"Listen." Josh leans forward and spreads his hands out flat on the desk. "I don't like HR-362 any more than you do, or Skinner does. I think it's a sick proposal and if I had more faith in the current Court lineup I'd say we'd get it declared unconstitutional approximately four minutes after it was passed into law." Josh sees Julian's eyes flicker to the side at the mention of the Court, and makes a mental note of it, to pry and twist and use that later. The man is so disgustingly easy.
"It shouldn't even be on the floor," Julian says. "Congress has no business legislating --"
"The personal lives of American people, yadda yadda." Josh flaps a hand, then slaps it to the desk. "It's the same song and dance, okay? Matt Skinner knows that -- they did this two years ago, they're doing it again, it's like the House's version of Prom or something: put on a pretty dress, make a lot of noise, get a bunch of pictures of you taken, and then everybody forgets about it two weeks later."
"Why isn't the White House stepping in?"
"Politics doesn't work that way." Josh pokes a finger at his temple. "You're smart. I know people who know you, and they say you're smart. But you've got the IQ of a deck chair if you think showing up here in some official capacity is going to make the White House agree to be the Log Cabin crew's standard-bearer. Not last time, not this time, not next time. And absolutely not in an election year."
Julian's mouth twists to one side -- and Jesus but it's a pretty mouth, and Josh's mind veers off down the hall, around the corner, down another hall, and into the Communications bullpen where Sam is sitting at his desk, chewing his pen and shredding another legal pad. Josh drags himself back to the situation at hand, but there's a look on Julian's face that makes it clear he's been caught -- even if Julian isn't sure at what, yet. Josh's fingers clench on the edge of his desk. He will not be messed with by a Congressman's daschund pretending to be a political pitbull.
Julian opens his mouth to say something and Josh lifts his hand. "Stop. No. Let it go. If you fight this, you'll have to fight the next one, and the one after that, and then you're like the lone Athenian soldier chucking spears at the Spartans, and that's just not going to end well."
"I'm picking our battles," Julian says stubbornly. "I picked this one."
Josh exhales, closes his eyes, thinks about Sam again, don't tread on me, and then opens his eyes and looks at Julian, really look at him, ramrod spine and houndstooth jacket and a slightly-crooked bowtie, underneath that stern expression that's really only playing at being sure of anything. Josh knows it too well. "Julian," he says, standing up and holding out his hand, "let it go. Really. Thanks for coming by."
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this is all your fault, pt 2/7
Date: 2006-05-14 10:29 pm (UTC)"It shouldn't even be on the floor," Julian says. "Congress has no business legislating --"
"The personal lives of American people, yadda yadda." Josh flaps a hand, then slaps it to the desk. "It's the same song and dance, okay? Matt Skinner knows that -- they did this two years ago, they're doing it again, it's like the House's version of Prom or something: put on a pretty dress, make a lot of noise, get a bunch of pictures of you taken, and then everybody forgets about it two weeks later."
"Why isn't the White House stepping in?"
"Politics doesn't work that way." Josh pokes a finger at his temple. "You're smart. I know people who know you, and they say you're smart. But you've got the IQ of a deck chair if you think showing up here in some official capacity is going to make the White House agree to be the Log Cabin crew's standard-bearer. Not last time, not this time, not next time. And absolutely not in an election year."
Julian's mouth twists to one side -- and Jesus but it's a pretty mouth, and Josh's mind veers off down the hall, around the corner, down another hall, and into the Communications bullpen where Sam is sitting at his desk, chewing his pen and shredding another legal pad. Josh drags himself back to the situation at hand, but there's a look on Julian's face that makes it clear he's been caught -- even if Julian isn't sure at what, yet. Josh's fingers clench on the edge of his desk. He will not be messed with by a Congressman's daschund pretending to be a political pitbull.
Julian opens his mouth to say something and Josh lifts his hand. "Stop. No. Let it go. If you fight this, you'll have to fight the next one, and the one after that, and then you're like the lone Athenian soldier chucking spears at the Spartans, and that's just not going to end well."
"I'm picking our battles," Julian says stubbornly. "I picked this one."
Josh exhales, closes his eyes, thinks about Sam again, don't tread on me, and then opens his eyes and looks at Julian, really look at him, ramrod spine and houndstooth jacket and a slightly-crooked bowtie, underneath that stern expression that's really only playing at being sure of anything. Josh knows it too well. "Julian," he says, standing up and holding out his hand, "let it go. Really. Thanks for coming by."