hearings before the Senate Judiciary Committee had been devoted to the events leading up to Dr. Keyworth's PTSD diagnosis the previous December. The Senate Republicans smelled blood and were gleefully circling for the kill. Josh had been a thorn in their sides for over three years --ever since Bartlet had emerged as the Democratic front-runner -- and this was their chance for a little retribution. Josh's every statement and deed since returning to work in November had become fair game for reinterpretation in light of the specter of PTSD.

Press Secretary CJ Cregg frowned at the television as she watched Josh being sliced-and-diced in the latest round of questioning, this time about his involvement in securing the loans for the Mexican bailout. How the Senators could link that to his PTSD or the President's MS was beyond her, but she was certain that they would find a way.

"Hey, CJ," Communications Director Toby Ziegler said wandering in with the newspaper in hand.

"They're tearing him apart," CJ said grimly.

Toby looked up at the television, a crease between his eyebrows as he frowned, "Yeah... Danny's article runs Sunday. That should take some of the pressure off."

"We can't count on public opinion forcing Congress to back off. Today: 'America's Sweethearts" tomorrow: buzzard bait."

"He's doing fine. He just has to hang in there. CNN's carrying the hearings just adds more sympathetic viewers to feel for him."

"Yeah, but what about what it's got to be doing to him?" CJ asked. "We can paint the PTSD as beyond his control -- something resulting from doing his job. But sooner or later, you know they'll bring up his previous therapy. How do we spin that?"

Toby shrugged, "They don't really want Josh. They want President Bartlet or Leo, they're using Josh to get to them."

"You think it'll work?"

"If public opinion doesn't force them to back off." Toby rubbed his forehead, "If it starts looking like they can force Josh to resign, then yeah, it'd work."

"The President would cut a deal?"

"Rather than lose Josh? The Republican's could order off the menu."

"Okay... can we all expect this treatment?"

"No. It wouldn't work. The President would regretfully accept our resignations... But don't take it personally, before the shooting it wouldn't have worked with Josh either, but now..."

"The President would look bad."

"The President would look very bad," Toby emphasized, "if Josh were forced to resign because he was shot while serving at the pleasure of a President who had lied to him."

"And the President's not looking so hot as it is."

"No. There's already some concern that he's left the staff and the Party hanging out to dry. How's Charlie going to afford legal representation? How will any of the senior staff ever get jobs again? How can Hoynes, or any Democrat, get elected if the President is forced out of office in disgrace?"

"How can anyone ever trust him again?" CJ added grimly.

"Yeah."

* * * Oval Office * * *

"You wanted to see me, Mr. President?"

"Donna, come in." President Bartlet walked around from his desk to the seating area and motioned to Donna Moss. "Have a seat."

"Thank you, sir," she replied sitting at attention on the edge of a wing chair.

"Donna, I wanted to ask... how's Josh holding up?"

He's fine... he's edgy, as you might expect. Being force to tell the world about his problems isn't easy."

"Yeah, tell me about it," the President said dryly.

"Sir? Do you think Danny's article will convince them to them back off?"

"I hope so. That and the CNN coverage. Josh was already becoming the media-darling from just the C-Span coverage. With the added exposure --and assuming he can keep his ego and temper in check-- we're hoping the committee will be the ones looking... you know..."

"Like sharks ripping a national hero apart in a vindictive feeding frenzy."

"Yeah... Look, the reason I asked you to stop by was that I'm going to exercise my Presidential privilege and pull Josh out of these hearing for a few days. That string of tropical storms has caused flooding along the Gulf Coast and I'm flying down tomorrow morning to survey the damage. I'm going to tell the Senate that I need Josh to accompany me --which is actually true-- and we're going to need an assistant along. Is there someone else who you'd trust to take over HR so that you can be my assistant for a while?"

"You mean for a few days or...?"

"Well, I know you'd rather work for Josh, but that's not possible right now, and I need someone who knows what's what... And it sounds like Jan Davis may not be coming back after her maternity leave... so unless you want to make the HR thing permanent..."

"No sir. I'd be happy to be your assistant until I can work for Josh again. I really do love working for Josh, but..."

"You'd rather marry him."

"Yes sir," she smiled radiantly.

"You're a wise-woman, Donna. Never put a job in front of your relationship. I wish I had been that wise..." the President replied, looking towards the door as Leo McGarry entering the Oval Office. "What's up?"

"They're asking about the previous therapy," Leo answered grimly as he went to the bookcase and turned the television on.

"Damn," the President murmured under his breath.

* * * Capitol Hill * * *

"You records indicate that prior to assuming the job of White House Deputy Chief of Staff that you had been seeing a therapist, Dr. Stanley Winters. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Josh replied with an impatient squirm.

"So, you had mental health issues prior to joining the Bartlet administration?"

"Senator Barnes!" Oliver Babish interrupted." Josh Lyman has always has been employed in high stress positions. It is not unusual that someone in such a position would occasionally need someone to confide in."

"The Deputy White House Chief of Staff needed someone to confide in every month for a year. And that was before he was diagnosed with a mental disorder. Not only that, but he has apparently received counseling since he was a child. This committee has a legitimate concern about the mental health of the people running the White House. Answer the question, Mr. Lyman, haven't you, in fact, had mental problems since before you developed PTSD?"

"No. I... I..." Josh looked up defiantly, his eyes flashing. "I developed PTSD as a child. The shooting brought it back."

"You have proof of this 'diagnosis', I assume?" the Senator smirked. "It sounds very convenient..."

"Madam Chair," Oliver interrupted, directing his complaint to the elderly southern Senator who headed the Committee. "Josh Lyman is willingly telling this committee about issues that would normally be protected by doctor-patient confidentiality. He should not be subjected to scorn and derision from this committee for doing so."

"I agree. Senator Barnes, you will refrain from commentary, if you please. Mr. Lyman, would you please explain your statement to this committee?"

Josh nodded then looked down at his hands to gather his thoughts before speaking. "I was nine. My older sister and I were home alone while my mother ran to the grocery store. A popcorn maker shorted out and... and the house caught fire. My sister --Joanie-- yelled to get out of the house, so I did." Josh's eyes glazed over as his memories drifted back to the event. He trailed off to silence his anguish apparent in a brief unguarded glimpse before his protective shields slid in place and he simply, quietly, stated, "She didn't make it."

"... Madam Chair," Oliver quietly stated into the silence of the hearing room." The President needs Josh to accompany him on a tour of the flood damage from the recent tropical storms. The White House requests that further questioning be postponed until the latter part of next week."

"Granted," she said pounding her gavel to end the day's session. "Any further questioning of Josh Lyman will be conducted at a later date."

"Come on, Josh." Oliver said leaning over Josh's shoulder and putting a hand on his back.

"Yeah," Josh stood up shaking himself out of his reverie.

* * * White House * * *

"Damn," the President reintegrated as Leo cut off the TV. "I want to see him when they get back. Donna, talk to Leo about someone to take over HR, I want you back in the West Wing. Then start packing, we're headed to Pensacola in the morning."

"Yes sir," Donna said standing up and following Leo to his office.

* * *

Oliver Babish gently pushed Josh into the limousine for the ride back to the White House. He'd known Josh for ten years and had played tennis with him regularly before Josh left Washington to join the Bartlet campaign. Josh's recommendation was one of the reasons Oliver had gotten the job of White House counsel in spite of his second, and longest, ex-wife being an old friend of the First Lady's. Elizabeth Bartlet used to baby-sit for them... He looked over at the Deputy Chief of Staff quietly staring out the window and wondered if Josh was able to play tennis again. When the hearings ended, he'd have to ask. It'd probably be good for Josh to play again.

"Josh... there'll probably be press waiting."

"Yeah," Josh agreed.

"If you need to see Dr. Friedman..."

"No. They'd crucify me if I go running off to my therapist 'cause I 'can't handle the pressure' of the hearings."

"Yeah."

"You said I'm going with the President?"

"Yeah, Leo told me at lunch."

"To use that if things got rough," Josh concluded.

Oliver shrugged, "The President needed to survey the flood damage anyway. It's good PR. And he could use you, so it's not a lie."

"Yeah."

"We're here," Oliver said as the limousine pulled up to the entrance.

They got out to an onslaught of press reporters and photographers snapping pictures and firing questions. Oliver and the Secret Service detail hustled Josh past the press and into the safety of the West Wing. The two men parted ways and Josh headed to Leo McGarry's office.

"Hey." Leo said casting a paternal eye up and down his deputy as if to survey the damage.

"Leo... You're buying me a break?"

"We're buying us all a break. Danny's article hits in the Sunday paper. Other newspapers'll pick it up by Tuesday. Couple that with the photo ops we expect during the flood tour and by the time you get back..."

"Maybe public opinion will be telling the committee to back off or risk alienating their own constituents."

"Yeah."

"I'd better tell Donna I'm leaving."

"She knows."

"She knows?"

"She's going as the President's new assistant. The President took your advice. He wants to see you." Leo shrugged towards the connecting door to the Oval Office.

"'Kay," Josh straightened up and walked over to knock on the door.

"Yeah!"

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Josh! Come in, come in," the president took off his reading glasses and waved Josh to the other wing chair. "Donna's agreed to help me out for a while."

"I'm glad, sir. She'll be happy to be back in the West Wing."

"How's your new temp working out?"

"I've barely met the latest one, sir. I leave for the Hill before she comes in and I don't get back until after she's gone. But my messages are in order, and the files I ask for are laid out for me, so I guess she's fine."

"We should have tried that three months ago. If they never meet you, maybe they'll stick around longer," The President smiled to reassure Josh that his gibe was good-natured.

Josh smiled and relaxed a bit, "Yes sir, there is that."

"Josh..." the President turned serious. "I just wanted to say how sorry I am about... you know... dragging you into all this. I should've told you guys up front. Hell, I might have won by a larger margin if I had... I just didn't think beyond my own interests. Ironic, isn't it? I ran on a platform of basic honesty and integrity. The guy who would stand up to the special interests and support the workers. And here I am letting my own workers get screwed over because of my own lack of honesty. Where's the integrity in that?"

Josh looked at the carpet and cleared his throat, "Mr. President... I can't say 'it's nothing' or that I don't hate being in this situation. I do. I wish to God that you had told us this back in New Hampshire at the start of-- We could have won, sir. I'm sure of it."

"Could we really?" the President said doubtfully. "I'm not so sure... I wanted to make a difference in America and that took becoming President. I figured I'd lose my campaign staff to Hoynes if I told you I had MS. You guys would take one look at the polling numbers -- see all the people who think it's fatal --who say they'd never vote for someone with a degenerative illness -- and run away as fast as you could. And I had finally started to believe, you know, those campaign speeches that Toby and Sam were writing for me. I was starting to think I could do this..."

The President watched his face as Josh, the pragmatic political operative, warred with Josh, the idealist who wore his heart on his sleeve and gave himself body and soul to the cause. The Josh who drank the Kool-aid, as that bald campaign staffer --Dean? Doug? Don? -- had put it.

Josh gave a self-deprecating shrug. "It wouldn't have been easy, that's for sure. But we all believed in you sir. We still believe in you. Bruno's good, if he's willing to run the kind of campaign you really want. If not, we'll find someone else... Or..." Josh paused.

"Or what?"

"Or I could resign and run it, if you and Leo think that would be better... maybe behind the scenes so I wouldn't be an embarrassment."

"No, Josh. No," the President emphasized shaking his head slowly from side to side. "I need you here as long as I'm here. And you have nothing to be ashamed about," the President signed. "I tried to convince myself I'd done nothing wrong. I told myself I was just trying to protect my privacy, but I hurt you. I hurt Abbey... Leo, Toby, and Sam. CJ and Charlie could face criminal charges over what they knew or suspected -- and all of you could spend the rest of your lives paying off legal bills... just 'cause you had faith in me. I'm the one who should be ashamed."

"Sir..." Josh choked out not knowing what to say. Tactless as he was he knew not to agree with the President's statement, but in all honesty, he did agree. The President had royally screwed them over by failing to disclose the MS.

"Oh, don't even try to be tactful Josh. It's not what I pay you for," he gave a half-smile. "I can see it in your face. How you manage to bluff the Senate and Congress is beyond me..."

"Yeah," Josh sheepishly gave the President an irrepressible devilishly-dimpled half-smile.

"Anyway, I'm sorry. Now go find Donna and get packed. The motorcade leaves for Andrews at 5:00 AM."

"That late?"

"Funny boy. Go."

* * * Saturday, Week 12, Pensacola Naval Air Station, Florida * * *

The salt breeze was whipping in off the Gulf when the President disembarked Air Force One on the tarmac at Pensacola Naval Air Station. He was dressed in khaki Dockers and a navy blue Air Force One windbreaker, the requisite outfit for a President of the United States on a tour of a natural disaster area. His hair whipped in the wind creating a picture-perfect John Kennedy-esque moment for the press. Josh Lyman, in contrast, looked like the quintessential construction worker in faded jeans, work boots, and a New York Mets ball cap. His concession to formality was a button-down dress shirt, albeit with the sleeves rolled up. If he weren't so well known, no one would pick him out of a line-up as being a top Presidential aide.

"Mr. President, it's an honor to meet you," Station Commander David McFarland said reaching out to shake the President's proffered hand. "This is Regional FEMA Director Roger Corland, he'll be conducting the dog-and-pony show.

"Josh Lyman," Josh stated introducing himself as he shook hands with the two men. "You probably recognize C.J. Cregg. These are the President's assistants, Donna Moss and Charlie Young."

The Station Commander and FEMA Director shook hands with the two women in turn and nodded to Charlie who had stayed in the background. The men politely refrained from commenting on their knowledge of Josh from the televised hearings or that Ms. Moss was his fiancée.

"Sir," the Station Commander addressed the President, "we've got another squall due in this afternoon... so if it's okay with you, we'd like to get in the air as soon as possible."

"Lead the way," the President gestured.

After a brief stop by the Officer's Club to freshen up and receive a briefing on the day's activities, the presidential party and the accompanying gaggle of press were shepherded aboard a couple of transport helicopters for a tour of the flood-ravaged Florida-Alabama coastal area. The sky was bright blue with puffy white clouds giving no hint of the series of tropical storms that had left the creeks and rivers flowing out of their banks. The coast itself sustained little flood damage and as the helicopters flew along the glistening white sugar-sand beaches of Perdido Key, Florida and into Orange Beach, and Gulf Shores, Alabama, the staff wondered where the flooding was.

Trees and power lines had been blown down and windows were missing in the high-rise condominiums and hotels that lined the beaches of the "Redneck Riviera". Curtains were billowing in the breeze and metal building sheeting was strewn around as a testament to the near-hurricane force winds. Sand covered Highway 182 along the beachfront and snags of debris marked the high-water line from the storm surge. The helicopters landed at Orange Beach to allow the President to see up close the damage caused by the high winds and storm surge.

"Imagine what this would look like if it'd been a hurricane," the President quietly remarked.

"None of this was here when Frederick came through in '79. Most of the development then was west of the park... Just beach houses, tourist shops, and hotels in Gulf Shores then. Now," the FEMA Director pointed to the west where the high-rises abruptly stopped and Gulf State Park began, "the park's the only place that isn't wall-to-wall buildings. I'd never wish for a hurricane, but..."

"Yeah... Josh," the President called over to Josh and Donna who had walked closer to the pounding surf, "remind me to revisit the coastal development issue."

"Yes sir," Josh said. He turned to look back at the waves one last time and put his arm around Donna as they turned to walk back to the President.

Flying inland from Gulf Shores the flooding became apparent in the backed-up waterways that were slowly draining to the ocean. The presidential party made another stop in Bay Minette to visit a Red Cross shelter set up in the high school gym for all the people displaced by the flooding. They also startled the middle-aged couple running the local ma-and-pa diner when the Presidential party dropped in for some down-home Southern cooking. Donna gave Josh her cornbread in exchange for his fried okra and they split a slice of pecan pie.

From Bay Minette, they flew eastward crisscrossing the Alabama-Florida state line several times before cutting north to Elba, Alabama where a desperate effort was underway to shore up the levee. The President shook hands with the townsfolk who were standing in ankle-deep water while working on the sandbag lines and watching the Pea River churn by at eye level over the line of sandbags.

"It's just a matter of time before the levee goes, but we've gotta try. The handsome young black mayor explained. "If we go under it'll be the third time this decade. We need help, Mr. President."

The president looked into the exhausted eyes of the mayor, who looked too young to be so burdened with worries, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to be announcing federal disaster relief funding at a press conference this afternoon."

"Mr. Lyman," the lieutenant piloting the helicopter came up to Josh as he stood on the fringes of the group surrounding the president. "The weather's starting to turn, we're going to have to head back to the NAS shortly. If the President wants to stop in Enterprise to see the monument to the boll weevil we'd better leave soon."

"Okay, I'll let the President know. I'm sure he won't want to miss that," Josh replied wryly.

"The monument to the boll weevil?" Donna asked.

"Yeah. You missed that? I'd ask him about it on the flight back. He'll keep you entertained for hours," Josh smiled devilishly to indicate that if Donna knew what was good for her she'd never mention the words 'boll' or 'weevil' within earshot of the president.

CJ came up to Donna as Josh went to pass the message to the president.

"Boll weevil?" Donna asked.

CJ rolled her eyes. "It was at lunch. You'd gone to the ladies room and I wish to god I'd left too. "Apparently in the early 1900s, all the farmers for miles around were growing cotton. The boll weevil migrated up from Mexico and it," she waved her hand around in the air, "loves, you know, cotton. Naturally, it ate the cotton crop and ruined the farmers. Anyway, one bright guy decided to try raising peanuts. So by the boll weevil destroying the cotton crop, it convinced the farmers to diversify their crops --hence..."

"A monument to the boll weevil. And this is worth a stop?"

"The President thinks so. There's a Red Cross shelter or something there too..." she continued waving her hand. "But he wants to see the bug."

"Okay..."

Part 2

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