Work Text:
Four rings. Traffic (faint, in the distance).
"Seaborn."
"Hey Sam, it's me. Look, this is going to sound crazy, but I've just been talking to Toby and he says..."
"I'm not coming back."
"You're not... It's true?"
"I'm selling my apartment in DC."
Five seconds of silence.
A hissing breath. "I feel like I'm never going to see you again."
"Would that bother you, Josh?"
"Of course it would! How can you think it wouldn't?"
Three seconds. Thumping heartbeats, inaudible.
"Sam, you were my best friend. I love you. I don't want you to stay away."
One second.
"That's good to hear. I love you too."
"Do you think if I'd said things like that more often then you'd be coming back to Washington?"
Quietly. "I think I left everything in New York to follow you."
"You should hate me."
"No."
Two seconds. A pen-top clicking.
"So if we all told you we loved you a little more then you'd still be Deputy Director of Communications at the White House?"
"I suppose it could be interpreted as pathetic."
"God, Sam."
"Josh, no one put a foot wrong. There's nothing that could have been said. I have to move on. I'm not sure what to yet, but it'll be my thing, by myself. I have to know that I can still do that."
"You'll be missed."
"Not so much."
"Well, you're wrong but I'm not going to argue with you today." One second. "Can I call you sometimes? I mean, I know you're closer with Toby and with Donna these days, but..."
"You're a jackass, Josh. Call me often. I'll text you my new numbers when I get them."
"Thanks, man."
Two seconds. Two smiles, the one invisible to the other.
"Look, I have to..."
"I really should..."
"Of course you should. Say hi to everyone from me. Tell them I'll visit."
"I will. And you had better or I'm coming down to California to kick your ass." One harsh intake of breath that says more than anything else has. "Bye, Sam."
"Goodbye Josh."
One cell-phone tucked neatly into a shirt pocket with a slight rustle. A hand brushing through hair. Exhalation: bitter-sweet, hopeful, fond.
One receiver clattering on to a desk. A head thumps into fists. Silence. A laugh. A shout to an over-worked blessing with blonde hair. Work to do.
Two thousand miles. Two friends, a little nearer than they were.