EPISODE 8.13 - Written by Shan

THE THINGS WE LET IN

TEASER
EXT. TARMAC @ ANDREWS AIR FORCE BASE, 10:53 P.M.

"What time is it?"Josh asked as he paced back toward the president, who leaned against his parked limousine.

"It is about four minutes later than the last time you asked me, Josh. Do you remember what happened then?"

"You told me not to ask you again."

"There comes a time in a man's life, Josh, when he needs to get himself a watch."

"I've got one; it's just not all that reliable." He pivoted on the balls of his feet and stared at the dark horizon. "They should be here by now."

"Not yet." Santos snuck another glance at his watch while Josh's back was turned.

Josh signaled one of the president's guards. "Will you call the tower and get an updated ETA on the first lady's flight?"

"Everything's fine," Santos said, sounding put upon, but allowing the guard to complete Josh's order.

"They're on final approach, sir," the guard said after listening to his radio.

Santos' nerves got the better of him then, and he pushed himself away from the car, scanning the horizon with a trained eye. "Finally."

Josh spun slowly. "I don't see..."

"There she is," Santos put a hand on Josh's shoulder and turned him in the right direction. "Those are her running lights."

The next few minutes were spent silently watching the lights grow larger until the shadow in the distance became recognizable as the silhouette of a 747 against the night sky, and the engines' rumblings filled the ears of everyone on the ground. The plane touched down with picture-perfect precision, and Josh didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath until he exhaled.

The plane taxied toward their location slowly, and the stairs were rolled in to place. As soon as the door opened and Helen Santos appeared at the top, the president lost his resolve to stay put and took the steps three at a time, meeting her halfway.

Helen buried her face in her husband's shoulder as he picked her up in a bear hug. "How ya doin'?"

"Good," she sighed, pulling back to give him a quick kiss and rest her forehead against his. "Now I'm good."

Her husband wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Don't start," he whispered. "I'm hanging on by a thin thread as it is."

"I know, I can't; Donna and Annabeth don't want me to look splotchy on camera." Helen blinked her tears back.

"Well, there aren't gonna be any cameras tonight," Santos said as the rest of the group approached.

"No press?" Annabeth peered down at the sparsely populated tarmac.

"Lou's idea," Santos smiled, before giving Annabeth a friendly hug. "Everybody OK?"

"I don't think we're too much worse for wear, Mr. President," Vinick said from behind Annabeth.

"Arnie," Santos shook his hand. "You *look* a little worse for wear."

"It's nothing a hot shower and a good meal won't fix, Mr. President," Vinick smiled tiredly.

"Jeff," the president shook Dr. Perez's hand. "Good to see you."

"I was glad to be able to hitch a ride," Perez smiled.

Santos cast his eyes toward Donna, who stood transfixed as she stared at a frozen, gaping Josh at the base of the stairs. The president looked between them, then clapped Donna's shoulder gently. "The wait's been driving him crazy, Chickenfighter," he said softly, so Josh couldn't hear. "Don't make him wait any more."

Donna didn't say a word, didn't even look over at the president, but the next moment she began to descend the staircase in slow, measured steps.

He thought he'd have to force himself not to barrel straight through the president and first lady when he saw her, but as it turned out, the second he caught sight of her, he lost the ability to move. She took his breath away. Two continents worth of grime, slumped with fatigue, clothes so wrinkled it looked like she'd pulled them out of the hamper and put them on, and she took his breath away.

She stopped when she reached the bottom step, only inches from him, her eyes never having left his. They stared at each other, studied each other, before Donna finally smiled at him. "Hey."

"Hey," he breathed, on a relieved half-grin.

She opened her mouth, but closed it again, unsure what to say next. The air was too thick, the moment too heavy, and even without the presence of the news cameras, they were both holding on by their fingernails, hoping to avoid a scene.

"That's so damned touching I could weep like a little girl," Santos teased lightly as he descended the steps with his arm around his wife, who shot him a chastising look.

Annabeth followed close behind, her brow furrowed. "*No* press?"

"Not tonight," Santos replied in a sing-song tone, taking his wife by the hand. "Okay, everybody's got cars waiting for them. And hey, come in a little late tomorrow," he winked.

"Late?" Helen snorted. "I don't want to see either of you at work tomorrow."

That finally caused Donna to break her eye contact with Josh. "No, ma'am, we'll need to rework the remarks we wrote on the plane, and you'll give a press statement at some point tomorrow--"

"Not to mention that my office is going to be overrun with interview requests -- " Annabeth jumped in.

Santos read the growing impatience on Josh's face, and it mirrored his own. "This is an argument we'll continue after the sun rises. Everybody go home. Doc, you're with us." He turned and caught Vinick's eye. "I want to sit down with you first thing in the morning."

Vinick nodded. "You got it."

Helen wrapped an arm around her husband's waist and leaned against him as they walked toward the waiting limo, Dr. Perez in tow. Josh placed his hand on the small of Donna's back and wordlessly steered her toward his waiting car. Annabeth and Vinick both turned to walk toward their waiting vehicles.

"No press," Annabeth sighed.

"Disappointed?" Vinick asked.

"A little, to be honest. I…that's who I was expecting to be waiting on me. That's always who's waiting on me."

Vinick cocked his head to the side as they walked. "Nobody's waiting on me."

"You have a staff."

"And look how they all turned out to greet me," Vinick opened his arms to the empty space before him.

"You told them no one needed to meet you when we landed. On the phone, when you called from the plane. I heard you."

Vinick waved the notion away. "I don't need a big emotional scene."

Annabeth turned, watching as a rapt Josh opened the door for Donna, and she began to climb into the car. "Yeah, that's overrated," she said, her sarcastic tone laced with wistfulness. "I'm just used to having work, I guess. I don't know what to do with myself."

"I used to feel that way," Vinick said, almost to himself.

"But not anymore," she guessed.

"Not usually, no."

"So," Annabeth stopped as she reached her car. "What do you do in moments like this, Mr. Secretary?"

"I was gonna have a drink," Vinick said, continuing toward his own waiting driver. "Maybe a little late dinner."

Annabeth frowned as she watched him go. "Oh."

Vinick glanced at her over his shoulder. "I owe you, if I recall correctly, one invitation to dinner. That was it. Are you coming, or are you going to keep me in your debt?"

"You can go," Annabeth said absently to her driver as she followed.

CUT TO: INT. JOSH'S CAR

He'd gotten in the car after her, but the second the door closed, he had her in his arms, and they buried their faces in each other's shoulders, fighting tears as Rodney got behind the wheel and began the drive home.

He pressed his face against the side of her neck and she squeezed his shoulders a little tighter, lifting her uninjured hand to run her fingers through his hair. They rode like that for several minutes, in silence, before Donna's worry got the better of her. "You OK?"

He laughed softly, then lifted his head and kissed her gently before pulling back and brushing her hair from her face. "I'm good," he smiled at her with bright eyes. "Now I'm good."

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