Title: Round Three

Fandom: West Wing

Characters: Leo, Josh

Rating: PG

Spoilers: End of season five/start of season six

Word Count: 1303

Notes: For the Leo McGarry ficathon. Written for inocciduous who wanted Josh, no fluff, no slash, no AU’s. Hopefully, this ticks the right boxes.

Summary: Leo talks to Josh on his first day back from Germany.

>*<*>*<

“Josh? Hang on a minute.”

It’s the looks that the rest of the Senior Staff give him and Josh as they file out of his office – curious, concerned, but not a little understanding and, dare he say it, relieved – that convinces Leo that he’s about to do the right thing. And if those looks hadn’t done it, one glance at Josh – face pale and gaunt, dark shadows under his eyes, hair just a little more unkempt and sticking-up than usual – would have done it. Josh looks as if he’s wound up tighter than a child’s plaything, shoulders hunched, arms crossed over the briefing book he’s holding to his chest like a protective shield.

Leo’s quite familiar with the appearance of a Lyman on the verge of explosion, and he doesn’t want that to happen here.

“What’s up Boss?”

Josh sounds vaguely abstracted, a ghost of his normally ebullient tones, and Leo shakes himself, tapping his pen against his blotter, looking up at Josh. “First day back… how are you doing?”

Josh shifts slightly, but where once the movement might have been a bounce, now it’s barely a flicker. “I’m good,” he says, looking over his shoulder towards the door. “Little jet-lagged, but we’ve got a tonne of work to do for the thing…”

“Josh.” One word from Leo stops him talking, has their eyes meeting, and Josh seems to blanche a little, almost as if he’s forgotten where he was. Knowing he’s not going to get any further asking about him, Leo changes tack. “How’s Donna?”

“Good, she’s good.” Another one of those almost-bounces. “Complaining of being stiff and sore, complaining about hospital food, wanting to get back here as soon as possible…” Miracle of miracles, he’s smiling, his thoughts an ocean away, and Leo’s glad of it. It means that he doesn’t have to worry about Josh noticing the pain on his face, as he remembers a time when words like those were spoken about him, in that very spot, by the woman they’re discussing. “Her mom’s staying over there with her… she’s good.”

Leo nods slowly, pausing before he speaks, the better to collect his thoughts. There’s no good way of couching this though, so he just comes right out with it. “Have you given any thought to calling Stanley Keyworth?”

Josh’s eyes grow very wide for a second, and he rocks back on his heels as if Leo had physically pushed him. Visibly pulling himself together, he loosens one hand from its death grip on his briefing book and runs it through his hair. “That’s a good idea,” he says, slightly hoarsely, and he must recognise that because he clears his throat. “She’ll need to talk to someone… but is this gonna be on the government’s dime, because she’s a girl on a budget, and I don’t think she can afford…”

“Josh.” This time the one word is accompanied by a raised hand. “I’m not talking about for Donna. I’m talking about you.”

“Me?” Josh laughs, a harsh, horrible sound. “Why would I need to talk to Stanley?”

Leo refrains from suggesting that he look in a mirror, refrains further from mentioning the look on Josh’s face when he’d seen the television screen in the bullpen, seen the burning cars, knowing that Donna was somewhere in the middle of it all. Instead, he simply leans forward, arms resting on the table, palms flat against the blotter. “You’re telling me you don’t?”

“Of course not!” Josh’s voice rises several octaves, which in itself is all the proof Leo needs. “I’m fine Leo… I’m not the one who got blown up.” His face falls immediately after saying the words, like they’ve reached his brain at the same time they reach his ears, and he cringes. “I’m fine,” he says again, finding something very interesting in the pattern of Leo’s carpet.

Except Leo knows he’s anything but, and once again, he speaks plainly. “You’re telling me you don’t feel the slightest bit guilty?”

Josh’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting Leo’s, fire meeting ice, quenched almost immediately. His head drops, as does the briefing book, and the sigh he heaves moves the papers at the edge of Leo’s desk. “I put her on the damn trip,” he says quietly.

“You gave her an opportunity to expand her job description… something, I might add, she’s deserved for a long time,” Leo reminds him. “And from what I remember about the reports she was sending back, she was doing a damn good job of it.”

“She was, wasn’t she?” A brief but genuine smile lights up Josh’s face, transforming it completely.

“You weren’t responsible for what happened Josh… it was an act of madmen.” Again, a phrase he heard used in another time and place, and it’s hard work to keep the grimace from his lips. “Donna’s not blaming you… and neither is anyone else.”

“I just…” Josh sighs again, looking to the ceiling. “If I hadn’t…”

“You can’t think like that.” Leo’s voice is firm, his best Chief-of-Staff-obey-me-or-else voice. “You get caught up in what-ifs and you’re no good to me, to the President, to Donna, to anyone.” Josh nods, accepting the words, and Leo softens his tone. “It’s ok to admit you need help sometimes.”

A cocksure smirk forms on Josh’s lips, and for a second, Leo’s sure that some smart quip is forthcoming. Nor does Josh let him down. “I’ll make sure CJ alerts the press to that fact.”

It’s vintage Josh, and the appearance has Leo leaning back in his chair, tosses his pen to the desk, flexing his chalk-white knuckles as the feeling comes back into his fingers. “Survivor guilt Josh… you’re gonna need to help Donna through it too.”

Head tilted, Josh asks, “And this is your way of helping me?”

Leo shrugs. “What can I say… there’s a guy in a hole…”

He sees the memory of the story play across Josh’s face, sees understanding dawn as he recalls the last line. “I’ve been here before and I know the way out,” Josh murmurs. Leo nods, hoping that that’s an end to the matter, but he should have known better with Josh. “Vietnam?”

“Rosslyn.”

Along with a shake of his head, the word is out before Leo can stop it, and he regrets it when he sees the shock that flashes across Josh’s face. Then, almost at once, the other man’s eyes narrow, his brow furrowing. “Leo, you didn’t think…”

“I brought you there,” Leo says quietly, interrupting him. “You came to Nashua on my say so. You were Hoynes’s right-hand-man, there was no reason for you to go there. Except that it was what sons do for old friends of their fathers. I had a few what-if thoughts myself that night.”

“You talked to Stanley?”

Josh sounds somewhat amazed, and Leo can only laugh. “I didn’t need to… your mother arrived at the hospital and after about five minutes in my company proceeded to inform me that none of this was my fault, and if I blamed myself, Noah would come back and haunt me.”

Josh laughs at that, and Leo knows he’s picturing his mother saying those exact words. He looks as if the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders, and Leo finds himself feeling the same way. “Anyway,” he says, sitting up straight, “This isn’t running the country.”

“No,” Josh agrees, still grinning. “I’ll call Stanley.”

“Good. Now get back to work.”

Leo’s already reaching for the first folder on the stack that Margaret left there that morning, has it open as Josh reaches the door. When Josh’s hand is on the handle, he looks down at the first page, and he almost misses the barely audible, “Thanks Boss.”

He waits before the doors closes before he says, “You’re welcome son.”