Of course it would be snowing, Josh thought as he shrugged deeper into his coat. The world would have to get a fresh coat of white to cover the barren ground and skeletal leaves. Of course there would have to be a dusting of softness along the jagged hole of the grave.

He felt Donna cling tighter to his arm. Her breath came out in silver clouds. Josh couldn't bring himself to look at her because he'd see her tears, and that might start his own, and he was standing way too close to Santos to get caught breaking down.

Even for this.

The rosary and the small service had been for the family. This was for them all, for the work family, who had been touched by this man every day for years and years, whose very souls had been forged in his gruff, loving fire.

C.J., looking worn and pale, was standing shoulder to shoulder with Margaret, who looked worse. Lord John Marbury looked as if he needed a drink. The Secret Service stood between Josh and the President, but he caught Dr. Bartlet's attention. She flashed a brief smile that came nowhere near her red-rimmed eyes.

Poor Sam was snowed in at the Colorado airport.

Santos and his wife stood still, keeping their gazes on the matte black box that held the earthly remains of Leo McGarry.

They had lost him to a second heart attack, fiercer and faster than the one last year, an attack that claimed him even though he was in the hospital and not in the woods. Even after three days, Josh couldn't wrap his mind around the irony.

Even after three days, Josh still couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that Leo was gone.

Even though he had been in almost constant contact with Mallory, arranged the press releases from Santos' camp, and talked it over with Donna until the sun came up and went down again, he still couldn't believe it. He kept expecting to see Leo come around the corner with his crooked walk and his crooked smile. His breath hitched and Donna took half a step toward him until her body was pressed to his. She was trembling.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered as the priest began his benediction. He didn't believe a word of it. Donna shook her head and tugged at his arm to make him follow her line of sight.

Alone beneath a tree, his coat and beard equally flecked with sugary snow, stood Toby.

Had anyone else spotted him? Josh darted a glance around the crowd, but no one seemed aware that the black sheep was here amongst the snow-whitened flock.

Josh had to concentrate on the rest of the service. Something happened with holy water, and some Latin, and then there was the awful sound of the winches that lowered Leo's coffin into the grave. Mallory and her mother took one last look, then walked slowly toward the hearse. Josh didn't realize that he was cringing until Donna pried his fingers loose from her arm. He took his free hand and wiped away the telltale moisture beneath his eyes, then turned again to Toby.

He was thinner than Josh remembered, and his hair had gone grayer. His posture was slumped - whose wasn't, on a day like this? - and he kept his head bowed. If he had seen Josh or Donna, he did not let on. He might as well have been a ghost.

Donna turned to look up at Josh. Her cheeks and nose were red. She had to be wondering the same thing he was, if the President had noticed Toby or if the Secret Service had said--

Oh, God.

The Presidential phalanx was closing in on Toby.

How the hell had Toby been given clearance? He craned his neck to look at C.J., who was blushing despite the snow-laced teardrops on her face.

Surely the Service wouldn't shoot him, Josh thought. He was just standing there, after all. Just paying his last respects.

All Josh could hear was his own heartbeat. All he could see was the dark, straight figure of the President as he stepped out of the group of men.

As he stepped out of the group of men to stand in front of one man.

He could do anything right now. He could have Toby thrown out on his ear. He could fire C.J. on the spot. He could have everyone arrested. Hell, he was the President.

He was also Leo McGarry's lifelong friend. The President looked back at the workers shoveling dark earth and bright snow over Leo's coffin. He looked at his wife. Josh watched, fear and hope warring in his cold, tired body. The President looked into Toby's eyes, ducking his head to do so.

At that moment, Jed Bartlet was not the President of the United States. He was one of many men who grieved for the loss of Leo, a man who had learned from Leo himself that reconciliation was more important than pride. That friendship, lifelong friendship, could vanish like a crystal cloud of breath on a snowy afternoon.

Leo McGarry's lifelong friend had to know that a man as divine as himself, and as flawed, awaited judgment.

Josh clasped Donna close and they watched together.

Watched and wept as Leo McGarry's lifelong friend opened his arms wide.

*End*