I didn't get this job the way you think.

I didn't get this job by showing up at Bartlet For America headquarters one day and taking it upon myself to answer Josh's phone.

That's how I got my old job -- the job of being Josh's assistant during the campaign.

Getting this job -- personal assistant to the White House Deputy Chief of Staff -- was more complicated.  Frankly, I never expected to get this job.

Okay, I admit it:  I worried about my lack of education.  You have to realize what happens when a new president comes into office.  There are more than one thousand positions to be filled, and several hundred thousand resumes competing for someone's attention.  People with graduate degrees would gladly sacrifice high-paying jobs in the private sector in order to put the words "White House" on their resumes.

You can see where this knowledge would have made me nervous, right?

Oh, I knew I'd end up with a job of some kind in the White House.  I'd worked long and hard during the campaign; I knew I'd proved myself.  I'd get some sort of job, but I wouldn't be Josh's personal assistant any more.

It was, in those days, an oddly depressing thought:  We'd won the election; I admired the man who was about to become president.  I should have been ecstatic.  I was assured a steady job, saner hours than I'd been working during the campaign, and a decent paycheck.  (I was new in DC, and I seriously underestimated the cost of living.)  As an added bonus, I wouldn't have to put up with Josh Lyman's ego twenty-four hours a day.  I should have been jumping for joy.  And I was miserable.

Also, as is now obvious, I was clueless.

So I reminded myself that Josh was now the third most powerful man in the government.  He'd need someone a little more experienced than Donnatella Viridis Moss taking care of him, right?  I decided I'd have to deal with the fact that taking care of Josh would be somebody else's problem, and I'd just have to get on with my life.

What I didn't know, however, was that Josh never had any intention of getting a new assistant.  Let's face it:  The man is a creature of habit.  He was comfortable with me; his life was running smoothly since I'd taken it over.  And so he told Leo that he had no intention of hiring another assistant simply because I hadn't finished college.

For what exactly transpired between Leo and Josh, you will have to ask my husband.  But the upshot was this:  It's a highly sensitive position, taking care of the deputy chief of staff. Just to be on the safe side, Josh had to interview three candidates.  And if one of the other two honestly was more qualified for the job than I was, Josh would have to deal with the disappointment of not getting his own way on this.

Until recently, I didn't know the other two candidates' names.  At the time, it would have been improper for Josh to tell me.  After I officially had the job, I didn't care.  But when you're making the transition into a new administration, things get hectic.  And there was no one else to show the woman I now know was Phyllis Tsolakis into the office Josh was using temporarily that day.

I remember looking at her and being worried because, frankly, I could tell that if she ended up with the job she wouldn't be able to handle Josh correctly.  The woman was humorless.  Phyllis Tsolakis may have been qualified in many ways, but she was dour.  I couldn't see her teasing Josh out of one of his funks or telling him to go to hell when he started making impossible demands.

I should have known then about Josh and me; I really should have.  I was in danger of losing the greatest job I could hope to have and all I could worry about was whether this woman was capable of taking adequate care of Josh.

What can I say?  I had turned denial into an art form.

Josh dutifully interviewed Phyllis Tsolakis and Marshall Chapman, and then it was my turn.  The interview, as I recall it, went something like this:

"So, Donnatella..."

"Yes, Joshua?"

"You want to be my assistant?"

"Are you going to keep asking me to work twenty hours a day?"

"Yes.  Will you bring me coffee?"

"Absolutely not."

"Okay, then.  Job's yours."

You can see how this story may not play well when we have to testify, can't you?

I mean, I find it oddly endearing, with the coffee and all, but I'm guessing the subtext will be lost in court.

We are so screwed.

***

I really hate lawyers.

I know what you're thinking, but let's face it: I'm not a real lawyer.  I went to law school after getting a degree in political science only so that I could do exactly what I'm doing right now.

Well, actually, I wanted to be the president, not deputy chief of staff.  Baby steps.

Anyway, I hate lawyers and their legalese and their lying.

Sam claims this irrational hatred is only because I can't remember a thing from law school.  He may have a point.

In fact, he repeats his hypothesis numerous times as Leo herds us all into Toby's office to reduce the flying rumors.  I should add that Leo is apparently having trouble deciding whom he should glare at; he keeps shifting the dirty look from me to Sam and back again.

Did I mention Leo has been named in the lawsuit too?

Yeah.

This is bad.  Extremely bad.

"Well, this is interesting," Sam says.

"Sam," Leo growls.

"Seriously, I've never really been involved with something like this before."

"Something like what?" Toby asks with deadly quiescence.

"This isn't an actual lawsuit yet," Sam answers absently, still poring over the document in question.

"It's not a lawsuit?" I ask hopefully.

Donna gives me a confused look.  "Then what the hell is it?"

Sam, still absorbed in the details, actually wanders out of Toby's office without answering.  Toby, Leo, CJ, Donna and I form a strange little parade and follow him straight into his office.  At which point he snags a book off the shelf, turns back to the door and is startled to find a crowd blocking his exit.

Leo slams the door shut.  "It's not a lawsuit?"

Sam brandishes the thick legal book in his hand.  "I need to do a bit of brushing up on this, but this lawyer -- Dominic Gallerani -- invoked Rule 27."

The five of us stare back at him blankly.

"Rule 27?" CJ asks, impatient.

"Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 27," Sam repeats.  "Let me find it." He flips through the book quickly, then begins to read the relevant text.  "A person who desires to perpetuate testimony regarding any matter that may be cognizable in any court--"

"Sam!" Leo snaps.  "In English, please."

Sam carefully sets the book down on his desk.  "Basically, it means that Gallerani is unable to file suit, but he's convinced a federal judge that if he deposes..."  Sam pauses, flipping through the paperwork, "Josh, Leo--"

"People," Leo summarizes.  "If he deposes people?"

"He'll be able to preserve the information he needs to plead his case at a later date."

"Wait a second," I say, shaking my head.  "You mean they don't actually have a case, so they're going to put us under oath and question us to try to make a case?"

"Well, there are some limitations," Sam shrugs.

"But essentially?"

"Pretty much what you said," Sam nods.

"This is legal?" Donna demands.

"In federal court, yes," Sam says.  "It's rarely invoked.  In fact, I would think that allowing a complainant to depose White House staffers under this Rule would be a really bad precedent to set."

Toby makes a strange little noise.  "You mean we're going to be drowning in depositions from now until re-election?"

"Possibly," Sam answers grimly.

Leo looks like he's about to hurt somebody.  "So why the hell--?"

"This was Judge Porubsky."

Leo rolls his eyes.  "Great, we've got a Bartlet-hater presiding over this?"

"Yup," Sam shrugs.  "But there is an upside."

"And that would be?" I demand.

"Gallerani's case is almost as weak as the legal arguments he made for Rule 27."

"Yet Porubsky granted it?" Leo asks.

"Well, there is that."

Donna has her interested face on.  "So what is her case, exactly?"

"Basically," Sam says in his best professorial tone, "Phyllis Tsolakis is alleging that she was discriminated against on the basis of her marital status and, indirectly, her gender."

I am gaping.  "Does it make a difference to anyone that I have no idea what her marital status is?"

"Probably not," CJ notes.

Leo crosses his arms.  "Sam, this sounds like complete bullshit."

"It is," Sam nods.  "The argument is extremely weak.  I think they just want to depose us."

Donna nods beside me.  "To find out whether or not Josh was sleeping with me when he hired me."

"Right," Sam answers.

I can't seem to find my voice.  I am actually shaking, I'm so furious.  First, I'm publicly linked to a Republican; then my marriage becomes fodder for the gossip mill and my wife is gleefully trashed in what I'd always considered to be the respectable media; and now completely frivolous accusations have been made for the sole purposes of bringing down the president.  Accusations, I might add, that will also make Donna's and my life a living hell.

"What's the bottom line?" CJ asks, her voice tense.

"I'd have to do some research, but there won't be jail time," Sam answers with a shrug.

"What?" Donna explodes, latching on to my arm as if the gendarmes themselves have just arrived to drag me to jail.  "Jail?"

"Jail?" I yelp.  I seem to have regained my powers of speech.  "You mean to tell me that I could not only lose my job but also spend time in prison because a couple of crazy-ass Republicans are hell-bent on bringing this president down and have chosen me to be the sacrificial lamb, even though I didn't do a damn thing wrong?"

Donna, CJ, Toby, Sam and Leo stare at me for a moment, shocked.

"Josh," Sam says, "there won't--"

"I'm serious!" I can't seem to stop shouting.  "Do you remember my office before Donna started?  Do you remember how I couldn't find a goddamn thing?  Do you see what she does here every day?  She really is the deputy deputy chief of staff!  She not only handles all of my scheduling with ease grace, she also compiles all kinds of research that makes me sound like I actually know what the hell I'm talking about."

"Josh," Leo says.  "Calm down."

"I will not calm down!  This is bullshit!"  I'm breathing heavily at this point, I am so wound up.

"Yes, it is," Sam says.  "But you shouting at the top of your lungs about Donna's skills is not the best way to beat this thing."

Donna squeezes my hand and leans toward me.  "If you asked me right now, I think I'd actually bring you coffee."

CJ, who overheard Donna's comment, rolls her eyes.

"And anyway," Sam continues, "this is a civil action, Josh.  Did you attend classes at all in law school?"

"Yes," I answer defensively.

"A civil action," Toby points out, "cannot possibly result in jail time."

I shrug.  "Excuse me for being a little upset right now, but I'm being sued."

"Simmer down, boys." CJ says.  "And I need to know something before I walk into that pressroom.  I can guarantee you this is already on CNN right now."

Toby nods.  "She's right.  And there is one upside to all of this."

I am scowling.  "What's that?"

Toby gives me a small grin.  "The White House is finally in a position to release an official comment regarding your marriage."

***

CJ and I leave Leo and the Three Stooges arguing the finer points of employment discrimination law and head for the sanity of her office.

We don't get half a dozen steps away from Sam's office when we discover Danny waiting for CJ.  Sanity, these days, is a relative concept.

"Something's up," Danny says.

"The thought of sleeping with Donna never even crossed my mind," we hear my husband shout from Sam's office.

Good, I tell him mentally, because you're sure as hell not sleeping with Donna tonight.

In a truly frightening display of marital telepathy, Josh sticks his head out the door of Sam's office.  "Uh, Donna--"

I point to Danny, who looks much too happy.  "You want to clarify that statement for the Washington Post, Josh?" I ask.

Josh ducks back into Sam's office -- Actually, I think Leo and Sam may be pulling him back -- as the door slams.

"Who let you back here anyway?" CJ asks.

"I'm not revealing my sources," Danny replies.

"Are you here for any particular reason," CJ asks, "or are you simply wasting time in a futile attempt to make my life miserable?"

"Well, that's an added bonus.  But my real purpose is to ask you about this story making the rounds about--"  Here Danny looks at me apologetically.  "About Josh and Leo being sued for discriminatory hiring practices."

"No such suit has been filed," CJ answers, "and I'll be addressing these unfounded rumors in my briefing."

"If they're unfounded, why are you addressing them?"

"Danny," CJ says.  She's got this warning tone to her voice, and I wouldn't want to be the one to cross her.

"It's a fair question, CJ," Danny protests.

"Then ask it at the briefing."

"Okay."

Then Danny turns to me.  "By the way, Donna," he says, "congratulations."

I don't say a word.  I like Danny, but under the circumstances, I'm not saying anything to any reporter.

"Donna?" Danny repeats, sounding bewildered.

"Go away, Danny," CJ says.

"Okay," Danny answers.  "But everyone else is going to have this information by the time you do your briefing, you know."

CJ knows.  I can tell by her "I'm getting a headache, and it's Josh's fault" face.  Everyone in this office, myself included, has a version of that face.  "And where is this information coming from?" CJ asks.

"Now that's not fair," Danny protests.  "You won't give me a single scrap of information, but you want me to rat on a source."

"Doesn't matter," CJ says with a shrug.  "We know where these rumors are coming from."

"See?  I know what you're trying to do.  You're trying to trip me up and get me to tell you who my source is, but it's not going to work."

CJ shrugs.  "Doesn't matter.  We do know who's responsible for spreading these unfounded rumors."

"I did too study in law school," someone who will not be having sex tonight yells.

Danny, thank god, ignores my idiot husband and keeps talking to CJ.  "You're bluffing."

"Come on, Danny; it's obvious.  Who gains from spreading these ridiculous stories?  Certainly no one in this administration."

Danny stares at her for another minute and then nods.  "Okay, so you know.  I still can't say it."

"I'm not asking you to," CJ says.  "Now go away."

Danny nods again and heads toward Sam's office.

"And stay away from Josh," CJ yells.

Danny turns and heads back toward the press room.

"Men," CJ mutters when we get to her office.  I know exactly how she feels.

"That's the problem," I say.  "Baker's got Ann Stark orchestrating all this for him; we're stuck with Josh Lyman, legend in his own mind."

"And it's Ann Stark who is really making me crazy," CJ says.  "She already made Toby behave like a jackass.  But is that enough for her?  No, she has to trash the life of an innocent woman whose only mistake was fall for Josh--"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a mistake exactly.  I mean, he's awfully sweet when he's not being a jerk."

CJ ignores me and starts pacing around her office.  "Just so a sexist, homophobic, right-wing, corporate stooge like Gregory W. Baker can be elected president.  I mean, politics is one thing, but to turn against other women -- Do you think for a minute she cares about whether this Phyllis person was actually discriminated against?"

"She wasn't discriminated against!  Josh did not discriminate against anybody.  I was the best person for the job!"

"No, she doesn't care about discrimination against a woman on the basis of her marital status.  She doesn't care about equal rights.  Hell, Gregory W. Baker is in favor of repealing Roe v. Wade.  He's on record as being in favor of a constitutional amendment to outlaw abortion.  He goes on television and talks about how welfare mothers are responsible for the decline of Western civilization.  He's even against Title IX.  Ann Stark is a traitor to women everywhere, working for a bastard like him."

"And yet she's using a woman against us."

"Yet another woman who is willing to be a tool of the patriarchy if it results in her own personal gain.  She has no hope of winning any kind of lawsuit, but she'll get her fifteen minutes of fame and her interview with Oprah--"

"She can bond with my sister Frances."

CJ comes to a sudden halt and stares at me.  "That's what we need," she says, as though she's suddenly had this great revelation.

"My sister Frances?" I ask, confused.

"No," CJ says.  "Bonding.  Sisterhood.  The rising of the women."

"Okay," I say.  I'm not really sure where she's going with this, but she seems excited about the idea.

She heads for the door.  "Carol," she shouts.  "Tell Katie I want to see her as soon as possible.  And I want you to get Bonnie, Ginger, Margaret, Kathy, and Nancy here in an hour.  And see if Mrs. Landingham can join us."

"CJ," I ask, "what's going on?"

"We're not waiting for the master politicians in there to come up with a strategy," CJ says.  "We're devising one of our own.  The women of this administration are going to bring down Ann Stark and her boss."

"I love it!  Does our new strategy have a name?"

CJ grins.  "Let's call it Operation Seneca Falls."

***

If I have to sit through another nanosecond of Sam's nattering, I am going to hurl myself out of the window.  Of course, Sam's office is on the ground floor, so I wouldn't do much damage.

"Sam--"

"No, Toby, this isn't right."

"Sam," Leo grinds out.  "No one here is arguing with you that this is a tragic misapplication of Rule 27.  We need a strategy, not a history lesson."

"All I'm saying--"

"We've heard you, Sam," I yell, pacing back and forth in the small space.  "We heard you all three hundred and eight times you've explained this to us:  Rule 27 doesn't work like this.  Well, guess what?  This time, it did work like this!"

Sam nods his understanding, then adds, "But it's wrong."

"Sam, so help me," Toby says, leaving the threat unfinished but all too clear.

"Fine," Sam acquiesces.

Toby blinks slowly in relief.  "There are four lawyers in the room; would it be expecting too much to hope one of us can explain how in the hell Judge Porubsky justified Rule 27 here?"

I am staring vacantly at a wall; Leo stands, arms crossed, by the door; and Sam, perched on the edge of his desk, shrugs.

"Okay," Toby says.  "So it's safe to say that we are in need of some research on this rule.  Preferably before CJ does the briefing."

"Oh, God," Leo groans.  "What time is it?"

Sam checks his watch.  "We've got about a half hour."

Leo gives me a look, then shrugs.  "Nothing for it but to call him, Josh."

"No, Leo," I shake my head.  "Not Tribbey."

"Josh, he's brilliant."

"He's going to kill me."

Leo gives me that wolfish grin.  "Possibly."

Sam and Toby are shooting me expectant looks.  I give in to the inevitable.  "Fine," I sigh.  "Call him.  Make sure CJ knows not to go in there without talking to him first."

Leo heads for the door.  "Take care of it, Sam.  I'm going to see the president."

Toby gives me one last piercing look and silently retreats to his office.

Sam and I emerge into the oddly quiet bullpen.  Sam is halfway to Kathy's desk before he realizes she's not there.  "Kathy?"  He sounds utterly lost, glancing around as if she were hiding behind a stray file folder.

"She's not here," offers Mikey, one of the newest members of the junior staff.

Sam is perplexed.  "Where'd she go?"

Mikey shrugs.  "CJ's office?  I think that's what Bonnie said."

Sam and I automatically glance over at Bonnie's desk.  Which is also vacant.

"Ginger," Toby yells as he exits his office.  "I need -- Where the hell is my staff?"

The three of us exchange confused looks, then turn our gazes on Mikey.  Mikey shifts uncomfortably.  "I think... I mean, they might have all gone to CJ's office?"

"Great," I mutter.  "They choose now for a session of girltalk?"

***

Katie is, to put it mildly, irritated about the lawsuit.

"Phyllis Tsolakis has got to be kidding," Katie exclaims.  "She's absolutely got to be kidding."

"She's not kidding," CJ replies.  "She claims she was discriminated against because she was married."

"I'm a reporter," Katie says.  "I'm supposed to be objective; I'm not supposed to take a side on something like this.  But this just pisses me off."

"Tell me about it," I mutter.

"I'm married," Katie continues.  "I know there is discrimination -- real discrimination -- against married women in the workplace.  This kind of frivolous lawsuit hurts all those women who have real causes of action."

"True," CJ agrees.

"So," Katie says, looking at us, "what can I do to help?"

***

Donna and I turned down several offers to watch CJ's briefing with other people.  I figured we'd earned ourselves a few minutes alone, so I followed Donna into my office and closed the door, leaning back against it and giving her my apologetic face.  "About what I said before?  I should make it clear that I was referring to the time before I..."  Hmmm, there doesn't seem to be a good way to end this sentence.  "That was a long time ago.  What's important is--"

"Josh," Donna interrupts me.  "Shut up."

She presses me into the door while giving me quite an impressive kiss.  When my head clears, Donna is halfway across the room and fiddling with the remote to the TV.

"What was that for?" I ask, dazed.

"I need a reason?"

Fair point.  "Well, no.  But--"

"Josh, shut up," she repeats.  "It's starting."

CJ strides up to the podium, looking absolutely confident and at ease.  I am understandably perplexed.  Has it slipped her mind that she's about to be ambushed by the White House Press Corps?

Apparently, I underestimated CJ, because she performs beautifully, dispensing of the rather dry (relatively speaking) business of the nation with poise.  Then she gets those little crinkles at the corners of her mouth which mean she's trying not to smile.

I glance over at Donna, who is watching the TV with a frightening intensity.

On the monitor, CJ asks dryly, "Questions?  Danny."

Danny sounds surprised to be chosen, but he recovers quickly.  "Has there been a lawsuit filed against Joshua Lyman for discriminatory hiring practices?"

"No," CJ answers.

Donna claps beside me.  "You go, girl!"

I give her a strange look, but my attention is drawn back to the TV when Danny shouts, "Followup!"

CJ nods, and he continues, "Is there any truth to the rumor that a Phyllis Tsolakis is planning on suing Josh Lyman?"

"For discriminatory hiring practices?" CJ clarifies.  "Ms. Tsolakis and her lawyers have somewhat miraculously been granted something called Civil Procedure Rule 27 motion.  What this means is that Ms. Tsolakis inexplicably managed to convince a judge that although she can't bring a lawsuit against Joshua Lyman for discrimination at this time, her claims have enough merit to warrant depositions being taken."

"So her case has merit?" shouts another reporter.

"Asshole," Donna mutters.

CJ actually glares at him.  "No, it does not.  The White House, like all federal agencies, does not discriminate on the basis of race, sex, ethnicity, gender, or disability."

"But a judge found sufficient cause to grant this Rule 27 motion?"

"Let me emphasize that the judicial ruling in this case is absolutely without precedent.  Rule 27 is intended to protect the interests of a party or parties unable to bring a lawsuit at the present time.  In other words, someone who, for reasons beyond their control, cannot bring the lawsuit.  'I'm too busy to be bothered at the present time' is not sufficient cause."

Donna gives a disconcerting whoop at the scathing tone CJ's using.

"'For reasons beyond their control'?" someone asks.

CJ nods.  "There's detailed information in your press kits, but a fatal disease, for example."

"What was Phyllis Tsolakis's contention?"

"Apparently," CJ says, her tone caustic, "having her unfounded claims laughed out of the EEOC was emotionally devastating for Ms. Tsolakis.  Since Josh Lyman is rather notoriously argumentative, strident, and brusque--"

"Hey!" I protest.

"Shut up, Josh."

On screen, CJ is still talking.  "One can only wonder how qualified she could possibly have been to deal with him on a daily basis when a written judgment from an impartial panel leaves her so emotionally devastated that she can't handle filing a lawsuit."

Donna throws one arm into the air, victorious.  "Sing it, sister!"

"Okay," I say, "you are really freaking me out."

"How many times do I have to ask you--"

"Shutting up," I say.

CJ is explaining the second criterion.  "The plaintiff -- Phyllis Tsolakis -- must prove that the testimony she seeks will, in all likelihood, disappear in the course of time.  The legal gymnastics Phyllis Tsolakis employed to get around this rule are truly astounding.  Her claim is that Joshua Lyman and Leo McGarry are both in high-stress, dangerous positions that could result in their deaths at any time."

Donna clutches my hand, inching closer to me.  I lean slightly into her too, cherishing her presence.  I'm not a big fan of discussing my own potential death, and the fact that the shooting has once again come back to kick me in the ass is almost more than I can deal with.

Luckily for me, CJ doesn't seem particularly keen on the subject either.  "I'm not even going to address such a precarious and legally unsound argument.  If you have further questions on the specifics, I'd direct you to contact the White House Counsel's office.  Lionel Tribbey would be happy to answer your questions."

"Sure he would," Donna snorts.

On screen, CJ says, "Katie."

Katie doesn't even have to glance at her notebook as she rattles off her question.  "Given the surreptitious legal action undertaken by Phyllis Tsolakis and her lawyers, is the White House planning on reassigning either Josh Lyman or Donna Moss?"

"Go, Katie!" Donna shouts happily.

"Let me make it very clear that the White House has no plans to punish two of our very best for something they absolutely did not do wrong.  Official White House policy -- a policy, I should point out, that was authored by a bipartisan committee -- does not prohibit married couples from working together."  Without even pausing for breath, CJ wraps it up.  "That's all for today.  Have a great evening."

***

"I'm guessing everyone's heard the news by now," CJ says thirty minutes later when all the assistants are gathered in her office.

"Yes," Kathy says, "Josh and Donna are in trouble again."

"And Leo's probably going to get sued because of it," Margaret adds.

So much for CJ's appeal to sisterhood, I'm thinking.  Which just goes to show that I should never underestimate CJ.

"Do you know what this lawsuit is alleging?  It's alleging that this woman, this Phyllis Tsolakis, wasn't hired because she was married."

"What's being married got to do with being Josh's assistant?" Bonnie asks.

"According to Phyllis Tsolakis," CJ explains, "as a married woman, she didn't stand a chance of getting the job because she would never have agreed to sleep with Josh."

"You mean this woman is saying Josh hired Donna because he wanted to sleep with her?" Kathy asks.

CJ nods.

"That's just ridiculous," Kathy replies.  "Hell, everyone knows he hired her because she's the only person who can make sense out of all that chaos he creates.  I doubt he even noticed Donna was female until--"  She looks over at me.  "When the hell did that happen anyway?"

"Well, after Joey Lucas--" I start.

CJ gives me a look, and I shut up.  "The point here," she says, "is that Phyllis Tsolakis has no real claim.  I'm willing to bet that her suit is being funded by Shallick and Baker in order to make us look bad."

"And it will make all of us look bad," Carol points out.  "Kathy, you're so worried about the jokes they're making on late-night TV now.  Wait until this thing goes to trial."

"Why would Shallick and Baker do this?" Ginger asks.  "Why spend all this time and money on Josh?  No offense, Donna, but is he really that important?"

"Of course he's that important," I protest.  CJ gives me another look.  "Well, he is," I say.

"The point is," CJ explains, "that if we're all concerned with fighting this lawsuit, we can't focus on re-election.  Or on passing the legislation that will help us get re-elected.  And it will be day after day of news reports about sex scandals in the White House.  Which will also not help our chances for re-election."

"What if Josh just resigned?" Margaret asks.  "Wouldn't that solve everything?"

"No, it wouldn't solve everything," I answer.  "And can I just point out that if a certain party hadn't hung mistletoe in Josh's office--"

"Donna," CJ says, "I'm thinking we're past the point where you can blame the current situation on that kiss."

"I really can."

"Donna."

"It was a great kiss."

"My point," CJ says, "is that Baker -- well, Ann Stark really -- is orchestrating this thing to hurt our chances for re-election.  And we have to do something to strike back.  We can't just sit around and figure out ways to react to the latest round of charges."

"It was an incredible kiss."

CJ gives me the look she usually reserves for Josh.

I shrug.  "I'm just saying.  For the record."

"So here's my thing," CJ continues.  "Josh and Leo and Toby and Sam are all running around playing lawyer."

Maybe that's why he doesn't know anything about being a lawyer.  Maybe he spent all his time in law school perfecting his kissing technique.  Time well spent, in my opinion.

I have the good sense not to say this in front of CJ.

"So," CJ continues, "they're not going to have time to focus on finding out just who this Phyllis Tsolakis is and why she suddenly decided to sue Josh and Leo."

"You think Ann Stark went to her and convinced her to sue?" Nancy asks.

"Somebody sure as hell went to her," CJ says.  "And I think we should know exactly who is paying her legal bills."

"Plus there's the stuff about Shallick and Baker," I point out.

"Right," CJ says.  "We've got leads on some activities of both Henry Shallick and Gregory W. Baker that would make them a lot less attractive to voters.  Shallick's had some shady dealings in the sports world, and Baker seems intent on strip mining the hell out of West Virginia.  Someone really needs to look into that, and the men around here don't seem to have the time."

"Typical," Bonnie replies.  "If you want a job done properly, you have to get a woman to handle it."

"Which is why Baker hired Ann Stark," CJ says.

"I could slap her after what she did to Toby," Ginger says.

We all look at her.  Ginger is, after all, the nice one.  No one has ever heard her say something negative about anyone before now.

"Well, I could," she says with a shrug.

"This is research," CJ says.  "This is what you guys do every day.  I'm thinking that if all of you worked on this, we could have the goods on Ann Stark and her bosses by the end of the week.  Are we agreed?"

Everyone nods.

"Good," CJ says.  "I want Kathy and Margaret working on finding out as much as possible about Baker's strip mining operation.  Carol, you and Nancy take Shallick's sports deal.  Bonnie and Ginger, I want you guys working on finding out who's behind Phyllis Tsolakis' lawsuit."

"I am so going to get Ann Stark for this," Ginger mutters.

"Donna's going to be in charge of coordinating everything."

"Why does Donna get to be in charge?" Margaret asks.

"Because it's my children who won't be able to afford college if Phyllis Tsolakis wins this suit," I explain.  "Plus I've been working on the stuff about Shallick and Baker already."

"Did I leave anything out?" CJ asks.

"Just one thing, dear."

We all turn to look at the person standing by the door.

"What do you want me to do?" Mrs. Landingham asks.

***

Today was bad.

I mean, it was good in many, many ways.  CJ managed the press corps beautifully, the media coverage of my marriage to Donna is becoming less accusatory and more balanced, and public interest in the story is slowly waning as the newest scandal breaks.

Did I mention that the newest scandal is Representative Henry Shallick and the St. Louis Rams?  I don't know who CJ leaked it to, but Shallick's shady dealings have moved front and center.  At least for today.

So in many ways, today was good.

And it's not like I'm not used to the nightmares and the flashbacks.  Well, as used to them as I'll ever be, I suppose.  What I'm trying to say is that I spent the day watching footage from Rosslyn -- Did you know there is actual footage of the shooting?  Seriously.  I had no idea.  I apparently missed the media blitzkrieg just after the assassination attempt; it's hard to keep up with the news cycle when you're hovering on the edge of death.

And during the trial, I avoided the news as much as possible.  Plus, I was, you know, in the midst of a nervous breakdown.  So you'll forgive me if I wasn't paying quite as much attention as I might otherwise have been during that whole fiasco.

But now I'm healthy.  Relatively speaking.  I haven't had a nightmare in weeks -- at least not in the two weeks that Donna and I have been living together.  (And may I just interject that I am finding cohabitation extremely sexy?)  As for the flashbacks, I can pretty much handle music, loud sounds like slamming doors and cars backfiring (provided they're not right next to me) and even sirens.  Usually.  But I have to draw the line at gunshots.  I mean, am I really expected to be able to hear gunshots in a movie or a TV show and not remember Rosslyn?

And can I just digress for a moment to note how limited my entertainment options are now?  I can read books to my heart's content, but movies?  Not so much.  Action flicks are a surefire way to set me off; romances don't trigger my PTSD, but they do a remarkable job of putting me to sleep; and I haven't seen a good comedy in years.  I am not amused.

I know, I know -- I'm using my famed avoidance tactics.  It's hard, though, admitting that I'm backsliding.  I was doing so good, too.  It's not my fault the major media outlets looped the Rosslyn footage and then called it a day.  And the footage of Rosslyn... it's full of gunshots.  Even turned down and filtered through the TV sets of the bullpen, it's too much.  I camped out in my office, but that low-grade panic was already present and accounted for.

Did I mention that, through video manipulation, the networks were able to isolate a couple of frames that showed me getting shot?  Yes, indeed -- now I have actual footage to add to my nightmares.  Donna's too.  She was so pale when she saw the news that I honestly thought she might faint.

Between the repetitious sounds of gunfire and the looped footage of me getting shot, I was absolutely primed for an episode.  Thankfully, I managed to get through the workday and the die-hard paparazzi lining my doorstep.  In fact, I thought I might have fought it back.  Successfully remembered the shooting without getting trapped in the rabbit hole of reliving it.

Apparently, I only held it off until I fell asleep.

This nightmare is one of the worst ones I've ever had.

I jerk awake, sweating and shaking and scared shitless.

Donna is asleep, and I briefly consider waking her.  Turns out, I can't speak, my motor functions are set on 'tremble,' and I am dreadfully thirsty.

So I stumble out of bed and somehow make it to the couch.  Whereupon I collapse, pulling into myself to regain some control.

Problem is, every time I shut my eyes, I'm back at Rosslyn.

Will this ever stop?

***

I have reached the point where I cannot sleep if Josh isn't next to me.

It's ridiculous when you think about it.  I made it through almost twenty-seven years sleeping just fine without him.  Even after we got married, we lived apart and I managed just fine.

Okay, when I said "fine," I may have been overstating the case.  But I managed.  Sort of.  Now we've been living together officially for two weeks, and I can't fall asleep if he's not here.  Plus I wake up if he gets out of bed.

This is one of those nights when I wake up.  Not that it surprises me.  I thought this might be a bad night for him.

He doesn't have the nightmares very often anymore, thank God, but he does still have them occasionally.  Josh says Stanley's told him not to expect them to ever go away completely.  It's just one of those things you have to learn to live with:  Some people have a fear of flying; Josh has occasional flashbacks to the time he was nearly murdered.

On the whole, I think fear of flying would be preferable.

But the point here is that Josh hasn't had the flashbacks and the nightmares for several weeks.  Just long enough for me to convince myself that we didn't have to worry about them any longer.

Except that I knew we were in for problems when Phyllis Tsolakis' lawyer started going on in his interviews about how Josh almost died in the shooting and how it was important to depose him now in case he doesn't survive the next attempted assassination.  This, of course, sent all the news organizations off in a frenzy.  Every time I passed a television today, CNN was replaying tape from Rosslyn.  We couldn't get away from it.  It was wearing on my nerves, and I could tell it was getting to Josh.

So I guess I'm not surprised to be waking up alone in the middle of the night.  But I am pissed.

I hate when he pulls this angstridden-yet-macho crap.  When he's so full of pain that he's tearing my heart into pieces, but he thinks he has to be the big, brave man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and doesn't bother the little woman.

I mean, really.  Bite me.

It's at times like these I think I should have insisted on more traditional vows.  Maybe if he'd actually had to hear me say all that stuff about "in sickness and in health," he'd get the idea that he's not supposed to shut me out.  Probably not.  This is just Josh's typical behavior.

Josh's infuriating, yet oddly endearing, behavior.  God help me, I even adore him when he's being stupid and potentially self-destructive.  This can't be healthy.

I find him sitting on the living room couch.  Even in the dark, I can tell that he's curled up in a ball and he's shaking.

If he thinks I going to cry one tear over him when he was stupid enough to not even ask for my help, he's -- well, he's absolutely right.

I sit down next to him and pull him into my arms.  The big macho jerk can't even look at me, and I can't say anything for the longest time.  It's not going to do the least bit of good for him to know I'm crying, after all.  I need to be bright and cheery and do the comic relief thing, but it hurts too much to see him in all this pain.  The most I can do is to say his name, which comes out sounding like, well, like I'm crying when I say it.  Which, of course, is guaranteed to pull him out of the angst and back into guilt mode, so I hate myself for doing it.

We sit like this for a while, until Josh stops the trembling and I manage to get my crying under control.  Then we just sit, holding onto each other quietly.  I think we'll probably end up falling back asleep here; and I'm wondering just how comfortable that would be, seeing as how the couch is rather narrow.

I'm thinking we should invest in a sofa bed.  (Practical Donna does show up at the strangest times.)  And that's when Josh goes into his trademark guilt routine.

"Your parents," he says, "were right about me."

"Don't be stupid, Josh."

"No, they had a valid point.  I was just thinking about what I wanted.  I wasn't thinking about what was best for you."

"I'm capable of figuring out what is best for me all by myself.  And at the risk of inflating your ego even more, I happen to think that being married to you is what's best for me."

"Right.  Because otherwise you wouldn't know the joy of living with my flashbacks and my nightmares."

"Josh, if I go home from work early, I've only put in fifteen hours with you that day.  I'm thinking I'd still be dealing with your problems under those circumstances anyway.  Or while you're being all noble and self-sacrificing, are you suggesting that I give up my job too?"

"This is different."

"Yes.  This way I get to hold you and make love to you.  Which is, in my opinion, one hell of a tradeoff."

This is a rather narrow couch, as I mentioned before.  Honestly, I don't know what Josh was thinking when he bought it.  We're simply going to have to replace it with something roomier.  As it is, once he's managed to uncurl himself and lie down, I have to practically crawl on top of him to get comfortable.

Which, in its own way, illustrates that point I was making about the tradeoff.

Of course, it always takes a while to talk Josh out of one of his moods, and he's in full guilt mode tonight.

"I married you," he says, "because I was being completely selfish."

"Hardly a new development," I mutter, arranging myself a little more securely on top of him.

"It's just -- I was in so much pain, and being with you was the only thing I felt good about.  I should have thought things through more carefully."

"Honestly, Josh, I don't see how you could have foreseen all of this," I point out.  While I'm at it, I kiss him because -- Well, because we're married and he's too damn adorable and do I really need another reason?

"I should have," he protests.  He is just in a mood to beat himself up tonight.  I just wish he'd stop breaking my heart like this.  "I'm supposed to be the master politician, right?  And it's not as though CJ and Leo and everyone else didn't warn me what would happen to you if we got involved."

He's so into beating himself up over this that he seems oblivious to what I'm doing with my hands.  I do not find this the least bit flattering.  Especially since touching him this intimately is having quite an effect on me.

"Involved, yes," I say.  "But we got married.  Tell me how anyone could have predicted all this happening when we did something as conventional as getting married."

"Still, your parents were right to resent me for putting you through all this.  If some guy treated Molly this way--"

I've been kissing my way from his face down, and these constant interruptions are breaking my concentration.  And I'd just made it to his chest too.  So I stop and look back up at him.

"First of all, if Molly finds some guy she loves half this much, I will be thrilled.  Second, my parents care less about how you treat me than how it looks to the neighbors.  All of whom are Republicans, so why should you care?  Third--"  I shrug.  "If they gave a damn, they'd at least notice how happy I am and be glad we found each other.  And, fourth, will you just shut up?  Because I am trying my best to, you know, seduce you out of this self-pity funk you seem to be wallowing in and I'd appreciate a little co-operation here."

"Oh," he says, grinning up at me, "that's why you're wiggling around like that, is it?"

"Yes, it is.  Why?  Do you have any objections?"

"Can't think of any."

"Well, good then.   Now will you let me get on with it?"

He gives me one of those smiles -- the rare one where the dimples are out in full force.  "I'm all yours," he says.

Yes, he is.

Lucky me.

***

To say that I'm not at my best today is something of an understatement.

The nightmares of last night still linger, even though it's daylight now and my anxiety level is back down to approximately normal.  Approximately.  Donna has seen to it that the TVs in the bullpen are turned off today, since I'm still fighting panic attacks when I see the Rosslyn footage.

And so I'm understandably unhappy to learn that Leo has scheduled me with Lionel Tribbey for the majority of the day.  Just what I need to settle my nerves -- Lionel Tribbey threatening to beat me senseless with a copy of the National Enquirer.

"Leo--"

"Don't argue with me, Josh," Leo glares.  "Tribbey needs to go over your testimony before you sit down with Tsolakis's attorneys."

"I thought we were getting this kicked," I counter, my tone not dissimilar to that of a whiny toddler.

Sam gives a perfunctory knock.  "Tribbey argued brilliantly, Josh, but Judge Porubsky is bound and determined to get this administration.  If he has to misapply the law, so be it."

I cross my arms stubbornly.  "So we're just going to cave?"

"Josh," Leo sighs.  "We didn't break any laws.  Cooperating with the deposition is probably the best thing we can do at this point.  Now get out of here."

Sam tilts his head towards the door.  "I'll walk with you."

I give Leo one last pleading look, but he's already knee-deep in briefing memos.  And so I push past Sam and head for Legal, glaring at everyone who passes me.  Just, you know, to get my point across:  I Am Unhappy.

"Josh, stop it.  You're scaring the interns."

"Good," I scowl.

Sam looks at me askance.  "What is your problem?   This shouldn't take long, Josh.  Just tell Tribbey the truth."

"Right," I scoff.  "Because I really want to waste what little time I have left on God's green earth defending myself against frivolous legal actions."

Sam stops suddenly, laying one hand on my arm.

I shake him off.  "Are you coming or what?"

"Josh," he says in that hurt little boy voice that always works.

I roll my eyes in frustration, but halt and turn back to him.  "What?"

"Is that what this is about?"

"Could you possibly define your pronouns, Sam?" I glower.

"Pronouns?"  His brow furrows.

"This," I say.  "That."

"'This' and 'that'?"

"Sam, I'm not in the mood for Dr. Seuss-"

"'This' and 'that' aren't pronouns, Josh.  'I' is a pronoun.  Or 'she.'  'This' and 'that' are both adjectives."

"Are we done with the grammar lesson, Professor, cause I've really-"

"This mood," Sam interrupts, gesturing in my general direction.  "This anger you've got.  It's because you're scared."

I glare at him.  "I've already got a shrink, Sam.  And I certainly don't need your pathetic attempts at psychoanalysis, so if you don't mind, I'll be with Lionel Tribbey."

Sam grabs my arm with surprising strength and pulls me into the Map Room.  Which, thankfully, is empty.  "Josh, what's going on?"

"Leave it alone, Sam."  I pull my arm away.  "I'm fine."

"You're not," he counters, concerned.  "You've been wound really tight the last few days, Josh, and I, for one, don't want to see a repeat of what happened during the trial.  We were all really worried about you--"

"Well, thank you, Sam," I lash out.  "Because really all that matters is how the rest of you are feeling.  Who cares if Josh has to watch himself get shot endlessly on TV?  Hell, who cares if Donna has to see footage of her husband being shot?  Or that she has to deal with me when I--"

I turn away, breathing hard, and stare out the window.  "Forget it," I mutter.

"No," Sam answers angrily.

The vehemence in his tone pulls me around to face him.  "Sam--"

"Josh, that's exactly what I'm talking about.  Do you honestly think it's easy for any of us to watch that footage?  We were there too, Josh.  We were all scared out of our minds.  And then the shooting stopped, we looked around and thought, hey, maybe we made it through unscathed."

He doesn't even pause for breath.  "CJ was crying and holding a piece of bloody gauze to her head, and I was just completely at a loss.  I mean -- CJ was crying, for God's sake.  CJ!  How am I supposed to deal with that?  And then Toby started screaming for paramedics.  And we saw you, Josh."  He shudders to a stop, but I'm not strong enough to speak.

Sam takes a steadying breath and meets my eyes.  "You were laying on the pavement, bleeding and unconscious, and I have never been more terrified in my entire life.  CJ was cradling your head and ordering you to keep your eyes open.  Toby and I were both trying to stop the bleeding."  He pins me with his gaze.  "I had your blood on my hands, Josh.  Do you understand that?"

"No," I manage.  "I don't remember much."

Sam nods.  "It was the worst night of my life, Josh, and for fourteen hours, your life hung in the balance.  And now we're all being forced to relive it when we see the footage on television.  Toby's burying himself in work, Leo's trying to anticipate when, exactly, the President is going to try to order the networks to stop airing the footage, and CJ's obsessing over something she refuses to talk about.  We're not perfect and we may not even all be whole yet, but we're here.  Last time you were having trouble, you blocked everyone out, and we can see how well that worked out for you."

He shrugs.  "We may not know exactly what you're going through, Josh, but we were all there with you.  And now we're all standing here, Josh.  With you."

"I know," I answer, my voice suspiciously rough.  "It's -- I'm trying, Sam."

"Try harder," he says, with just a hint of a grin.  "'Cause if you put Donna through whatever it was you put her through last time, I will personally kick your ass into the middle of next week."

"Is that a threat?" I ask, attempting a smile.  I'm not sure I'm ready to acknowledge what Sam just told me.  I knew it was bad for them, but I never knew how bad.

"A promise," Sam answers.  "Now you're going to go talk to Tribbey, and you're going to plan out exactly what you're going to say during the deposition, and then you're going to take your wife home and have a relaxing night's sleep, so you're ready for tomorrow."

I raise my eyebrows.  "Okay, now you're starting to sound like my mother."

Sam grins at me.  "How is your mom?  Did you tell her I loved her on Larry King?"

I open the door and allow Sam to precede me into the hallway.  "Yeah, and I still don't know what kind of evil spell you cast on my mother, because she keeps inviting you to visit for the weekend."

"Oh," Sam smiles, "tell her I may just take her up on that."

I roll my eyes.  "Donna and I have first dibs on her when this is all over."

"And when's that going to be?" Sam asks lightly.

"Who the hell knows?"

***

Before the campaign, I had no idea how you got to be a White House correspondent.  But this is what I found out and it all relates to Katie and Operation Seneca Falls, so pay attention.  One way to become a White House correspondent is to become an expert on a candidate who comes out of nowhere and wins the presidency.  This is what happened to Katie.

You have to remember that very few people took Governor Bartlet's campaign seriously at first.  Hoynes was the prohibitive favorite; Bartlet was just considered one of the many governors, senators and congressional representatives who had declared their candidacy and would probably get out of the race after the first few primaries.  The media seriously underestimated Governor Bartlet.  They also underestimated Josh, although I will deny saying that if he ever finds out.

So Katie's paper sends her off to cover the Bartlet For America campaign.  She's not a senior correspondent by any means; their senior people are all off covering Hoynes.  But Katie realizes that Bartlet has a chance of beating Hoynes for the nomination.  And if Bartlet gets the nomination, he has a chance of winning the election.  And then Katie is her paper's resident expert on Josiah Bartlet; she's the person who knows all the players in the Bartlet administration well enough to get the exclusive stories.  Just like Bartlet's winning means that Josh and CJ end up with jobs in the West Wing, it means that Katie will be able to put the words "White House Correspondent" after her name.

If she can make it through the campaign, of course.

This is where, in a small way, I come in.  I liked Katie from the beginning.  Most of the reporters assigned to the campaign ignored me.  I was just that volunteer who was running around behind Josh Lyman all the time.  I suppose they thought, if they bothered to waste any time on the subject, that I'd get tired of the twenty-hour days and the lack of regular meals and go home.  Of course, to be fair, I'm not sure Josh wasn't thinking the same thing at that point.  But Katie noticed me; Katie learned my name; Katie talked to me like a regular person.

I liked Katie.  Which is why I noticed the day she almost missed the bus.  It was halfway through the South Carolina primary, at some Godawful hour in the morning.  Katie looked horrible -- all pale and sickly.  I looked up from the memo Josh had me working on, and I knew exactly what Katie's problem was.  I'd seen that same look on Frances' face during each of her pregnancies.

At this point, I had absolutely no idea how all this media stuff worked.  I didn't understand the implication of finding out you're pregnant less than a month after getting your big break.  I just knew that Katie looked really, really awful, and I remembered what Frances said about morning sickness.

So I started showing up at Katie's hotel room in the morning with crushed ice and saltine crackers.  Which apparently is not that great a remedy for everyone, but it worked for Frances.  Also for Katie.  And it wasn't that big a deal; it just seemed like a nice thing to do.

Fast forward to the present:  Katie is a White House correspondent (and the mother of an adorable boy named Cory); I'm the scarlet woman of the Bartlet administration.  It's Katie that CJ goes to when she wants the right question asked at the press briefing.  More than a few reporters would have taken the information CJ gave them -- my marriage to Josh -- and run off to file an exclusive.  Katie played along and gave up the scoop in order to ask the question that gave CJ a chance to announce that Josh and I have a perfectly legal relationship.  Trust me when I tell you that Katie has already more than repaid my giving her some crackers and ice three years ago.

Still, Katie seems to think she owes me.  Which is why she arrives in CJ's office with what she hopes will be good news.  News about Earl Fucking Goldfinch's criminal past.

Yes, as it turns out, the man who called me a whore on national television is an ex-convict.  And Katie wants to know if either the Bartlet administration or the Moss-Lyman household has an official comment.

This is what you call an ethical dilemma, isn't it?

***

"Josh!"

I glance over my shoulder and see Danny Concannon hustling to catch up with me.

"Hey, Danny," I say, so used to seeing him in the restricted areas that it doesn't occur to me to comment.  "What's up?"

He gives me that harmless grin.  "So I hear congratulations are in order."

"Thanks."  I hope I'm not smirking.  But really, in the midst of this chaos, my marriage to Donna is the only thing keeping me marginally sane.

"Donna's a great girl."

"Woman," I correct.  "And if you're fishing--"

"I'm not.  I'm just wondering how a big lug like you won the fair maiden."

I grin at him.  "See, if you weren't a reporter, I'd have a few choice words for you, Concannon.  But unless you've been under a fairly large rock this past week, you should know that my new favorite phrase is 'No comment'."

"Not even on Earl Goldfinch's criminal past?"

I stop midstep.  "What?"

"Good," he nods.  "It's not coming from in here."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Earl Goldfinch did some time for possession and intent back in the early 90s."

"Joshua Mateusz Lyman!" CJ materializes out of nowhere.  "This doesn't look like 'No comment'."

"Hey, CJ," Danny says.

"Shut up, Danny," she answers.  "And while you're at it, get out of here."

"But, CJ--"

"You shut up too, Josh."

I shake my head.  "CJ, he's got--"

"Goodbye, Danny," CJ says pointedly.

Danny shrugs.  "So I'm guessing the White House doesn't have a comment."

"Good guess."  CJ glares at him until he clears the bullpen.  Then she turns on me.  "My office."

"CJ, he had information on Earl Goldfinch," I say, exasperated.  I glance around, but Donna's nowhere to be seen.

CJ doesn't bother to reply, and she slams her door behind us.

Donna looks up from the couch, where she is surrounded by file folders, and grins at me.  "Hi, Josh."

I am suspicious.  "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Donna answers.  "I'm helping CJ out.  How was Lionel Tribbey?"

"How do you think?" I answer.  "He was so angry at me he actually started swearing in Latin."

"You can swear in Latin?" Donna asks.

"Well, I can't, but--"

A sharp knock at the door interrupts me.  Bonnie sticks her head in.  "I've got that -- Oh, hi, Josh."

"Bonnie," I nod, my eyes narrowing.  I was just starting to believe Donna that nothing was going on.

CJ crosses to the door.  "Is that the stuff on The Right Direction?"

"What we've found so far," Bonnie rolls her eyes and hands over the rather impressive stack.

"Thanks, Bonnie," CJ smiles.

Bonnie nods and retreats.  CJ passes the stack of information off to Donna.  And I watch them both suspiciously.

"What, Josh?" CJ asks.

"What the hell is The Right Direction?"

Donna doesn't even look up from the documents she's examining.  "A conservative think tank based out of South Carolina.  They support everything from Biblical scholars to historical revisionists who claim that slaves actually enjoyed slavery and that the Holocaust is a myth.  And they've got a lot of money to toss around."

"Okay," I say, turning to CJ.  "Why did you pull me away from Danny Concannon?  He was telling me something about Earl Fucking Goldfinch and--"

"His drug bust in 1992?" CJ interrupts.

"You know about this?"

Donna nods.  "Yeah, he did five years for possession and intent to distribute.  Drug of choice was cocaine, if you're curious.  And when he got out, he changed his name from Earl Fenton to Earl Goldfinch."

"Legally changed," CJ adds.

"And I'm being kept completely out of the loop why?" I demand.

Donna gives me her annoyed face.  "Josh, you've been locked up in a room with Lionel Tribbey most of the day.  Did you expect us to not work until you finished up?"

"No," I answer.  Damn her, but she's got a point.  "But I was rather expecting you'd be working on our actual, you know, legal problems."

Donna glares at me.  "I am, Josh.  I'm playing Follow the Money."

"What?"

CJ rolls her eyes.  "Who do you think is paying Phyllis Tsolakis's legal fees?"

"Oh," I say, as the picture slowly comes into focus.  "The Right Direction?"

"Bingo," Donna nods.  "And guess who's donated a significant amount of money that he made strip-mining half of West Virginia to The Right Direction?"

"Baker?" I ask, suddenly intrigued.  "You're tying this lawsuit to Baker?"

Donna grins at me.  "Told you I was working on our legal problems."

"Excellent!" I say.  "Now about Earl Fucking Goldfinch -- he's a cokehead?"

"Was," CJ corrects.  "We have nothing that suggests he's using drugs now."

I shrug.  "So what?  We can use this to--"

"We're not going to use this," Donna says, abandoning her research.

"Why not?  It'll be a big hit to his credibility."

"Because, Joshua, we don't play that game," Donna answers, her face flushed with emotion.

"Donna, this is the man who went on TV and called you--"

"I'm well aware of that, Josh," Donna interrupts angrily.  "I'm saying that this White House doesn't use our opponents' personal lives to discredit their political power."

"He attacked our personal life!" I argue.

"So that gives us the right to do the same to him?"

CJ holds up a tentative hand.  "Can I just say that, first of all, the White House is absolutely not going to comment on a story about drug abuse after Leo.  And second, if Danny has it, it's in the papers tomorrow no matter what we do."

Donna and I stare at each other for a moment.  Then I nod.  "Fine.  We'll just let this one go."

"Good," Donna answers, the tension leaving her body. "Now, did you need something?"

I stare at her, taken aback.  "Um.  No?"

"Excellent," she smiles.  "I left the file for 376 on your desk, and you've got a meeting at 3:30 with O'Connor."

I think I've just been dismissed.

*

I have learned very quickly to despise Dominic Gallerani.

Not only is he -- as Donna put it -- a big-time whacko right-wing nutjob, he's also a shark of a lawyer.  Gallerani hasn't brought out the big guns yet, but I can see the theatrics lurking just under the surface.  I've never seen Lionel Tribbey in action (in the courtroom, I mean), but I think he may have found a match.

To be fair, Tribbey has been exceedingly low key so far.  No red-faced outbursts, no potential weapons brandished about, no death threats.  Of course, so far I haven't been asked anything that would require such a response.  We've been doing basic stuff -- my background, my position, etc.  Well, I guess Gallerani could have rephrased "You're the same Josh Lyman that was nearly killed in an assassination attempt against President Bartlet last May?"

Still, I'm feeling pretty comfortable right now.  In fact, I'm feeling superior.  If only Donna were here to remind me that when I'm feeling superior, something always happens to send me tumbling down several hundred pegs.

"Did you attempt to keep your marriage a secret?"

I think I'm smirking.  Tribbey is glaring at me, so I try to tone it down before I answer.  "I did not go shouting it from the rooftops, if that's what you mean."

Gallerani glares at me.  "Did you tell anyone about your hasty marriage?"

"First, it was not hasty," I answer.  I'm not smiling anymore.  "Second, I did not feel the need to announce it."

"Did you tell anyone at all?"

I glance at Tribbey, who gives me a nearly imperceptible shrug.

"No," I admit.

"Did you keep your marriage a secret because you knew it was immoral?"

"Objection," Tribbey interjects with an annoyed look.  "Counsel's interpretation of morality is outside the scope of this deposition."

Gallerani doesn't look pleased, but he rephrases.  "Did you keep it a secret because you knew that either you or your secretary would be reassigned?"

"Not calling a press conference to announce my marriage to the world is not the same thing as keeping it a secret," I answer, my tone what some might consider confrontational.  "And Donna -- who, by the way, is my assistant, not my secretary -- and I didn't announce our marriage because we prefer to keep our personal lives personal."

Gallerani hesitates for a moment, then he switches subjects abruptly.  "Mr. Lyman, were you romantically involved with Donna Moss at the time you hired her as your assistant?"

I am smirking again.  "Could you be more specific?"

"I'm sorry?"

Tribbey gives me a warning look.  "Mr. Lyman hired Ms. Moss twice: once during the campaign, and once when the Bartlet administration took office."

"Fine.  Were you romantically involved with Donna Moss at the time you hired her for the campaign?"

"Objection," Tribbey says with a satisfied smile.

"History," Gallerani argues.  "If they were involved then--"

"You're fishing, Counsel," Tribbey interrupts.  "The campaign doesn't fall within the scope of this deposition."

I swear Gallerani is gritting his teeth. "Mr. Lyman, were you involved with Donna Moss at the time you hired her for the Bartlet administration?  To work for you inside the White House?"

"No," I answer.

I don't know why Gallerani bothers with the theatrics, since there's no jury here, but he makes an incredulous face and pretends to stifle a laugh.  "You weren't?"

"No," I repeat.  "I was not romantically involved with Donna Moss at that time."

"But you had expectations of becoming involved--"

"No," I interrupt.  "I did not.  Donna Moss was absolutely the best candidate for the position, given that she was already up to speed on the administration's platform, not to mention her demonstrated ability to handle my somewhat unique work habits."

Gallerani gives me a sleazy grin.  "Do your unique work habits include seducing your secretaries?"

Tribbey actually kicks me under the table before I start yelling.

"Objection," he says.  "Hostile."

Gallerani shrugs.  "Maybe, but this is the crux of the issue, is it not?"

"No," Tribbey answers, enunciating carefully as if he were addressing a small child.  "The crux of this matter is the ridiculous allegation that Mr. Lyman somehow discounted the plaintiff for a position because of her gender, an argument that is particularly hard to take seriously given the fact that the person he hired for said position was also a woman."

"A woman," Gallerani counters, "who Mr. Lyman quite obviously had romantic designs on."

"On whom," Tribbey corrects, his tone imperious.  "And you are meandering rather far from the point, Counsel."

"My apologies," Gallerani says in a tone that more closely resembles 'vitriolic' than 'apologetic.'  "To rephrase the question, Mr. Lyman, do you have a history of embarking on office romances?"

"Excuse me?" I ask, leaning forward as if the implication would disappear if only I could hear him more clearly.

"Office romances," Gallerani repeats.  "You have a history of them, is that correct?"

"No," I answer.

"May I remind you, sir, that you're under oath."

"I'm quite aware of that," I snap back.  "I do not have a history of office romances."

"Were you involved with a woman named Madeleine Hampton during the campaign?" Gallerani presses.

I glower at him for several long moments, but Tribbey doesn't jump in.  Guess that means I should answer.  "Yes."

"Did Ms. Hampton work on the campaign with you?"

"She worked with CJ Cregg on the media strategy for the campaign."  Technically true.

"But she was a senior member of the campaign staff, was she not?"

"Yes, she was."  Damn lawyers.

"And what was your title during the campaign?"

Oh, I wish I could kill this man.  "Senior Political Director."

"So you were also a senior member of the campaign staff?"

"Yes," I admit.  It takes effort to speak, my jaw's clenched so tight.

"You and Ms. Hampton were romantically involved for several months during the campaign, correct?"

"Yes."

"You broke up before the Bartlet administration took office, is that right?"

"Yes."  Where the hell is he going with this?  I'm clueless, but Tribbey looks like he's about to blow.

"And so after you and Ms. Hampton broke up, when you and Leo McGarry were filling positions for the White House staff, Ms. Hampton was not offered a job, correct?"

Oh, shit.  I glance over at Tribbey but he shrugs.  "We did not have a position equal to her talent, no.  The DNC later hired her as a political consultant for the White House."

"But you refused to give her a job?" Gallerani presses.

"Asked and answered," Tribbey interjects.

Gallerani shrugs carelessly.  "Were you romantically involved with a woman named Joey Lucas?"

Oh, come on!  Joey Lucas?  I am fidgeting in my seat, trying to contain the urge to throttle Gallerani.  "No, I was not."

"You weren't?"

"No."

"Did you and Joey Lucas have a flirtation?"

I glance over at Tribbey, who nods that I should answer.

"We had some interesting discussions, yes."

"And was she working for you?"

"No," I answer.  "She was an independent consultant that Toby Ziegler brought in."

"But she had an office in the White House?"

"A temporary office," I correct.

"And you were attracted to her."

It takes a moment for me to unclench my jaw in order to answer.  "Marginally."

"And yet you don't call Mandy Hampton, Joey Lucas, and Donna Moss a history of office romances?" he asks with a smirk.

"I call Mandy Hampton and Joey Lucas mistakes," I answer angrily.  "I call Donna Moss my wife."

Tribbey, apparently realizing I'm about to kill Gallerani, finally steps in.  "I've allowed this to see where you going, but I'm about two seconds away from an objection, Counsel.  Are you ever going to get to Phyllis Tsolakis?"

Gallerani gives a wolfish grin, and I am suddenly wishing we'd stayed with my past failures.  Instead, he turns to me and says, "In the course of her job interview, did you ask Phyllis Tsolakis if she was married?"

Oh.  Shit.  I toss Tribbey a panicked glance, but he merely glares at me.  I turn back to Gallerani.  "I don't recall the specifics of--"

"You don't remember?" he scoffs.

"No," I answer forcefully.  "I interviewed her two years ago.  I don't recall the specifics of my interview with Ms. Tsolakis."

"So you don't recall whether or not you asked her if she was married?"

"No, I don't recall saying that."

"But you can't say for sure that you didn't say it?" Gallerani presses.

I give Tribbey what I imagine must be a helpless look and shake my head.  "No, I can't say for sure that I didn't."

"So it's possible," Gallerani sums up with a grin, "that you, a man with a proven track record of office romances, made an illegal and discriminatory inquiry into the marital status of a potential employee who also happens to be female?"

We are so screwed.

"I don't believe--"

"Is it possible?"

"In a polite, conversational manner--"

"I thought you didn't remember the specifics of the interview?"

"I don't.  I'm just saying--"

"Is it possible you asked Ms. Tsolakis if she was married?"

We lock eyes for a long, malevolent moment before I admit, "It's remotely possible."

*

With the deposition, I have no time to catch the news all day.  Which is probably a good thing, considering their fixation as of late with Rosslyn.

Still, I'm curious how the saga of Shallick and the St. Louis Rams is playing out.  I have learned, by this point, not to flip on the TV.  I don't need to see that bullet tearing into me ever again.

Instead, I head for CJ's office after failing to locate Donna in the bullpen.  CJ and Toby are arguing semantics -- and when I say that, I mean they are actually arguing semantics.  CJ waves me in absently.

Sensing he's about to lose her full attention, Toby sighs and sits back in his chair.  "How'd it go?"

"Fine," I answer.  "Tribbey yelled at me a lot, but he seems pretty confident."

"Good," Toby answers, rising to leave.  "You're done?"

"The deposition?" I ask.  "Yeah, just now."

Toby pauses in the doorway.  "The press is all over Shallick."

"Really?" I grin.  "The Rams thing?"

He nods, then departs.  And I swear, the man is whistling.

I turn to CJ expectantly.

"That's a big part of it," CJ nods.

I grin at her.  "I am the man!"

CJ gives me an eloquent look.  "Excuse me?"

I shrug.  "Donna thinks it was her stupid book that got this whole Shallick thing rolling, but I'm saying you have me to thank."

"You?"

"The master politician," I nod.  "Yes.  I believe thanks would be in order."

CJ tilts her head slightly.  "Because...?"

"Because Toby said the press is all over Shallick, and I had a lot to do with it."

"Josh," CJ begins, "what exactly did you have to do with it?"

I stare at her for a moment.  "I, you know, helped ferret out the pertinent details--"

"From Donna's book?" CJ guesses.

"And other sources."

"Which Donna dug up?"

I try, but I really can't come up with any way around that.  "Yes," I admit.  "But--"

"First of all, you owe Donna big time for that economics book, Josh.  And second, have you read the Post today?"

"Haven't had time," I admit.

"Danny dug up an interesting tidbit, and it's getting a lot of play today."

"About Shallick?"

She nods.

I am practically rubbing my hands together in glee.  "Do tell."

"Well," CJ says slowly.  "Our story opens in a small, Oklahoma town--"

"CJ!"

"We were right about Shallick being Baker's attack dog," she explains.  "At least, the evidence seems to support our theory."

"There's a link," I guess.  "Oklahoma?"

CJ nods happily.  "Henry Shallick and Gregory W. Baker were roommates for two years at Oral Roberts University."

"Oral Roberts University?" I repeat skeptically.  "They both attended Oral Roberts University?"

"Yes."

"Is that the one with that hideous statue of the gigantic hands?"

"That's the one."

"And the 70s-era futuristic architecture?"

"You mean the gold-windowed dorms and the ugly-ass furniture?" 

"Yup."

"That's it."

I wrinkle up my face in distaste.  "Why would anyone go there?" 

"Beats me." CJ gives me a wicked grin.  "Guess you've got to be born again to understand."

"Well," I say with an answering smirk.  "I think my heart stopped a couple of times in the emergency room.  Does that count?"

CJ looks stricken.

God, I am such an idiot.

I grab her hand.  "CJ, I'm sorry.  I wasn't thinking."

She shakes her head, shrugging off my concern.  "It's fine, Josh.  I just wasn't really expecting -- that."

"I know," I say.  "Sam explained a little of -- what happened.  That night."

CJ glances away.  "Josh..."

"I don't remember anything, CJ," I say softly.  "Even the flashbacks are..."  I trail off, unable to explain myself coherently.  "They're more emotional than real memories.  I didn't know about -- about you guys finding me."

CJ nods.  She's still keeping her face averted, and I think she may be crying.

"I'm sorry you've been forced to watch it endlessly the last couple of days," I add.  "I'm having -- a hard time too."

CJ uses her free hand to swipe at her eyes.  "Cut it out, Joshua," she orders, regaining her composure.  "I don't know what to do with you when you're being sweet."  She squeezes my hand gently, then lets go.

I grin at her.  "I could make a few suggestions."

"Save it for your wife, Lyman."

There's a knock on the door, and I give CJ an amused look.  "Speak of the Scarlet Woman..."

***

I'm excited.

I'm really, really excited.

I am the bearer of good news.

Great news.

Fabulous news.

"Earl Fucking Goldfinch has been fired," I announce.

"What?" CJ and Josh ask.

This is when I get a look at CJ's eyes, which are suspiciously red.  "Joshua," I ask, "have you been making CJ cry?  What stupid thing have you done now?"

"It's nothing," CJ says.  "What is this about Goldfinch?"

"Baker called a press conference.  He announced that he had no idea Goldfinch had a criminal past.  And here's the truly wonderful part -- CJ, you are absolutely going to love this -- He said that Goldfinch was hired on the recommendation of a former staffer--"

"No!" CJ says.  I swear, she looks like she's about to start dancing for joy.

"Score one for Operation Seneca Falls," I confirm.  "He blamed it all on Ann Stark.  I swear, Ginger is going to take a victory lap around the bullpen."

"Seneca Falls?" my clueless husband asks.  "What does a nineteenth century women's rights conference have to do with Earl Fucking Goldfinch?"

"That's what brought him down," I explain.

"We called on the spirits of our foremothers, and they saw us through our time of crisis," CJ confirms.

"Susan B. Anthony."

"Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

"The Grimke Sisters."

"Wait," CJ asks, "were Sarah and Angelina Grimke even at Seneca Falls?"

"Who cares?  I'm sure they were with us in spirit."

"What are you two lunatics talking about?" Josh asks.

"The women in this building who have been saving your hide, Joshua Lyman," I inform him.

He looks more confused than before, so CJ explains.  "We've organized the support staff.  While you boys were playing lawyer, Bonnie, Ginger, Nancy, Carol, Kathy and Margaret--"

"And Mrs. Landingham.  Don't forget Mrs. Landingham," I add.

"We've all been digging up the information on Shallick, Goldfinch, Baker, The Right Direction, all those patriarchal creeps," CJ says.

"We've been the opposite of a patriarchy," I agree.  "In fact, we're a gynarchy."

"Okay," Josh says, "now you're just making up words."

"Gynarchy is too a word, and that's what we've been," I tell him.

"Oh, God, not with the SAT scores again," CJ mutters.

"But, you know, as much as I hate what Earl Fucking Goldfinch said about me on TV," I start.

"Can I still beat him up?" Josh asks.

"That is a typical patriarchal response," CJ points out.  "Here in the gynarchy, our revenge is much more creative."

"What I'm saying is that the press has started in on him," I continue.  "They're already harassing him for a comment, and, I don't know, I feel sort of sorry for him.  I mean, the man did serve his jail sentence, and maybe he really did want to make a fresh start.  You never know.  I just don't like to see anyone go through the kind of thing--"

"The kind of thing he's put you through for the past two weeks?" Josh asks.

"I'm just saying."

Josh hugs me.  "You are entirely too nice a person," he says.

"Well, yeah," I agree.  "Because, honestly, how else would I put up with you?"

"Children," CJ says, "as happy as this moment is, I feel the need to point out--"

"Ever notice how she's always the voice of doom here?" Josh asks me.

"It's not over.  We still have to find out whether the lawsuit will be dismissed.  If this thing goes to trial--"

"CJ, don't worry about it," Josh says.  "I kicked their asses in the deposition."

CJ and I both look at him skeptically.

"I did," he replies.

We continue to stare at him.  "Okay, except for maybe that one part," he admits.

"What one part?" CJ asks.

"Where I mentioned that I might have -- I don't have any clear recollection of this, but it's possible I might have -- asked Phyllis Tsolakis if she was married."

"What?" CJ and I scream in unison.

"I was just making conversation," Josh protests.  "I was trying to be nice."

"In a job interview?" I ask. I may be screaming here.  "You asked her if she was married during a job interview?  You honestly did something that stupid?"

"I may have," Josh admits.  "I don't remember precisely what I said to her.  It was three years ago."

Oh, God.  He's got that look -- his "I don't want to admit that the master politician is an idiot" look.  "You did something that stupid, didn't you?" I ask.

"I didn't know she was going to sue me over it," he says.  "How was I supposed to know that?"

"Maybe because it's -- oh, what is the word I'm looking for here, Donna?" CJ asks.

"Illegal," I suggest.

"Yeah, that," CJ replies.  "Illegal. Joshua Lyman, you have managed to take a moment of triumph and turn it into defeat."

"This would never have happened in a true gynarchy," I mutter.

"It will be okay," Josh assures us.  "Her claim is completely frivolous, and after that deposition, there's no way she'll file suit."

The door opens, and Leo and Lionel Tribbey walk in.  "Actually," Tribbey says.  "Phyllis Tsolakis just filed in federal court.  We will, of course, be discussing this in more detail tomorrow.  At the present moment, however, I find it difficult to be in the same room with you without succumbing to the urge to bash your brains in with my croquet mallet.  I'll expect you in my office at 8 a.m. I'd suggest that you be there too, Ms. Moss.  I have a feeling there's a deposition in your future as well."

He walks off, leaving us all stunned.  Also facing Leo's wrath, which is never a good thing.

I squeeze Josh's hand for support, because he is turning an alarming shade of green.  Not that I blame him.

Once again, I have to say it:  We are so screwed.

THE END

02.07.01