ACT FOUR
INT. OVAL OFFICE
4:30PM SATURDAY
Josh sat on a couch in the Oval Office with his hand over his mouth, hiding the yawn he couldn’t stop from escaping, while listening to the phone conversation with the chairman of the joint chiefs, who was in Astana. He glanced over at Glen Morehead and Secretary Brenton, who were on the couch across from him and looked perfectly put together even though they’d been up just as long as Josh had, and shifted, attempting to smooth out the sweater he wore into the office the night before. He looked down at his watch and shook his head lightly. She’d be leaving for the exhibit in the next few hours and he still hadn’t convinced her not to go.
“And
“Yes, sir,” General McClain answered from Astana. “Both countries will withdraw fifty percent by December tenth.”
“And the election monitoring?” Secretary Brenton asked.
“
Josh looked over at the president and raised an eyebrow. “Is that going to work, General?” he asked into the phone.
“I’m sorry, is this Josh?” the man asked.
“Yes sir.”
“I can’t be certain, Josh, but we’re not getting anything else out of them. It took three hours to get them to agree to just that. Fortunately,
“Lucky for them,” the president said sarcastically.
“Yes sir,” General McClain replied. “But with both candidates so heavily indebted to them, there’s at least a chance that they’ll monitor the election fairly.”
“When does the agreement demand the withdrawal of our troops, General?” Secretary Brenton asked into the phone.
“It calls for all three countries to withdraw one hundred percent six months from the date of the election, but that’s contingent on several things, including public reaction to the election results. However, I told them we were planning on withdrawing twenty percent by the end of the year.”
“That’s contingent on the withdrawal of their fifty percent?” the president asked.
“Of course, sir.”
There was a tap on the door and Ronna walked in. “President Kibaki is on line one,” she said quietly to the president. “You wanted to take that call,” she reminded him.
The president nodded and Ronna turned and left. “Good job General,” he said into the phone as he stood up.
“My pleasure, sir.”
The president disconnected the phone and walked to his desk. The others followed and stood in front of it, waiting for him to take the call from the president of
“President Santos,” the man said in broken English. “I wish to inform you personally that we have made an arrest for the bombing of the
“Oh?”
“Yes sir. The same group which approached Pastor Wamalwa approached another pastor today and insinuated the same thing would happen to his church if he refused to agree to their terms. The pastor called the authorities; it was enough to make the arrest.”
“Mr. President,” Josh said. “Has something happened there recently to create tension between Christians and Muslims?”
“This is not the first time such a thing has happened; it is simply the first time it has affected the
“If you don’t mind my asking,” President Santos said. “How are you fighting it?”
“We find the guilty party and punish them. It is not a widespread problem, and there is little more we can do.”
“Well, please let us know if we can be of assistance.”
“I will, Mr. President.”
“And thank you for calling, President Kibaki. I know it’s late there, but I appreciate the update.”
“As I told you this morning, Mr. President, we are grateful for these organizations which send food, supplies and medical personnel. We do not support this morning’s explosion, and are doing everything within our power to resolve the situation. I will keep you updated on our progress.”
“Thank you Mr. President,” the president replied before hanging up. He looked up to see Margaret standing in the doorway between Josh’s office and his, and waved her in.
Margaret smiled politely and walked quickly inside and up to Josh, handing him a note and waiting there while he read it. “I’ll be right there,” he said quietly before turning back to the president. She nodded and left.
President Santos turned to Director Morehead. “So that’s it? We do nothing about this?”
The NSA director stood a little taller. “Not exactly, sir. We’ll stay informed; make sure they’re handling the situation correctly. But it’s their jurisdiction and they seem to be on top of it.”
The president looked to Josh, who nodded. It was unfortunate, but there was little they could do and they all knew it.
“Fine,” the president said, looking back at Director Morehead. “But stay on top of it.”
CUT TO INT. OFFICE OF THE CHIEF OF STAFF
CONTINUOUS
Josh walked quickly into his office where Margaret was sitting in his chair chatting on the phone. He stopped and stared incredulously at her.
“Yes,” she said with a nervous chuckle into the phone. “He’s quicker every day. It’s hard to keep up with him, actually. I never knew two year-olds could move so fast.” She paused and sat back in Josh’s chair, ignoring his presence as she listened to the phone. “Oh yes, all boy. Leo bought him a…” she stopped and turned suddenly solemn. “Leo bought him a miniature football; he carries it everywhere he goes.” She paused again to listen before smiling and nodding even though it wouldn’t be heard. “Yes sir.” She looked over at Josh. “Josh is here; would you like to speak with him?”
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Josh mumbled sarcastically.
“It was nice to talk to you too.” She stood up and handed the phone to Josh. “I was just… keeping him occupied.”
Josh watched her walk to the door connecting their offices. “Leo showed me that football, you know,” he said quietly. “We were campaigning somewhere and he saw it in a window and made us late so he could go in and buy it. I thought it was a strange gift for Mallory’s daughter, but he said it was for Jack.”
Margaret smiled with watery eyes and nodded slightly. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She took a deep breath. “Do you need anything?”
“Sam gone?”
She nodded. “Lauren’s flying to
“Get me Bram and Lester.”
“Right away,” she said walking into her office.
Josh watched her leave and sat down before putting the phone up to his ear. “President Bartlet,” he said respectfully. “How are you, sir?”
“I thought the sirs would stop when I left that place.”
“Not likely,” Josh said.
“I hear congratulations are in order, Josh,” the former president said jovially. “Troops home for Christmas?”
“My communication’s director is pretty happy about it,” Josh said with a grin despite himself.
“And you think they’ll sign?”
“They signed about twenty minutes ago.”
“Josh,” President Bartlet admonished teasingly. “Are you allowed to tell me that?”
Josh chuckled. “CNN will have it in a few minutes; just keep it quiet until then.”
“If I must,” President Bartlet sighed.
Josh looked down at his watch. It was almost five and the exhibit started at seven. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”
“Trying to get rid of me already?”
“Absolutely not, sir,” Josh said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Notre Dame looks good this year,” he questioned more than stated.
“Damn right they do. Listen…”
“Yes?”
“You know I’m working on this library thing.”
“Yes sir, you told me.”
“I’d like to add a room about Leo.”
Josh paused. “I think that would be great,” he said quietly.
“So do I, but protocol says I can’t. President Santos gets first dibs since they were on the same ticket.”
Josh’s eyes widened. “You want him to say you can have it instead?”
“No,” he replied. “I just want him to say I can have one as well.”
Josh smiled and nodded. “Consider it done.”
“Thank you. It’s not too soon to be withdrawing troops?” Josh chuckled and President Bartlet continued quickly. “Not that I’m trying to run your administration. It’s just a question from a concerned citizen.”
“Your opinion is always welcome, sir. You know that.”
“You’re too respectful, Josh,” President Bartlet replied seriously. When Josh didn’t reply, he continued. “I was sorry to hear about the missionaries in
“Yes sir. We all were.”
“All the work we did, Josh; all the effort. We still live in a world where people aren’t allowed to disagree.”
Josh closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Thank goodness we live in a country where people are.”
The former president’s words took Josh by surprise and he looked quickly over at the picture he kept on his desk of Donna and him. Crap. “Sir,” he said, standing. “I’m sorry, but…”
“Of course. You have a country to run; I’ll talk to you soon.”
“I look forward to it, sir.”
Josh hung up the phone and rushed around his desk and to the door. He was halfway down the hallway when Bram and Lester met up with him. “You needed us?” Lester asked.
“Yes,” Josh said pausing in his step. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, then shook his head and continued down the hallway towards the lobby, Bram and Lester in tow. They’d have to handle this without him. “I’m leaving, but I need you to brief the press and call African Leadership…”
CUT TO INT. SAM AND LAUREN’S APARTMENT
Sam unlocked the door and walked into the townhouse, nearly tripping on Lauren’s suitcase. He toed off his shoes and took off his wet coat, hanging it in the closet and pushing the coats on either side of it away so it could dry. He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. The half hour of sleep he’d gotten in his office chair had barely taken the edge off. He felt like he was going to drop.
He breathed deeply and stood up straight again, then walked further into the apartment, peeling off his two-day old suit as he went. When he reached the bedroom, he saw Lauren’s carry-on bag sitting on the bed. He walked over and fell onto the bed next to it as Lauren walked out of the bathroom with her toothbrush and contact solution.
She smiled softly when she saw him sitting there with drooping eyes. “You look terrible.”
He closed his eyes and nodded. “Late night.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
She smiled slightly and put her palm on his cheek. He leaned into it slightly and took a deep breath. Moving her hand, she brushed a thumb over his lips and then went back into the bathroom. Sam opened his eyes and watched her silently. When she returned with her blow dryer and straightening iron, she went directly to the bag and put them inside. “Have you thought any more about moving back to LA?” she asked without looking at him.
Sam looked down at his lap briefly before meeting her eyes. She was looking at him half hopefully and half resigned to what he was about to say. “I love you and I want to make this work,” he said quietly, reaching out and grasping her hand lightly. “I’ll do anything you want me to do, anything you need me to do, but…” he trailed off and shook his head. “I can’t do that. I can’t move back to LA.”
She didn’t answer him; she just pulled her hand from his and turned back to her carry-on bag.
“Lauren,” he said taking the bag from her and moving it to the other side of the bed. She still didn’t answer, but she let him pull her to between his legs so he could look up at her from the bed. He took her hands in his and squeezed lightly. “You were right; I was happy in LA. But I’ve found my purpose again and it’s here. I work hard at this job because it’s important and life-altering and it makes a difference. And this president… he’s worth working for.”
CUT TO INT. JOSH AND DONNA’S APARTMENT
He rushed down the hallway towards their apartment at five forty-five, dripping wet from the continuing rain. He’d left his coat in his office and hadn’t wasted the time to go back for it, so his hair was sticking to his face and his sweater was probably ruined.
He pushed the door open, leaving his Secret Service detail in the hallway, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her sitting on the couch.
He paused there by the door, watching her for a moment, but she didn’t look up at him. She was dressed to go out; her hair perfect and her outfit definitely not work attire, and she was holding something in her hands, but was looking at the wall. He scolded himself for letting this go all night and all day before trying to repair it.
He took a few tentative steps until he was standing quietly in front her, and she finally seemed to notice him because she looked up, eyes wide and innocent. “You’re wet.”
“You’re still here,” he said softly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
“Yeah,” she said with the slightest nod. “I’m still here.”
CUT TO INT. SAM AND LAUREN’S APARTMENT
Tears slipped out of Lauren’s eyes and down her cheeks and she looked away from him to the wall.
“I’ll talk to Josh,” Sam continued. “Tell him no Sundays unless it’s an emergency. I’ll work harder at getting home earlier. Bram… he’s getting better, Lauren, a lot better. I’ll start giving him more to do, take some of the pressure off myself.”
Lauren shook her head and took back one of her hands to wipe the tears off her face. “It’s not enough,” she whispered, still looking away.
“Then we’ll figure out something else,” he said, standing up and gently turning her head until her eyes met his. “I can do this,” he whispered.
Lauren’s eyes narrowed slightly, a questioning look on her face. She watched him for several seconds before pulling back slightly and sitting on the bed. “Why are you so determined to make this work?”
Sam’s eyes widened slightly. “Because I love you.”
She smiled flatly. “I love you too. And I love what we had, but… we don’t have it anymore.”
“Lauren…”
“You know what I think?” she asked, looking up at him. “I think the reason you’re so determined to make this work is because you’ve already failed at this once and you don’t want to admit defeat again.”
“That’s not true,” he said shaking his head, even though it was at least partly true and he knew it.
She reached out and took his hand, pulling him down next to her on the bed. “Do you really think this is working?”
He was silent for a moment. “I think we can make it work.”
“Really? Because I’m miserable here. I hate my job, I hate that we don’t have a house with a yard, that our neighbors are connected to us, that I have very few friends, that I have a fiancé who’s put off setting a wedding date for six months…”
“We’ll set it now.”
She shook her head. “You’re supposed to love me, Sam. Do you really want to keep seeing me this unhappy?”
CUT TO INT. JOSH AND DONNA’S APARTMENT
He sat down next to her as close as possible without getting her wet. She put the envelope she was holding down and looked over at him. “You didn’t get any sleep?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “There was a bombing in
“I know,” she said. “I saw Lester’s briefings.”
“They blew up the church because the pastor said no. He wouldn’t do what they wanted, so they killed him and his congregation.”
He took a deep breath; he didn’t know how he was going to do this. How he was going to walk through that gallery and look at those pictures and not want to tell everyone there to go the hell home and leave them alone. But this was it. This was when he either let her disagree or bombed her church. He told her how he felt and she disagreed. He could either let her go alone and sit worrying about her all night long, or he could go and hold her hand and steer her out the door if and when it became too much for her.
“I don’t want you to go to the exhibit,” he continued. “I think it’s going to be harder than what you want to admit and I hate thinking that you’re going to do that to yourself. But you’re allowed to disagree with me and I’m not allowed to yell at you for it. If you need to go, I want to be there with you.”
She smiled, tears pooling in her eyes. “Really?” she whispered hopefully.
“Yeah,” he said nodding. He leaned in and kissed her gently, his lips lingering on her sweet-tasting ones for the first time in two days. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers and breathed her in, the stress of the last few days starting to fade. “Just give me twenty minutes to shower.”
She pulled back and shook her head. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But I’m not going.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I was going to go,” she said. “All day long, I’d planned to go. But you asked me not to, and you wouldn’t do that if it wasn’t important to you.”
“I never should’ve asked that.”
“Why not?” she asked with a slight smile. “I’ve asked you to do things before, things that were just for me. Why can’t you do the same?”
“Because this isn’t about me, Donna. It’s about you.”
“Exactly,” she said nodding. “That’s how worried you are.”
He sighed heavily. “I am. I am worried…”
“And I’ve been so consumed with finding out what happened to me and so consumed with being strong and worthy of living through that...” She looked down at her lap. “…when the others didn’t… that I refused to even see the possibility that this might be too much.” She looked up at him. “But it is, isn’t it? It is too much to do in front of people?”
He nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “But that doesn’t make you weak.”
“That’s not what people will say.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he said, cupping her cheeks with his palms. “Not a single person who will be in that room tonight has been through what you’ve been through. They have no idea how strong you are.”
She closed her eyes and nodded and he leaned forward and kissed her eyelids, then pulled her into a hug.
“I’m sorry I lied about Colin,” she mumbled into his chest.
“I know,” he said, turning and kissing her temple. “And you know I’m never going to like anyone you were with before me, but if you need to see those pictures…”
“I do,” she said, pulling back and looking at him. “I do need to see them.”
He nodded, his stomach clenching at the thought of it. “Then I’ll call him; ask him…”
“I already did,” she said, cutting him off. She reached over to the coffee table and picked up the envelope she’d been holding when he walked in. He took it from her and held it between them. “I know you should never have to see these…” she stopped and took a shaky breath. “But if you could…”
“I’ll be there the whole time,” he whispered, pulling her back in to his chest.
CUT TO INT. SAM AND LAUREN’S APARTMENT
Sam opened the door and held it for Lauren as she walked outside carrying her carry-on bag. He followed behind her, carrying a large suitcase, and they walked down the steps of their building and to a waiting cab. The driver got out and took the suitcase from him to put into the trunk and Sam walked Lauren to the back door and held it open for her.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to take you to the airport?”
She nodded, her eyes red, and he let silence fall between them while he looked out at the rain-soaked street.
“The rain stopped,” she whispered, and he nodded before looking back at her.
“Finally.”
They looked at each other for several long seconds before she took a deep breath. “This is for the best you know.”
He didn’t know that. He didn’t know how asking a woman to change her entire life, then making her miserable was for the best. “You’ll call me?” he asked softly instead of replying. “Tell me where to send the rest of your things?”
“Yeah,” she said with a sad smile.
It grew quiet again and he looked at her carefully. “You’re ok?”
Her smile turned genuine. “I am.”
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin.
She turned he head and brushed her lips against his, then pulled away and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?” he asked with a hollow chuckle. “Failing you?”
She shook her head. “For letting me go.”
He paused before nodding and she leaned in and kissed him again before sliding into the seat. Reluctantly, he closed the door behind her and stood on the sidewalk watching as the cab pulled away.
CUT TO INT. JOSH AND DONNA’S APARTMENT
He was sitting, leaned against their headboard wearing a pair of blue pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt. Donna was sitting between his legs wearing the matching top and a pair of his sweat pants, her back to his chest as he cradled her close to him. Brahms was playing softly on the stereo in the living room and two glasses of white wine sat untouched on the nightstand.
He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was crying all the same. Her shoulders shook slightly and her breath occasionally hitched as she studied each picture for several minutes as if looking for something before moving on to the next one. For the most part he chose not to look; he’d seen them once before and it had been plenty for a lifetime. But each time she flipped to the next one, he’d lean forward just a little and look over her shoulder at it, then he’d close his eyes and fight the bile that rose in his throat before kissing her shoulder and tightening his grip on her the slightest bit.
Each new picture revealed something more horrible, something no one should ever have to see. A picture of the driver, clearly dead, his neck broken badly against the steering wheel, a picture of police dragging a lifeless Congressman Korb from the SUV, a picture of it exploding... A rather disturbing one Admiral Fitzwallace being wheeled on a gurney towards an ambulance made Josh wonder if he hadn’t died instantly. Every picture brought unwelcomed thoughts of a life without Donna.
He was leaned back with his eyes closed when he both heard and felt her gasp, and he sat up and looked over her shoulder, which began shaking badly. The sight of her hanging there from the seatbelt that helped to save her life, blood and dirt on her face and eyes closed shattered the last of his resolve and he felt a tear prick his eye. He took a shallow breath and wrapped his arms further around her waist, turning his head and looking out the window.
She sniffled, her crying becoming vocal for the first time, and he began rocking her lightly from side to side. The next picture was closer, the blood on her face more noticeable against her paler than usual skin.
“I… I can’t…” she whispered between sobs.
“Shh…” he whispered back, turning from the window and burying his face in her neck while he continued rocking her gently. “It’s ok; I’m right here.”
She clutched the picture and leaned back into him more, crying harder and listening as he whispered over and over that she was ok, that he was right there. It had to be hard for him to see those pictures; it would have killed her to see pictures of him like that. But he was there when she needed him the most, just like he always was.
Several minutes passed before she was calm enough to pick the pictures back up and look at the next one; her lying on a gurney while a paramedic worked on her. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt fresh tears slide down her cheek.
“Look how strong you are,” he whispered, his own voice laced with pain. She looked at the face in the photograph, lifeless and pale, and shook her head.
“Yes,” he whispered, kissing her temple. “That’s you… fighting to live.”
She pushed back into him farther, burying herself in the protection of his embrace, and looked at the picture again through his eyes. She took a shallow breath and then a deeper one as the woman he saw came into focus, erasing the images of the weak dying one she’d seen a moment earlier.
She went back to the previous photograph, but it was as if she’d never seen it before. After studying it for several long seconds, she turned her head and looked out the window at the dark, clear sky. “I had to fight,” she whispered as he stroked her hair and rocked her back and forth. “I had to get back to you.”
FADE TO BLACK