"Out Loud," The West Wing, PG-13
Title: Out Loud
Author: edna_blackadder
Rating: PG-13: language
Pairings: Helen Santos/Matt Santos, one-sided Josh Lyman/Matt Santos
Word Count: 2,434
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
Summary: Post-ep for "La Palabra." As the Santos campaign celebrates its victory in California, Helen tries to make sense of Josh.
Author's Note: Thanks to sarcasticsra for the beta, and thanks to Jasmine for the unintentional inspiration. She made the Cat on a Hot Tin Roof comment ages ago, in reference to a different Sorkinverse pairing.
Josh has had too much champagne, and apparently this brings out his inner frat boy. Just when Helen was thinking she might have to revise her opinion of him, too. Josh's guilt over his suggestion that Matt go back to Congress, and his very real fear of having possibly convinced Matt to mortgage away Peter and Miranda's futures, had in turn caused Helen to feel slightly guilty about her general dislike of him. After all, Helen can't help but agree with Josh that, if elected, her husband couldn't help but make the world a better place, so logically she should be overjoyed that he saw Matt's potential and chased him all the way to Houston. But the best people for any and all political offices rarely expect to hold them, and Matt never dreamed of being President before now, and running for First Lady was definitely not something that Helen had ever signed up for.
Matt was honest with her about his political ambitions from the start, and if that prospect had bothered her, she wouldn't have married him. She didn't mind being the wife of the Mayor of Houston or even being the wife of a Congressman, attending a gala here and doing an interview there. Her time in the spotlight was limited enough to be, if not always enjoyable, at least tolerable, and worth every minute for what it meant to Matt. Being the wife of a presidential candidate, however, is different, and it is exhausting, and it is all the more frustrating for coming at a time when she'd had every reason to believe that she and Matt were finally about to settle down.
But there was Josh Lyman on her doorstep on Christmas night, the metaphorical coal in her stocking, come to turn her life upside down and inside out because for some reason or other, he'd decided he believed in Matt. She still isn't clear on exactly what her husband did to win the undying loyalty of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. Matt seems to think it was because he successfully passed a Patients' Bill of Rights, but that doesn't explain Josh's habit of staring at him with stars in his eyes.
“Look, lady,” Josh slurs into his cell phone, “everyone thought we were out of it and then what happened? We won California, so you can take your bullshit armchair psychology and shove it up your-”
Mercifully, Ronna appears at his side and seizes the phone just then. “Ms. Cahill? I'm sorry, the Congressman is unavailable right now. I can have him return your call within the hour if you're on deadline-All right, he'll speak to you then. Thanks for calling.”
Ronna hangs up, and then she pockets Josh's phone, plucks the champagne glass from his hand, and downs it herself. Helen grits her teeth. She doesn't like Karen Cahill's columns either, but using “lady” as an insult? Really, Josh? Helen takes a sip of her own champagne and wonders how long she can get away with her wallflower act before another reporter ambles over to her. She scans the room, readying herself to put on her best game face.
Apparently, she can do worse than the press, because instead of a reporter, it's Josh who ambles over to her, or rather stumbles. It's not even that late; how much has he had to drink? Or is he just a total lightweight? That would be funny, if true. She forces herself to smile because she really doesn't want to talk to him. This is a happy occasion, so smiling would seem a reasonable way not to attract attention, right?
Unfortunately, Josh reads her smile as an invitation and grins back at her, in that smarmy a-few-more-drinks-and-I'll-be-beating-my-chest-like-an-ape kind of way. “You gonna join the party, or what?”
In measured tones, Helen replies, “I'm here, aren't I?”
“Why aren't you with the Congressman? This is a big night for him. For both of you.”
“He's still doing interviews,” Helen says, wanting to head off any tipsy attempt Josh might make to rehash the mortgage drama, “and I've had my fill of the press for one night.”
Josh's eyes go wide, and he says, “Maybe I should go over there-”
“Not a good idea at this point-” Helen starts, and then stops, remembering that debates with inebriated people over how inebriated they are tend not to go well, especially when their inebriation reveals theretofore unknown, if not entirely unsuspected, frat boy tendencies. “I mean, I'm sure Ronna can handle it.”
Josh pouts at the mention of Ronna's name. “She stole my phone.” Then: “You should go find him. That's one hell of a dress you're wearing.”
Josh's eyes are, Helen notes, not precisely level with her face, and while she's pretty sure this is entirely the alcohol's doing, as even Josh isn't that much of an ass, at least where she's concerned, the words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “Josh, there's a play you should really read called Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”
At this, Josh's face turns white. He opens his mouth and then closes it without speaking. Then he reaches over to the refreshment table for another glass of champagne, but it slips right through his shaking fingers and shatters on the floor.
Helen swallows, and she probably turns a bit pale herself. It was one thing to wonder, but it's quite another to have confirmation, and at first, she's not sure if she believes it.
Then it occurs to her that maybe this isn't confirmation at all, because Cat on a Hot Tin Roof doesn't actually bear much resemblance to their situation, whatever their situation is. Helen is as certain of Matt's devotion to her as she is of hers to him, and Matt is in no way a paranoid homophobe. He's just proven that while campaigning San Francisco, not that there was any doubt before. The more she thinks about it, the more she thinks about what an outrageously flawed analogy it really is, but then, the best analogies rarely suggest themselves when you need them most. That kind of thing only happens in the movies. She was just thinking of Maggie's Act I soliloquy, specifically the “Skipper, stop loving my husband” bit.
Mentally, Helen kicks herself. Josh's horrified expression might well have nothing to do with her implicit allegation and everything to do with her various accidental implications. “Uh, sorry, never mind. I, um, I meant a different Tennessee Williams play. I can't remember the title; I always get them mixed up in my head. Oh, what was it, um-”
She raises her hand to her chin in a gesture of deep thought, racking her brain for a suitable cover, but she can already tell that whatever she says, Josh isn't going to buy it. He's staring at her like a deer caught in headlights, and she can tell that he is now suddenly, painfully sober. “I, um, sorry, I-I have to go puke, or something,” he says lamely, and then he hightails it out of the room.
*
It takes her a few minutes, but Helen eventually finds Josh leaning against the wall in the back room, his eyes downcast and his hands rubbing his improbably high forehead. The same guy whose swagger was irritating the crap out of her not ten minutes ago is now not merely deflated, but despairing. “Okay, so I did mean Cat, but I really didn't mean it how it sounded. You can put your campaign damage control instincts to rest. Matt and I aren't in a sham marriage, and he's not-”
“I know.” Josh sighs, and he doesn't look up at her. “I know you meant Cat, and I know which part of it you were talking about.”
Confirmation after all, then. Helen doesn't know what to do with that. How is it that she's suspected it for ages, and yet it still manages to hit her like an oncoming train? “Oh.” Then: “I-”
Josh cuts her off again. “Don't make me say it out loud.”
Damn, maybe this really is Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Momentarily lost for words, Helen nods, wondering how it's possible that after...well, everything, she's actually feeling sorry for him.
A few seconds later Josh lowers his hands to his sides and stands up straight. “Just tell me one thing,” he says. “Is it that obvious?”
In spite of herself, Helen rolls her eyes. “Not to Matt.”
“What about the staff?”
Helen shrugs. “I'm not exactly the fly on the wall next to the water cooler, Josh.”
Josh shakes his head. “You knew. That's enough. You've got to understand-I can't. I mean, I'd never, I know that he-that you-you know. But even if-I mean-I just can't.”
Helen shrugs again, biting her lip uncomfortably. “Times are changing,” she says, knowing as she says it that it doesn't matter. They are changing, but not enough to help someone so far in the closet he can't even talk about it full sentences. And oh, how she wishes his unintelligible fragments weren't so crystal clear in spite of themselves. She takes a deep breath and presses on. “If we win, they'll change more. Every time somebody tries to confront Matt on gay marriage, he reminds them that not long ago, our marriage was illegal. That tends to shut them right up.”
Josh looks back down at the floor and resumes rubbing his forehead. “He could drape the whole country in rainbow flags and mandate Gay Pride parades every week, and it wouldn't change anything.” His head snaps back up, and then he looks her straight in the eye. “When you're gay in Washington, that's all you are. People decide whether to hire you based on whether they want a gay person on their staff. Everyone sees you as gay, no matter what else you've done, whether you want to be seen that way or not. And I'm not even-I mean, you know, I like women.”
For crying out loud, Helen thinks, Josh is so uncomfortable about this that he can't even say the word bisexual, and yet he stares after Matt like a besotted schoolgirl and it doesn't occur to him that someone might catch on? Helen swallows, and then, half unable to believe she's doing it, she steps forward and places her hands on his shoulders. “Not for the first time, I think you're full of crap,” she says, with what she hopes is a playful yet comforting smile on her face. “There are at least four openly gay members of Congress, and many more gay congressional staffers, including a surprising number of Republicans. They get plenty done. It's not a big deal.”
“Those guys have been out since the start of their careers,” Josh says wearily. “Big difference. And most of those staffers were born in the 1980s.”
Helen steps back, then makes what she hopes is the universally recognized gesture for “So?” She bites her lip and says, “Meaning what?”
“Meaning they didn't grow up thinking, you know, they'd better not. Well, I mean,” he amends quickly, “not, you know, not to the same extent, anyway.” He pauses, then tries another tack. “Look, it's not just-well, you know Amy Gardner? She only dates men, because she chose her cause and it wasn't gay rights. She doesn't want to be labeled a man-hating lesbian, which is exactly what would happen if she didn't, um, limit herself.”
Helen groans inwardly, recognizing, at long last, the Josh Lyman she knows. Did he really just turn around and out his ex-girlfriend? “In which case I'm sure she appreciates how readily you give out that information.”
To her surprise, he buries his face in his hands in what seems to be genuine remorse. “Fuck me,” he says to the floor, his voice cracking slightly. “You're right. You're completely right. This is just one more reason why I-why I just can't.”
Helen nods. “Yeah, I get it. Just tell me one thing. Is this why you chose him?”
Again Josh rubs his forehead, bites his lip, and when he does answer, addresses the floor. “Leo told me to pick the smartest, most capable, and most honorable individual I knew. So I did, and I guess it's just...part and parcel of the whole deal, if you know what I mean.”
At this, Helen chokes back a lump in her throat, and then her face breaks into what might be the first real smile it has ever worn in Josh's presence. She reaches over and tips his face upward, to make sure he sees it. “You know, if you'd just phrased it that way on Christmas, this would have been so much easier.”
Just as Josh starts to smile in spite of himself, the door opens, and Matt walks in. “Whoa,” he says, and Josh jumps backward in alarm, and in so doing, forgets that he's standing next to the wall and hits his head on it. Helen struggles to suppress a laugh.
“Ow,” Josh moans, and automatically, Matt strides over to him.
“You okay?” he asks, with a hint of amusement in his voice, but mostly just pure concern. “Want some ice?”
“No thanks,” Josh mutters, “I'll be fine.” He's got stars in his eyes again, and Helen wishes she could blame him.
“If you say so,” Matt says. Then: “So what's with the private party? You two comparing notes on my many inadequacies?”
At this, Helen cannot suppress her laughter. She walks over to Matt and wraps an arm around him. “Yes. That's exactly what we've been doing. We've got a list of complaints a mile long.”
Matt grins. “I'm just happy you're getting along.” He wraps one arm around Helen and one around Josh, and Helen and Josh both know that this does not mean what Josh might like to think it means.
That doesn't stop Josh from smiling at both of them, and they both smile back. “We won California,” Josh says, as if he's only just remembered this and still doesn't quite believe it.
“And we're going to Texas,” Helen adds. They nod, grinning from ear to ear, and for the first time, Helen truly wants to win.
Author: edna_blackadder
Rating: PG-13: language
Pairings: Helen Santos/Matt Santos, one-sided Josh Lyman/Matt Santos
Word Count: 2,434
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
Summary: Post-ep for "La Palabra." As the Santos campaign celebrates its victory in California, Helen tries to make sense of Josh.
Author's Note: Thanks to sarcasticsra for the beta, and thanks to Jasmine for the unintentional inspiration. She made the Cat on a Hot Tin Roof comment ages ago, in reference to a different Sorkinverse pairing.
Josh has had too much champagne, and apparently this brings out his inner frat boy. Just when Helen was thinking she might have to revise her opinion of him, too. Josh's guilt over his suggestion that Matt go back to Congress, and his very real fear of having possibly convinced Matt to mortgage away Peter and Miranda's futures, had in turn caused Helen to feel slightly guilty about her general dislike of him. After all, Helen can't help but agree with Josh that, if elected, her husband couldn't help but make the world a better place, so logically she should be overjoyed that he saw Matt's potential and chased him all the way to Houston. But the best people for any and all political offices rarely expect to hold them, and Matt never dreamed of being President before now, and running for First Lady was definitely not something that Helen had ever signed up for.
Matt was honest with her about his political ambitions from the start, and if that prospect had bothered her, she wouldn't have married him. She didn't mind being the wife of the Mayor of Houston or even being the wife of a Congressman, attending a gala here and doing an interview there. Her time in the spotlight was limited enough to be, if not always enjoyable, at least tolerable, and worth every minute for what it meant to Matt. Being the wife of a presidential candidate, however, is different, and it is exhausting, and it is all the more frustrating for coming at a time when she'd had every reason to believe that she and Matt were finally about to settle down.
But there was Josh Lyman on her doorstep on Christmas night, the metaphorical coal in her stocking, come to turn her life upside down and inside out because for some reason or other, he'd decided he believed in Matt. She still isn't clear on exactly what her husband did to win the undying loyalty of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. Matt seems to think it was because he successfully passed a Patients' Bill of Rights, but that doesn't explain Josh's habit of staring at him with stars in his eyes.
“Look, lady,” Josh slurs into his cell phone, “everyone thought we were out of it and then what happened? We won California, so you can take your bullshit armchair psychology and shove it up your-”
Mercifully, Ronna appears at his side and seizes the phone just then. “Ms. Cahill? I'm sorry, the Congressman is unavailable right now. I can have him return your call within the hour if you're on deadline-All right, he'll speak to you then. Thanks for calling.”
Ronna hangs up, and then she pockets Josh's phone, plucks the champagne glass from his hand, and downs it herself. Helen grits her teeth. She doesn't like Karen Cahill's columns either, but using “lady” as an insult? Really, Josh? Helen takes a sip of her own champagne and wonders how long she can get away with her wallflower act before another reporter ambles over to her. She scans the room, readying herself to put on her best game face.
Apparently, she can do worse than the press, because instead of a reporter, it's Josh who ambles over to her, or rather stumbles. It's not even that late; how much has he had to drink? Or is he just a total lightweight? That would be funny, if true. She forces herself to smile because she really doesn't want to talk to him. This is a happy occasion, so smiling would seem a reasonable way not to attract attention, right?
Unfortunately, Josh reads her smile as an invitation and grins back at her, in that smarmy a-few-more-drinks-and-I'll-be-beating-my-chest-like-an-ape kind of way. “You gonna join the party, or what?”
In measured tones, Helen replies, “I'm here, aren't I?”
“Why aren't you with the Congressman? This is a big night for him. For both of you.”
“He's still doing interviews,” Helen says, wanting to head off any tipsy attempt Josh might make to rehash the mortgage drama, “and I've had my fill of the press for one night.”
Josh's eyes go wide, and he says, “Maybe I should go over there-”
“Not a good idea at this point-” Helen starts, and then stops, remembering that debates with inebriated people over how inebriated they are tend not to go well, especially when their inebriation reveals theretofore unknown, if not entirely unsuspected, frat boy tendencies. “I mean, I'm sure Ronna can handle it.”
Josh pouts at the mention of Ronna's name. “She stole my phone.” Then: “You should go find him. That's one hell of a dress you're wearing.”
Josh's eyes are, Helen notes, not precisely level with her face, and while she's pretty sure this is entirely the alcohol's doing, as even Josh isn't that much of an ass, at least where she's concerned, the words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “Josh, there's a play you should really read called Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”
At this, Josh's face turns white. He opens his mouth and then closes it without speaking. Then he reaches over to the refreshment table for another glass of champagne, but it slips right through his shaking fingers and shatters on the floor.
Helen swallows, and she probably turns a bit pale herself. It was one thing to wonder, but it's quite another to have confirmation, and at first, she's not sure if she believes it.
Then it occurs to her that maybe this isn't confirmation at all, because Cat on a Hot Tin Roof doesn't actually bear much resemblance to their situation, whatever their situation is. Helen is as certain of Matt's devotion to her as she is of hers to him, and Matt is in no way a paranoid homophobe. He's just proven that while campaigning San Francisco, not that there was any doubt before. The more she thinks about it, the more she thinks about what an outrageously flawed analogy it really is, but then, the best analogies rarely suggest themselves when you need them most. That kind of thing only happens in the movies. She was just thinking of Maggie's Act I soliloquy, specifically the “Skipper, stop loving my husband” bit.
Mentally, Helen kicks herself. Josh's horrified expression might well have nothing to do with her implicit allegation and everything to do with her various accidental implications. “Uh, sorry, never mind. I, um, I meant a different Tennessee Williams play. I can't remember the title; I always get them mixed up in my head. Oh, what was it, um-”
She raises her hand to her chin in a gesture of deep thought, racking her brain for a suitable cover, but she can already tell that whatever she says, Josh isn't going to buy it. He's staring at her like a deer caught in headlights, and she can tell that he is now suddenly, painfully sober. “I, um, sorry, I-I have to go puke, or something,” he says lamely, and then he hightails it out of the room.
*
It takes her a few minutes, but Helen eventually finds Josh leaning against the wall in the back room, his eyes downcast and his hands rubbing his improbably high forehead. The same guy whose swagger was irritating the crap out of her not ten minutes ago is now not merely deflated, but despairing. “Okay, so I did mean Cat, but I really didn't mean it how it sounded. You can put your campaign damage control instincts to rest. Matt and I aren't in a sham marriage, and he's not-”
“I know.” Josh sighs, and he doesn't look up at her. “I know you meant Cat, and I know which part of it you were talking about.”
Confirmation after all, then. Helen doesn't know what to do with that. How is it that she's suspected it for ages, and yet it still manages to hit her like an oncoming train? “Oh.” Then: “I-”
Josh cuts her off again. “Don't make me say it out loud.”
Damn, maybe this really is Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Momentarily lost for words, Helen nods, wondering how it's possible that after...well, everything, she's actually feeling sorry for him.
A few seconds later Josh lowers his hands to his sides and stands up straight. “Just tell me one thing,” he says. “Is it that obvious?”
In spite of herself, Helen rolls her eyes. “Not to Matt.”
“What about the staff?”
Helen shrugs. “I'm not exactly the fly on the wall next to the water cooler, Josh.”
Josh shakes his head. “You knew. That's enough. You've got to understand-I can't. I mean, I'd never, I know that he-that you-you know. But even if-I mean-I just can't.”
Helen shrugs again, biting her lip uncomfortably. “Times are changing,” she says, knowing as she says it that it doesn't matter. They are changing, but not enough to help someone so far in the closet he can't even talk about it full sentences. And oh, how she wishes his unintelligible fragments weren't so crystal clear in spite of themselves. She takes a deep breath and presses on. “If we win, they'll change more. Every time somebody tries to confront Matt on gay marriage, he reminds them that not long ago, our marriage was illegal. That tends to shut them right up.”
Josh looks back down at the floor and resumes rubbing his forehead. “He could drape the whole country in rainbow flags and mandate Gay Pride parades every week, and it wouldn't change anything.” His head snaps back up, and then he looks her straight in the eye. “When you're gay in Washington, that's all you are. People decide whether to hire you based on whether they want a gay person on their staff. Everyone sees you as gay, no matter what else you've done, whether you want to be seen that way or not. And I'm not even-I mean, you know, I like women.”
For crying out loud, Helen thinks, Josh is so uncomfortable about this that he can't even say the word bisexual, and yet he stares after Matt like a besotted schoolgirl and it doesn't occur to him that someone might catch on? Helen swallows, and then, half unable to believe she's doing it, she steps forward and places her hands on his shoulders. “Not for the first time, I think you're full of crap,” she says, with what she hopes is a playful yet comforting smile on her face. “There are at least four openly gay members of Congress, and many more gay congressional staffers, including a surprising number of Republicans. They get plenty done. It's not a big deal.”
“Those guys have been out since the start of their careers,” Josh says wearily. “Big difference. And most of those staffers were born in the 1980s.”
Helen steps back, then makes what she hopes is the universally recognized gesture for “So?” She bites her lip and says, “Meaning what?”
“Meaning they didn't grow up thinking, you know, they'd better not. Well, I mean,” he amends quickly, “not, you know, not to the same extent, anyway.” He pauses, then tries another tack. “Look, it's not just-well, you know Amy Gardner? She only dates men, because she chose her cause and it wasn't gay rights. She doesn't want to be labeled a man-hating lesbian, which is exactly what would happen if she didn't, um, limit herself.”
Helen groans inwardly, recognizing, at long last, the Josh Lyman she knows. Did he really just turn around and out his ex-girlfriend? “In which case I'm sure she appreciates how readily you give out that information.”
To her surprise, he buries his face in his hands in what seems to be genuine remorse. “Fuck me,” he says to the floor, his voice cracking slightly. “You're right. You're completely right. This is just one more reason why I-why I just can't.”
Helen nods. “Yeah, I get it. Just tell me one thing. Is this why you chose him?”
Again Josh rubs his forehead, bites his lip, and when he does answer, addresses the floor. “Leo told me to pick the smartest, most capable, and most honorable individual I knew. So I did, and I guess it's just...part and parcel of the whole deal, if you know what I mean.”
At this, Helen chokes back a lump in her throat, and then her face breaks into what might be the first real smile it has ever worn in Josh's presence. She reaches over and tips his face upward, to make sure he sees it. “You know, if you'd just phrased it that way on Christmas, this would have been so much easier.”
Just as Josh starts to smile in spite of himself, the door opens, and Matt walks in. “Whoa,” he says, and Josh jumps backward in alarm, and in so doing, forgets that he's standing next to the wall and hits his head on it. Helen struggles to suppress a laugh.
“Ow,” Josh moans, and automatically, Matt strides over to him.
“You okay?” he asks, with a hint of amusement in his voice, but mostly just pure concern. “Want some ice?”
“No thanks,” Josh mutters, “I'll be fine.” He's got stars in his eyes again, and Helen wishes she could blame him.
“If you say so,” Matt says. Then: “So what's with the private party? You two comparing notes on my many inadequacies?”
At this, Helen cannot suppress her laughter. She walks over to Matt and wraps an arm around him. “Yes. That's exactly what we've been doing. We've got a list of complaints a mile long.”
Matt grins. “I'm just happy you're getting along.” He wraps one arm around Helen and one around Josh, and Helen and Josh both know that this does not mean what Josh might like to think it means.
That doesn't stop Josh from smiling at both of them, and they both smile back. “We won California,” Josh says, as if he's only just remembered this and still doesn't quite believe it.
“And we're going to Texas,” Helen adds. They nod, grinning from ear to ear, and for the first time, Helen truly wants to win.