Back when I first started working for Josh during the campaign, CJ Cregg sort of took me under her wing.  There were, I think, a couple of reasons for that.  One, as much as I hate to admit it, is the fact that I was pretty pitiful in those days.  There I was, just coming out of this terrible relationship, feeling used and vulnerable and trying to fake my way through all the stuff I didn't know.  My young-woman-trying-to-put- her-life-back-together phase touched CJ's feminist sensibilities.  She decided, in her own way, to look out for me.

Or, as Josh recently put it, "Her exact words were 'If you hurt that girl, I'll break your kneecaps.'"

The second reason, which I only recently discovered (from CJ, I should mention, not from Josh) is that my boss asked her to watch out for me in ways he couldn't.  I was living off the money I'd gotten from selling my car.  That was not a lot of money, believe me.  It was an old car, and I was forced to sell it in a hurry in order to accompany Josh to South Carolina.  And for the first month or so, I was not on the payroll.  I actually slept that first night in Josh's office.  Josh woke me up the next morning.  He didn't say a thing about it, but that afternoon CJ offered to share her hotel room with me.  I'm sure Josh suggested it, but I also know CJ well enough to be sure she wouldn't have let herself be talked into it if she hadn't thought it was a good idea.

All this is by way of explaining why I consider CJ a good friend.  A better friend, actually, than Margaret, Bonnie, Ginger or the rest of the support staff.  It has recently been suggested to me that I am perhaps too chummy with certain members of the senior staff.  So I thought I'd explain why it isn't so unusual for me to be having lunch with CJ.  Or why she is discussing Danny and the job offer.

"But he'd still be working for the Post?" I ask.

"Yes, but as an editor."

"But wouldn't there still be a conflict of interest if he keeps working for the Post?"

"To a degree.  I can't deny that.  But it would be much more workable than it is now.  It would be like you taking a job in the First Lady's office.  Which, you know, might be a solution."

I shake my head.  "Josh would never go for that.  He's obsessed with the idea of keeping me as his assistant.  I suggested when we first got--"

"Do not say it," CJ warns.

I shrug.  "Anyway, Josh is irrational about it."

CJ gives me the look that lets you know she sees too much.  "And so are you."

"I like working with Josh," I admit.

"The two of you are a time bomb waiting to go off."

"And you and Danny aren't?"

"Danny is much more rational than your boss."

I like this.  Even though CJ won't admit that she knows what she knows, there is something relaxing about not having a secret.  It's good to be around someone who knows that Josh is my husband.

Which is why I'm not all that pleased when this pleasant moment is interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.  "Hello, CJ."

"Ainsley," CJ says.  She shoots me a look that screams "watch what you say."

I look closely at the interloper.  So this is Ainsley Hayes.  She looked taller on TV.

I will be nice.  I will not say what I'm thinking.  I won't, you know, start singing Gilbert and Sullivan, but I will not say what I am thinking.

Lady, your precious Second Amendment almost got my husband killed.  You think you could maybe say something like "I'm glad you didn't die" when you're discussing that fact in front of him?

No.  That would be a bad thing to say.  For several reasons.

CJ, with whom I have previously discussed my Ainsley issues, gives me an apologetic look and invites her to join us.  "Ainsley," she asks, "have you met Donna Moss?"

"I do not believe I have, no," she says.

"Donna works with Josh," CJ explains.

"In what capacity?" Ainsley asks.

Did we skip hello?  And Josh says my conversational style is unique.

"I'm Josh's assistant."

"What does that mean precisely?" she asks.  "Is that an executive position of some kind or is your title, in its way, a misguided attempt at political correctness?"

"What?" CJ asks.

"She wants to know if I'm Josh's secretary.  No, I'm not.  I do answer the phone and I have even been known to type on occasion, but I do much more than traditional secretarial stuff."

"I must say," Ainsley comments, "that I am just constantly amazed by how informal you all are here."

This must be what Josh means when he complains about my changing the topic of conversation.  You know, it is annoying when someone else does it.

"What I mean to say," Ainsley continues, "is that I am used to working in an environment in which the standards of decorum are more pronounced."

I'm not sure, but I think we were just insulted.

"Huh?" CJ asks, which sums up my reaction pretty succinctly.

"It is just that we are working here at the very highest level of government.  Yet the staff are all so informal with their superiors."

"Well, there you go," I say.  "I have never thought of Josh as my superior."

CJ starts laughing.  "I'm sorry," she says to Ainsley.  "It's just -- you have to know Josh and Donna.  Trust me; it's an awfully funny idea."

"Well, I don't see why it is funny to want to prevent any untoward familiarity," Ainsley says.  "I suppose you might call me old-fashioned, but I do believe that it is important to maintain a professional distance when men and women are thrown together in a professional capacity.  In Donna's case, for instance, I should think that calling her boss Mr. Lyman would be one way to prevent any unwanted attentions."

The key word being "unwanted," I think.  Luckily, for once I don't say what I'm thinking.

"What do you mean by untoward familiarity?" CJ asks.  I honestly wish she hadn't.

"What I am referring to," Ainsley answers, "is the very sort of thing I would imagine you'd be concerned about, considering that you describe yourself as a feminist, CJ.  You know, bosses being tempted to take advantage of their secretaries.  Assistants, I mean.  Excuse me, Donna."

"So if I want Josh to keep his hands off me, I just need to call him Mr. Lyman?"

CJ is turning green around the edges, I swear.

"You are oversimplifying my point," Ainsley says.  "What I intended to convey was a sense that, when there are certain standards of conduct in place, individuals are much less likely to cross boundaries that should not be crossed.  And the workplace functions much more efficiently when that sort of thing doesn't happen."

"Okay.  See, what you're missing here is the idea of equality," I say.  "If I go around calling my boss Mr. Lyman, that puts me in a relatively powerless position."

"You're his sec -- assistant.  You are less powerful," Ainsley replies.

"My boss is deputy chief of staff.  There are only two people in this building with more power than that."

"Which is precisely why you need the sort of protection that titles and proper manners provide," Ainsley says.

"That's why there are laws about things like sexual harassment," CJ points out.

"But that is my point," Ainsley says.  "If more people obeyed standards of proper office decorum, most of these laws, which cannot be enforced without resorting to believing the story of one party over another, would not be necessary."

"Huh?" I ask.

"She just called Anita Hill a liar," CJ explains.

"Oh."

"You are deliberately misinterpreting me," Ainsley says.  "Regardless of what I may think about the unfounded allegations against Justice Thomas--"

"Ainsley, you do not want to go there with me," CJ warns.

"I am simply stating that there are standards of conduct which should be observed in the workplace," Ainsley finishes.

"You don't find this attitude at all elitist?" CJ asks.

"Excuse me?"  Ainsley looks confused.

"Should Josh call her Ms. Moss?"

"I would personally prefer Miss," Ainsley replies.  Didn't you just know she would?  "But no."

"And why not?" I ask.

"It is a token of respect toward a superior," Ainsley says.  "If he wants to employ that title toward you, that is of course his privilege.  But I wouldn't say he had to, no."

"So I should call my boss Mr. McGarry, and he can call me CJ?"

"Don't forget Mr. Ziegler," I add helpfully.

"This is a matter about which I feel very strongly," Ainsley adds.

"Okay," I say.  "But what if the dreaded informality works for the people involved?  'Cause I have to tell you, the whole title thing is just not going to work for the two of us."

"What title thing?" a familiar -- and definitely masculine -- voice asks.

I look up to see my boss, aka His Excellency, Deputy Chief of Staff Mr. Joshua Mateusz Lyman, Esquire, standing behind me.  I do my best not to beam like, you know, a newlywed.  Judging by the disapproving look on CJ's face, I fail miserably.

"Ainsley thinks I don't show you a proper amount of respect," I say.

"She catches on fast," Josh says, as he sits down next to me.

"Ainsley's concern," CJ says, with quite the pointed look at Josh, "is that an informal relationship like you have with Donna can have serious consequences."

"What kind of serious consequences?" Josh asks.

"Sexual consequences," CJ says, giving him a warning look.

I can tell that Josh is fighting the urge to move his chair further away from mine.

Unfortunately, judging from the curious look on her face, I'm afraid that Ainsley's noticed it too.

As for CJ, given her worried look, she may still feel the need to break Josh's kneecaps.

I think we've just stumbled into another crisis here.

Damn.

***

We were so close to being done.  So close.

Then CJ had to go and say it.  Well, she stumbled around the subject for a bit, but eventually she said it.

Leo had just wrapped up the meeting, glancing around at the four of us.  "That's it?"

Toby, Sam, and I nod.  CJ, however, lifts a hand hesitantly.

"Yes, CJ?" Leo prompts.

"I may have a thing," she says.

Leo nods impatiently.  "Okay."

"Well..."  CJ pauses, ignoring Sam, Toby, and me.  I should point out that the three of us are staring at her curiously.  Well, Sam and Toby are curious; I am experiencing trepidation.

"CJ," I say.  "Why don't we--"

"It's not really a thing so much as it is a..."  CJ trails off with a distracted wave of her hand.

Oh, no.  I have a very, very bad feeling about this.

"CJ," Toby says in that voice of quiet irritation.  "Today sometime would be, you know, preferable, considering the fact that I have about thirty-eight pages of Sam's punctuation-free writing to edit."

"It's more of a wondering, I would say."

"A wondering?" Leo repeats in that tone that means he's about three seconds away from summarily kicking us out of his office.

"Yes," she nods.  "I would call it a wondering."

"You know, I don't think that's really a noun, CJ," Toby comments.

"Toby," Leo warns.  "CJ, can we, you know--"

"What would happen if two members of the White House..."  She frowns, apparently unable to come up with the right word.

I swear I can feel my ulcer flaring up.  I know exactly where she's going with this, and I can't seem to summon the powers of speech.  It's like I'm behind glass, watching some tragicomic version of my life.

CJ shrugs.  "White House citizenry.  What if--"

"White House citizenry?" Leo repeats, exasperated.

Sam pipes up.  "I think she's referring to people who are regulars here, but who may or may not fall under the heading of staff member."

Leo shifts his glare to Sam.  "Thank you, Sam."

"Sure," Sam nods and sinks back into his chair.

Toby leans forward.  "Could we please get back to, you know, running the country?"

"Good idea," I say, my words lost amid the general grumblings.  "CJ, can I--?"

CJ lifts her hand again and speaks quickly.  "What would happen if two members of the White House citizenry whose relative positions would make a personal relationship problematic got married?"

The silence is sudden and complete.

Leo, Sam, and Toby are staring openmouthed at CJ.  For my part, I'm barely resisting the panicky urge to start issuing vehement denials.  Or, you know, run screaming from the room.

Typically, Toby is the first to recover.  "Did Danny propose at the eleven o'clock in between toxic waste dump sites and the thing about Congresswoman Douglas-Radford?" he asks sharply.

CJ looks somewhat taken aback.  "No."

"CJ," Leo explodes.  "You are absolutely not marrying Danny."

CJ nods furiously.  "I know that, Leo."

"You do?" he asks.  "Because I'm not quite sure where this is coming from if you're not, you know, engaged to a White House reporter."

"I am absolutely and completely not engaged," CJ says.  "I was just wondering--"

"Wondering with no provocation?" Toby snaps.

"Yes," CJ says defensively.  "It was a general wondering."

"I think Toby's right about that not being a noun," Sam interjects.

"Shut up, Sam," Leo says.

"Yes, sir."

"To what end?" Leo asks CJ.

"To see if a marriage would alleviate the problems with an otherwise..."  She shrugs, "problematic relationship."

Toby snorts.  "How, exactly, would marriage alleviate the public relations..."  Toby pauses, one hand gesticulating wildly, "catastrophe that would ensue when the president's press secretary marries a White House reporter?"

"For the forty-seventh time, I am not talking about Danny!"

"Well, darn, CJ," Leo says sarcastically.  "Because the idea of you and Danny is almost as appealing as... as..."  He gestures at me.  "Josh and Donna!"

Oh, shit.

I have to get out of here.

I stand abruptly.  "Can we--?"

"Sit down, Josh," Leo orders.  "You should absolutely hear this."

Oh, God.

I don't so much sit as collapse back into my chair.  I am going to kill CJ.

"No one," Leo says, fixing us with an intimidating glare.  "I repeat, no one here will marry someone else in the office."

Oops.

Empty barn.  Open door.  Horse very much gone.

I should really learn to keep my mouth shut when I can't even form complete sentences in the ongoing soliloquy that is my consciousness.

"Um, Leo?" I say.  "Can you really dictate our personal lives?"

"If it involves this administration, it's no longer your personal life."

Oh.

I have a sudden image of Leo, hands on hips, standing at the entrance of a very large, very empty red barn.

CJ glances at me, then catches Leo's attention.  "What if -- hypothetically--"

"CJ," I interrupt.  "I don't think we should go blundering into hypotheticals."

"Shut up, Josh," Leo says.  "CJ?"

"Hypothetically," she repeats.  "What if two members of the White House citizenry were already married--"

I am hyperventilating here.  I cannot control my breathing, and I may pass out.  Which would probably be a blessing in disguise, because CJ might just stop talking if I fall unconscious at her feet.  Maybe.

"CJ," Leo bellows.  "Tell me you and Danny aren't already married."

"I am not married," she yells back.  "And this is not about Danny!"

"Then what the hell are we talking about here?"

CJ takes a deep breath.  "I'm trying to determine if, by being secretly married and still working as efficiently together as they did before they were involved, two members--"

"So help me God, CJ," Toby shouts.  "If you say 'White House citizenry' again--"

"Toby, simmer down," Leo says.  "CJ, what in God's name are you talking about?"

"If I could finish a sentence--"

"We would all be grateful," Toby mutters.

"Toby!" Leo and CJ shout in unison.

Toby throws his hands up in frustration.  "Fine."

"Thank you," CJ says sarcastically.  "I was attempting to determine whether the White House policy prohibiting relationships between co-workers--"

"CJ," I interrupt.

"Joshua!"

"I have something to add here, CJ."

"No, you don't, Joshua."

"I really do."

"I am going to fire all of you," Leo yells.

"Can I just make a point here?" I ask.

CJ glares at me but doesn't protest.

Leo merely rolls his eyes.  "I don't see how I could stop you."

"White House policy does not prohibit relationships between co-workers."

CJ's jaw drops open, and she just stares at me uncomprehending.

Sam narrows his eyes.  "You're right."

"I know."

He shakes his head.  "No, I mean--"

"Wait a second," CJ interrupts.  "White House policy doesn't prohibit--?"

"Relationships between co-workers," I nod.  "It doesn't."

Judging by her expression, CJ is pretty pissed at me.

"It doesn't?" Leo echoes, looking to Sam.

"Nope," Sam shakes his head.  "The government's personnel policy is notoriously years behind the rest of the country--"

"Please tell me we actually have sexual harassment law in place," Leo says caustically.

"Well, yes," Sam nods.  "But it's not very far-reaching and the burden of proof falls on the complainant."

Toby scrubs a hand over his face.  "And this has what to do with marriage between staffers?"

Sam shifts in his seat.  "Basically," he pauses with an intimidated look in Leo's direction.  "Leo can't keep us from marrying someone on the staff.  Or from dating other staffers."

"I can't?" Leo snarls.  "Why not?"

"Because that would be illegal," Toby answers quietly.  "An infringement of our rights to free association."

"Since when is marriage free association?" Leo says.  "And I don't care what the rule book says; you are not dating your co-workers."  Leo eyes us all in turn, then points to the door.  "Now get out of here."

I'll certainly have to thank CJ; that went well.

*

Sam knocks twice, then pops his head into my office.

"Hey," I say, gesturing at the visitor's chair.  I'm more than happy to put aside the depressing briefing memo on orphans, foster care, and child abuse. I could use a little cheering up.

"So here's the thing," Sam says.  "Ainsley Hayes has been put in charge of revising the office policies on dating."

Okay, I do not feel at all cheered up.

"You're kidding," I say.

"Nope."

"Sam, please tell me you're kidding."

"Nope."

"Shit."

Sam grins at me.  "So you are dating Donna."

"No, I am not."  Hey, we're married, not dating.

"You're not?" Sam asks, puzzled.

"No."

"Okay," he says.  "So why do you care--?"

"That a Republican lawyer has been put in charge of revising an office policy for the entire White House?  Gee, I don't know, given the Republicans' long and illustrious record of progressive social policy."

"This isn't exactly social policy, Josh."

"Inter-office dating is no longer considered a social thing?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, Sam," I say.  "I'm afraid I really don't."

"Social policy is affirmative action, gays in the military, the hate crimes bill, equal pay for equal work--"

"I'm familiar with these concepts."

"That's social policy," Sam repeats.  "Inter-office dating is..."  He shrugs, "office policy."

"They actually pay you money to write?"

"Josh--"

"Seriously, Sam," I interrupt.  "Office policy?  It's codifying social conventions into law -- or, if you prefer, rules.  How is that not social policy?"

"Because we're not legislating -- or even suggesting legislation -- for the rest of the country.  Just for the people who work in this office."

"It's the White House, Sam.  It's not like we work at Ford."  I am just getting warmed up.  "And what happens when the language in her little revision prohibits inter-office dating for homosexuals but not for heterosexuals?  Or when the penalties are weighted unfairly on the side of the assistants?  Or--?"

"I understand your point, Josh," Sam argues.  "But I don't think it's fair to just lump Ainsley in with the Republican agenda of days gone by."

"Days gone by?"

"Josh--"

"They just passed legislation limiting marriage to a man and a woman.  Federal legislation, Sam," I say.  "It's hardly an agenda of days gone by."

"Fine," he shrugs.  "That doesn't mean that Ainsley Hayes is in favor of draconian dating measures.  We're not..."  He trails off.  "What's that college?  You know, with the dating stuff?"

"The dating stuff?" I repeat.

"Yeah, where they have to ask for permission to kiss or to hold hands?"

"Does it really matter?"

"I guess not," Sam admits.

"What I'm saying, Sam, is that I don't want a Republican office policy that makes asking someone's permission to kiss them moot because kissing them in first place is-- is--"  I'm so flustered I'm stuttering.

"Against the rules?"

"Yes," I say.  "That."

Sam just stands there for a minute.  "Maybe you should kiss her now."

"What?"

"Donna," he explains.  "Maybe you should kiss her now.  You know, before it's against the rules."

It's really hard to stay mad at Sam when he has such a naïve and credulous view of the universe.  I give him a small smile.  "I'll take that under advisement."

"I'm just saying," he says.

"Thanks for the heads up."

***

Less than five minute after Sam leaves his office, Josh bellows my name.

"Yeah?" I yell back.

"You maybe want to get in here?"

"Not if you're in that kind of mood."

"Now, Donnatella!" he shouts.

"Close the door," he says the minute I step into the office.

"What?" I ask as soon as the door is closed.

"Did you know that the White House Counsel's office is updating the policy on inter-office dating?"

"Oh, this can't be good," I say.

"It gets worse," Josh answers.  "Who is absolutely the last person in the Counsel's office you would want writing that policy?"

"No.  Not her."

"Her."

"Ainsley Hayes?"

"Ms. Proper Decorum herself."

"She prefers Miss."

"She would," Josh mutters.

"This could be very bad, Joshua."

"Could be?"

"Okay, it is bad.  Very, very bad.  What are we going to do?"

Josh opens the door connecting his office and CJ's.  "Claudia Jean," he shouts, "get your ass in here now!"

CJ looks at us both carefully.  "Why do I get the feeling that the sky is falling?" she asks.

"Because it is," Josh answers, "and that is all your fault."

I'm confused again.  "How is any of this CJ's fault?"

"And what exactly is this?" CJ asks.

"This," Josh answers, "is the new policy on inter-office dating that Ainsley Hayes -- Ainsley Hayes the Republican -- is writing."

"Oops," CJ says.

"And," Josh adds, turning to me, "it is CJ's fault because of what she said to Leo in senior staff today.  She asked him questions.  About us."

"What?" I practically scream.  "CJ, have you lost your mind?"

"Hypothetical questions," CJ tells me.  "And I was publicly humiliated for my trouble."

"Good," I say.  I'm that upset.

"Not good," CJ replies.  "People thought I was talking about Danny and me, not you and Josh.  It was embarrassing."

"Well, imagine what they'd think if-- if--"

"If they found out that Donna is my wife."

CJ looks at him, horrified.  "I did not hear that," she says.  "I was never in this office, and I never heard that."

"Yes, you did," Josh says.  "You've lost any right to plausible deniability after this."

I'm beginning to calm down, and I'm thinking that losing CJ as an ally is not a wise move.  I attempt to be the voice of reason.  "It's not going to help--"

"Do you know what the White House policy is about married couples working together now, Donna?" Josh asks.  Typically, he doesn't wait for an answer.  "There was no real policy.  Just a very vague statement about leaving matters up to the discretion of the employees' immediate supervisor.  Which would be Leo."

"Who could be convinced if we could prove we're the model of professionalism and efficiency," I say.  "It was such a good strategy."

"But now we're getting a policy written by a conservative Republican," Josh adds.  "Thanks to Claudia Jean."

"I was trying to help," CJ protests.  "You should be grateful."

"Grateful?  A Republican who just finished lecturing you and Donna on why assistants--"

"Secretaries," I mutter.

"And bosses should not show -- What was her phrase, Donna?"

"She seemed fond of 'untoward familiarity,'" I answer.

"Yeah.  That.  So I don't think it's likely that she'll end up writing a policy that is pro-- pro--"  Josh is sputtering.  This is never a good sign.

"Nevertheless," CJ says, "I am not responsible for this turn of events."

"Yes, you are," Josh says.  "You brought this to Leo's attention."

"No, Josh, you brought it to Leo's attention," she responds.  "You're the one who made a point of telling Leo that there is no White House policy regarding employees dating."

"You did what?" I shout.

Josh turns back to me.  "I was just pointing out the facts.  Which were in our favor."

"Do you ever stop to think?" I ask.  I realize (and not for the first time) that I am married to an idiot.  "Did it not occur to you that Leo would want to rectify that little matter?"

"Well," Josh says, "on the plus side, we can argue that we did get married before the policy was written."

"Okay," CJ says, "first of all, I did not hear that."

"Yes, you did," Josh and I reply in unison.  It's nice to know we agree on something.

CJ gives us a look that can best be described as lethal.  "And even if I had heard it, in a strictly professional capacity as press secretary, I would have to point out how very, very bad it would look for this administration if the deputy chief of staff's marriage to his assistant came out after this policy was announced.  This is a policy about sex.  It's going to get lots of media attention.  Anybody who wants to accuse this administration of being hypocritical is going to love you two.  My best advice is that you go straight into Leo's office and confess now.  We can take this out with the trash on Friday."

"Not an option," Josh says.

"He's not going to fire Donna," CJ says.  "I'm almost sure of it."

"Almost?" Josh asks.  He looks furious.

"He likes Donna," CJ points out.  "He's not going to blame her for having questionable taste in men."

"He will, however, assign her someplace else.  Away from me."

Okay, a minute ago I was furious at him.  But now he has his depressed face on, and he's breaking my heart.  I don't want to be assigned to work for somebody else.  I like working for Josh.

Besides, he will fall apart without me.  I'm the only one who can keep him on track.

"Kids," CJ says, "there is absolutely no need to panic.  I'm sure that if we just ask Leo a few general questions, we can--"

"Not again," Josh says.  "No more of your 'wonderings' in front of Leo."

"Wonderings?" I repeat.  "Is that even a noun?"

"I'm afraid that it's your only option," CJ says.  "You can't have everything your way, Josh.  You have to come clean to Leo and just accept the inevitable fact that Donna will be reassigned."

"I am not doing that," Josh says.

"For the love of God, Josh," CJ says, "stop acting like a spoiled brat before you end up destroying everyone's career.  Including mine."

"Yours?" I ask.

CJ shrugs.  "I might as well admit the truth.  After what I said in Leo's office today, he's going to realize I'm...  Well, I'm a co-conspirator now.  He's going to be pretty pissed at me too."

"Exactly," Josh says.  "This is why none of us can go to Leo now.  He was furious when you started in with your whole wonderings thing, CJ.  Just furious.  He'll end up firing all three of us.  At the very least.  Yeah, if we're lucky, all he'll do is fire us.  Going to Leo now is a truly terrible idea."

"I have to agree with Josh," I say.  My husband, for the record, beams at me.  He loves when I do the supportive wife thing.  "You know Leo's temper, CJ.  He will get irrational about our timing here.  And then Josh will get nervous and hostile and ruin everything."

Josh stops beaming.  So my supportive wife skills need work.  I have to be honest, don't I?

"There is that," CJ admits.  "But I could coach you through it, like last time with the emails."

"Absolutely not," Josh says.  "I am not going through that again."

"I do think waiting's a good idea, CJ," I say.

"Whatever."  She shrugs.  "I'm just predicting that you're headed for disaster.  Don't say I didn't warn you."

"So noted," Josh replies.  "And for the record, CJ, I no longer owe you any favors."

"Hey!" CJ protests.  "Who saved you two from getting fired after the email fiasco?"

"Well, we're on the verge of disaster here again," Josh points out, "so unless you've got a way to save us right this minute, we're no longer indebted to you."

"You could--"  She pauses.  "You know, there's pretty much nothing you can do about this one.  Either tell Leo the truth and accept the consequences, or wait for it to all blow up in your faces."  She heads back toward her office.  "And you do too still owe me," she says over her shoulder as she leaves.

I have to agree with Josh on this one.  We so don't.

*

"What the hell kind of name is Ainsley anyway?  Who names a child Ainsley?  Who would actually do that to an innocent baby?"

Josh looks not particularly interested in my reasonable questions.  Of course, that could have something to do with my new nightgown.  It's slit up to the thigh, and Josh seems to find that distracting.

"How should I know?" he finally answers.  "I'm still trying to figure out why your parents named you Donnatella Viridis Moss."

"You don't like my name?"

"I have always liked your name.  It's amusing."

"And by amusing you mean attractive, desirable, seductive?"

"By amusing, I mean funny as hell."

"Excuse me?"

"Your name literally translates as 'gift of green moss.'  You have to admit the comic possibilities in that."

"'Gift of green moss'?  What are you talking about?"

"Donnatella means gift.  Viridis means green.  Put them together with Moss, and you get--"

"You know what my name means?"

"I may have looked it up once."

"When?"

"I don't know.  Couple of years ago."

"A couple of years ago?"

He shrugs, and I swear he's almost blushing.  My, but I am enjoying this!

"It's a unique name. I was curious."

"You were smitten."

"Not at that time, no."

"Admit it, Josh.  You were smitten with me."

"I may not have been entirely indifferent.  However, 'smitten' has connotations--"

"You had a crush on me.  A couple of years ago."

"I never said crush."

"When I was completely and totally indifferent toward you.  You liked me first!"

"I did not.  And I thought the subject was this Ainsley person."

"It was.  But I'm suddenly more interested in why you were looking up what my name means."

"Because we really should talk about the Ainsley Hayes situation, Donna."

"She's a situation?"

"She's a Republican."

"Which automatically makes her the spawn of Satan?"

"I thought you didn't like her."

"I don't, Josh, but not just because she's a Republican.  I have met some nice people who happened to be Republicans."

"Heresy.  My wife is speaking heresy."

"Half my family is Republican, Josh."  And then it strikes me.

It's too funny.

I can't stop laughing.

"What?" Josh asks.

I have trouble getting the words out in between giggles.  "They're your in-laws, Josh.  You are now related to Republicans."

"I am not!"

"Are too."

"Donna, that is not funny."

I keep laughing.

"Real Republicans?"

"My parents voted for Reagan.  Twice."

"Donnatella Moss-Lyman, please tell me you were adopted.  I'm begging here."

"Sorry."

"This is a depressing turn of events."

I'm laughing too hard to reply.

"You think you know a woman.  You think you could spend your life with her.  And then you find out this," he says.

I'm still giggling. Josh has just warmed up to his theme.  "We'll have to hide the shameful truth from the kids, of course.  We can never let them know their mother--"

"Kids?  Because we have never discussed that subject."

"Well, hypothetically speaking, kids would not be a bad idea."

"I agree.  Hypothetically speaking, two is a nice number."

"Two is workable."

"Not until after re-election, however."

"Why not?"

"First, I don't want to miss the whole campaign because I'm pregnant or taking care of an infant or something.  Because I sure as hell am not going to be the only one around here changing diapers and getting up in the middle of the night and stop smirking."

"I'm not smirking."

"Josh, you're always smirking.  It's your natural state."

"Second?"

"What?"

"You said first.  That implies a second.  Possibly a third."

"Second," I say, "I know you.  If it came between waiting for the exit polls or taking me to the delivery room, I'd be in real trouble."

"But the First Lady will be right there.  She can always deliver the baby."

"The hypothetical baby."

"Which, you know, would be great press.  Kid could win the news cycle her very first day."

"You're finding a way to turn the birth of our hypothetical daughter into a political victory.  This is so typical."

"I'm just reviewing our options."

"Whatever."

"We still need to discuss the Ainsley situation, however," he says.

"I didn't know she was a situation.  An unpleasant person, yes.  But not a situation."

"Donnatella Moss-Lyman, what brought that on?"

"What she said to Sam."

"She said a lot of things to Sam.  Which one in particular?"

"About guns."

Josh goes very quiet for a minute.  For obvious reasons, this is not his favorite subject these days.  "How'd you hear about that?" he asks.

"Sam told me."

"Sam told you?"

"Yes, Josh, people other than you do talk to me."

"They talk to you about me."

"Sam was concerned.  There was a debate.  There was a Republican making stupid arguments.  You didn't pounce.  Sam was concerned."

"And this is when you decided you don't like Ainsley Hayes?"

I nod.  "I'm going to hate her now and avoid the rush."

"Because of her opinion on guns?"

"Because of her lack of common courtesy."

"And again I find your train of thought difficult to follow."

"Yes, well, you might find it easier to concentrate if you stopped doing -- that."

"You don't like what I'm doing?"

"I didn't say that.  I just meant that your mind is obviously not on the conversation."

"All right."  He stops what he was doing, which is regrettable, but I did more or less tell him to.  "What about her lack of common courtesy?"

"Sam talked about what happened to you.  You were standing right there.  She ignored what he said.  She ignored you.  The courteous thing to do -- the thing that common decency required -- would have been to acknowledge that.  She could have said that she was sorry for what happened to you.  She could have said she was glad you were all right.  She could have said all that and still argued her points.  She didn't.  I don't like her."

"So you've decided you can't stand her, not because she's a Republican or because she's wrong, but because you think she didn't say she was sorry I got shot?"

"I'm honing my supportive wife skills."

***

I don't know what to say to Donna.  I really don't.  I kiss her instead.

She is so unbelievably sweet.  Her supportive wife skills have been in full effect for months, and they have nothing to do with some blonde Republican who didn't make nice with me.

Okay, I'm getting maudlin.

Donna pulls away and frames my face with her hands.  "Can I ask you something, Josh?"

I clear my suspiciously ragged throat.  "Sure."

She runs her hands through my hair and rests them on the back of my neck.  "When Sam told you about the Southern Poverty--"

"Donna," I interrupt with a sigh.  "I don't really want to talk about it."

She watches me for a moment, then leans forward and kisses my forehead.  "Okay," she says, but I can see her disappointment.

No.  I'm not going to do this.  I'm not going to shut her out again.  I don't know how coherent this will be, but I'm going to try to answer her questions truthfully.

"No, Donna," I say.  "What did you want to ask me?"

She looks at me for a moment with her worried face.  "Are you sure?"

I give her a weak grin.  "That's what you wanted to ask me?"

She smiles back at me.  "No."

"Because I'd have to say the question is very vague."

"Josh," she takes my hand.  "Why didn't you want to sue the KKK?"

I think about it for a moment, trying to frame a response.  It's harder than I thought it would be.  It's still hard for me to even confront the anger I have, never mind explain it to someone else.

"It's not that I don't want to sue the KKK," I start.  "I would love to bankrupt an organization that espouses racial hatred and violence."  I pause.  "God, I would love it."

"So why didn't you?" she asks softly.

"Truthfully?" I ask, and she gives me an eloquent look.  I squeeze her hand.  "This."

Donnatella Moss-Lyman's arms are around me, we're lying in bed together, and I feel happy.  Don't get me wrong: I'm still worried and I still have some nightmares and panic attacks, but on average, I'm happy.  This is why.  This thing with Donna.

"This?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say.  "This."

Donna nods her understanding.  "Another trial?"

"That's part of it," I admit.  "I don't know if I could sit through any more of that.  And it would be more.  Can you imagine the scope and depth of hatred we would have to investigate?"

"No." Donna shudders against me.  "I don't want to imagine it."

"Me, neither.  And I don't want to go there again."  I stop to consider my words, but Donna is looking at me with such understanding that I don't censor myself.  "I nearly lost myself there last time, all that hatred and anger and violence... I'm not going back.  Ever again."

"You don't have to," Donna says, her arms tight around me.

I give her a quick kiss.  "Plus, we wouldn't want to reveal the Lyman-Moss Defense too soon."

She looks at me askance.  "You mean the Moss-Lyman Defense?"

I roll my eyes.  "Whatever you say, dear."

Donna smacks my arm.  "Anyway, how would a lawsuit affect our strategy?"

"The depositions," I explain.  "We could get some amazing, valuable information about these organizations: membership, weapons inventory, who's bankrolling them.  But in return, they can ask anything of us.  They can get Leo on the drugs, Sam on Laurie, and there's probably a bunch of other stuff that would come out too."

"You mean the marriage thing," she nods.

"Well, they would definitely ask about us.  And I don't really want this to come out with the trash, with stories of drug addiction and prostitution.  This deserves better."

Donna beams at me.  "Yes," she says.  "It does."

I grin back at her for a moment, then say, "Which brings us back to the Ainsley Hayes situation."

"I still don't see that it's a situation."

"She's revising the policy on inter-office dating and you don't think that warrants being called a situation?"

"No," Donna answers.  "First of all, we're not dating; we're married."

"Donna--"

"Secondly," she continues, ignoring me, "even if she does change the policy now, in November, we've been married since June.  They can't fire us for breaking a rule that wasn't even in place when we broke it.  Or would have broken it, had it been in place."

I stare at her for a second.  "I'm sure that made sense in your head, but--"

"You know what I mean, Josh," she rolls her eyes.

"Yes," I say.  "I do.  But I still think we need a new strategy."

Donna shifts against me.  "What's wrong with our old strategy?"

It takes me a moment to formulate words what with her fingers trailing down my chest.  "Nothing," I say.  "Not one thing."  I grab her hand and hold it in between our bodies.  "We need an additional strategy to deal with the Ainsley situation."

"It's not--"

"A situation.  I know.  But for lack of a better term?"

"Fine," she nods.

We fall silent for a moment, then Donna smiles at me.  "Sam."

"Sam?" I repeat doubtfully.  "What about him?"

"We use him.  He's the weak link."

"Are you suggesting we tell Sam--?"

"Are you crazy?"  Donna laughs.  "Of course not.  I'm suggesting you use a little of your mojo on him to get him to, you know, argue Ainsley out of this."

"My mojo?" I smirk at her.

"Shut up."

"And I don't think Sam can argue her out of completing something that came down from Leo and Tribbey."

"Okay," Donna says.  "We'll have to convince her to write a weak-ass policy."

"A weak-ass policy?"

"Are you going to sit here and make fun of my verbal quirks or are you going to help me?"

I release her hand and pull her closer.  "Oh, I'll help you."

"Josh, you're a ridiculous man, you know that?"

"That's why you love me."

"You know," Donna says, her breathing just a little uneven.  "I'll love you more when you stop that and listen to me for a second."

I sigh and stop what I was doing.  "Fine," I say.  "Talk to me."

***

Sometimes Josh can be very distracting.  Now, for instance.  Oh, he's not doing anything; he's just giving me this look like -- well, clearly, talking is not his favorite activity.  For once.  I refuse to be distracted, however.

I just marvel at my own will power.

"Sam," I announce, "has a thing for Ainsley Hayes."

Josh looks at me as though I have just declared that the Apocalypse is upon us.  "No, he doesn't."

"He does," I insist.

"But she's a Republican."

"He seems to be willing to overlook that little character flaw."

"She kicked his ass on national TV."

"Some men like a woman who can banter.  Or so I've been told."

"She's against everything we're for!"

"I know."

"She's for everything we're against!"

"That too."

"What happened to the thing with Mallory?"

"No one seems quite sure," I say.  "But rumor has it that Mallory got fed up after the thing with Laurie hit the papers."

"Mallory knew about Laurie."

"Well, it's all speculation, but Kathy is under the impression that Mallory didn't know Sam was still seeing Laurie.  Bonnie and Ginger, on the other hand, tend to think that Leo may have interfered.  Honestly, Josh, they've been pumping me for information for weeks."

"And just how would you know the details of Sam Seaborn's love life?"

"You are so dense sometimes.  The general assumption is that Sam would have told you everything, seeing as how he's your best friend and all."

"And this makes you a source of information how?"

"Everyone knows you tell me everything."

"I don't tell you -- well, okay, I do.  But Sam didn't say anything about Mallory."

"I know.  Makes you wonder exactly what went on there, doesn't it?"

"And you've got to be wrong about Ainsley Hayes."

"I'm not.  Sam is definitely smitten."

"But she's--"

"Republican.  So I've heard."

"I don't get it.  Why would Sam be attracted to a Republican who kicked his ass on national TV?"

I shrug.  "She is an attractive woman, Josh."

"Not that attractive."

"She has alabaster skin."

"No, she doesn't," he replies.  "I am intimately acquainted with the concept of alabaster skin."  He takes my hand and holds it between us.  "This is alabaster.  Ainsley Hayes is just pale."

I'm suddenly distracted by the look on Josh's face.  The fact that he's started kissing the alabaster hand in question doesn't help my concentration either.

"Be that as it may," I eventually say, "Sam has a thing for Ainsley Hayes, and this can work to our advantage."

Josh stops the kissing.  Damn.  "How?"

"Think about it.  The woman he's got a crush on is about to write a policy that will make it impossible for him to do anything about said crush."

"That's Sam's problem, not ours."

"And yet it's remarkably similar to our problem, don't you think?"

"Only if Sam's secretly married to a Republican.  In which case he can forget about being godfather to our hypothetical daughter.  Kid's going to have enough problems with Republican grandparents.  She doesn't need--"

Sometimes there is just no reasoning with the man.  "Will you be serious?"

"The last time I tried to get serious you told me to stop so you could explain that Sam has a crush on a Republican."

"Yes, he does.  And if you would think about it for a minute, you would see how we can use it to our advantage."

"I don't see how -- oh."  Josh sits up quickly.  And since he'd had his arms around me a minute before, I find myself landing on the mattress rather abruptly.  Josh the husband and lover, it would seem, has just been replaced by Josh the master politician.

Damn.  Again.

"Oh, we can use this," he says.  Can I just note here, with some annoyance, that all thoughts of alabaster skin have gone right out of his head?  "We're going to play Sam Seaborn like a cheap violin."

"Josh--"

"Yeah, I'll drop a few hints.  Say something, in a purely hypothetical manner, about lost opportunities.  I may even mention your crosseyed boyfriend."

"Irving is not crosseyed!"

"Encourage him not to make the mistakes I made.  Point out how he might be concerned about the policy thing, which doesn't bother me on a personal level cause I lost my chance--"

"You can say that again," I mutter.

"But he should, you know, learn from my example."

"And a sad example it is," I add.

"Then he uses his influence with her.  Does he have any influence with her?"

I shrug.  "More than the rest of us, I imagine."

"Well, I can always give him some of my sage dating advice."

"I beg of you, don't."

"You're having a problem with this?"

"Frankly, yes."

"What?  You don't think it's ethical?"

"I don't care whether it's ethical."

"You think it won't work?"

"Of course it will work.  It was my idea."

He gives me his confused face.  "Then what?"

"Josh, I feel like we're at the office.  You're plotting against Republicans."

"Well, just one Republican.  And it's not so much plotting as--"

"Still.  I feel like you're going to tell me to start taking notes any minute now, boss."

"Oh."  He looks sheepish.  Or as close to sheepish as Josh ever gets.

"Yeah."

He lays back down and gathers me up in his arms again.  "It's not a bad plan though," he says.

"So my plan meets with the master politician's approval, does it?"

He pushes my hair away from my face and kisses my forehead.  "Admit it, Donnatella, you think the whole 'master politician' thing is a turn-on."

Have I mentioned that sheepish is a very fleeting emotion where Joshua Lyman is concerned?

"It's quite annoying actually," I answer.

He starts kissing me.

"Well, okay," I admit after a minute.  "I might not totally hate it.

"And stop smirking," I add before I start kissing him again.

***

I put the new Lyman-Moss Strategy into motion as soon as I walk into the White House.  Instead of heading for my office, I wander into the communications bullpen.  Sam is already at his desk, munching on a blueberry bagel.

"Morning," I say.  Casual.  Just dropping in to say hi to a friend.

"Hey, Josh," Sam smiles up at me.  He indicates the untouched portion of the bagel.  "Want some?"

"No, thanks," I shake my head.  "What are you working on?"

"Sexual harassment policy."

I raise my eyebrows.  "For whom?"

"Well, I'm not so much working on it as I am reviewing it," he says.  "I'm helping Ainsley out with this dating thing."

I give him a calculated smirk.  "That's interesting."

"What do you mean?"

"You and Ainsley," I say suggestively.  "Working on a dating policy."

Sam frowns at me.  "I'm not sure I'm following you."

"Oh, come on, Sam," I grin.  "You've got a thing for Ainsley."

"What?" Sam sputters.  "You think I have a thing?"  He really does look shocked, the poor, naïve dear.

"A crush."

"I do not have a crush on Ainsley Hayes," he all but shouts.

I glance behind me.  Kathy is snickering at her desk.  I take it upon myself to close his office door.

"Sam, it's okay.  You can tell me--"

"There's nothing to tell, Josh," he protests.  "I don't have any sort of crush on Ainsley Hayes.  She's a Republican."

"I know," I nod.  "We all have flaws."

"I don't think she considers it a flaw, Josh."

"I was actually referring to your crush."

"I do not have a crush!"

"I'm just saying, it's rather ironic that you and she are working to outlaw any possible relationship between coworkers."

Sam gives me a suspicious look.  "What are you talking about?"

"The dating initiative," I say.  "If you two write a policy that prohibits any interoffice dating, that would, you know, outlaw you dating Ainsley."

"I wouldn't date Ainsley," Sam says, his tone offended.  "She irritates me."

"That's what I said about Donna," I say mournfully.

Sam is suddenly very attentive.  "What?"

He is like putty in my hands.

"Oh," I say, pretending to have just realized my slip.  "Nothing."

"You do have a thing for Donna!" he crows.

Gee, Sam, what tipped you off?  All of that kissing in the hospital, maybe?

I rub one hand across my face to cover my amusement.  "Not that it matters."

"What do you mean?"

"Irving," I say dramatically.  I deserve an Oscar for this!

"Donna's boyfriend?" Sam asks.

"Yeah," I say, in what I fancy is a glum tone.  "Donna and Irving seem very happy together.  She seems like she's satisfied."  I have to pause to bite back an ill-timed snicker.  Damn straight she's satisfied.

I chance a glance at Sam.  He appears to be thinking this over.

"She has seemed rather perky lately," Sam observes.

I duck my head, because I really can't control the smug grin.  When I get a handle on my amusement, I meet his gaze.  "This policy concerns me, even though I have no personal stake in it anymore.  I just wouldn't want to see you miss your chance.  Like I did."

Oh, God, I am going to lose it in a minute.

Sam looks at me, his expression earnest.  "It's not too late for you two--"

"That doesn't matter, Sam," I interrupt.  "I'm trying to save you from making the same mistake."

"I don't have a crush on Ainsley."  Sam crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head.  He is overly defensive, which confirms Donna's assertion.  I can't believe Sam has a thing for a Republican!

"Okay," I say in a tone rife with disbelief.  "Just consider what I said when you're debating policy with her."

He gets an interesting gleam in his eye while he considers my words.  I am repulsed by the thought of Sam and Ainsley, but I stick to my role.

"Yeah," Sam says, nodding.

Gotcha!  I give him a genuine grin.

"I've got a thing," I say, heading for the door.

"Sure," Sam says, still lost in thought.

Score one for the Lyman-Moss Defense.

***

I return from lunch to discover Sam Seaborn standing by my desk.

"Josh isn't here," I say.  "He had that meeting on the Hill."

"I know.  I wanted to talk to you, Donna.  Without Josh being around."

This can't be good.  When Sam suggests that we go into Josh's office to talk, I am expecting the worst.

"So, Donna," Sam asks, "how are things going with Irving?"

I wasn't expecting that, however.

"Irving?  My Irving?  Irving Hackenbush?"

"Him.  Yeah."

"He's not crosseyed."

"Josh said--"

"Josh lies.  I don't think he likes Irving.  Ask CJ.  She'll tell you that Irving is not crosseyed."

"That wasn't what I was asking, although now that you mention it--"

"Yes?"

"Well, don't you find it intriguing that Josh is giving you such a hard time about Irving?  Don't you think Josh sounds -- I don't know -- maybe a little jealous there?"

Oh, shit.

"Why would Josh be jealous of Irving, Sam?"

That was probably not the best question to ask, was it?

"Well, you know," Sam replies, "you guys were pretty close there for awhile.  Like in the hospital.  Josh was very happy then.  Except for the constant pain.  And you had quite the contented expression every time I saw you two together."

"That was, you know, a momentary lapse of reason.  Crisis situation.  Emotions out of control.  Near-death experience.  We both agreed it was a very bad idea.  We have moved on."

"Maybe you have, with Irving and all, but the thing is that I don't think Josh has moved on.  I think he's standing pretty much still."

I grin.  I mean, this is kind of cute -- Sam trying to play matchmaker.  Oh sure, it has disaster written all over it, but you have to admit that it's sweet of Sam to care.

It makes me feel almost guilty about playing him the way I'm going to.  Almost.

"What do you mean, Sam?"  I go all wide-eyed on him, as though the idea that Josh Lyman has feelings for me is a complete shock.

Sam looks at me very seriously.  This is a grave matter he's dealing with, after all.  "Josh loves you," he declares.  "He always has, you know."

He has?  Wait a minute.

"Define always."

"From the first day.  You should have seen his face when he told me about this adorable--"

"He said adorable?  He used that word?"

"That was the word."

"That's not a very Josh-like word, Sam."

"Which is why I remember him using it."

"He called me adorable?  The first day?"

"Yes, but in all fairness I should add that the full quote was 'adorable and possibly demented.'"

"Oh well, that sounds more like him."  I am smiling way too much here.  "Adorable, huh?"  Joshua, we are going to have such a discussion when we get home!

"And possibly demented," Sam repeats.  "But, see, the attraction's been there all along."

Okay, I have to get back into playing my role.  I can't beam.  I must stop beaming.  "No one ever denied the attraction, Sam."

Okay.  Lie. We spent more than two years denying the attraction.  We were the Denial Twins.  No need to point that out now, however.

"It's not just an attraction," Sam says.  "Not for Josh.  He loves you, and it's breaking his heart to see you with Irving."

Wow.  Josh must have put on one hell of a performance in Sam's office.

"So," Sam goes on, "I got to thinking.  And it occurred to me that whatever happened between you and Josh so that you stopped all the kissing, it can't have been that bad, could it?  I mean, if it was that bad, you wouldn't still be working for Josh, would you?  So I'm guessing that you care about Josh too.  And that's why I think you should break up with Irving and give Josh a second chance."

That's so sweet when you think about it.  Sam is just an extremely soft-hearted guy.  I almost hate to use him so shamelessly.

Almost.

"It's all sort of moot now anyway, don't you think, Sam?" I put on my forlorn face.

"Why?"

"Because of that policy you're helping Ainsley Hayes write."  I shrug.  "Josh is my boss.  No getting around that."

"I guess not."

"It's ironic, isn't it?  Poor Josh.  He throws himself into helping run this place -- into serving his country.  He almost dies serving this administration.  And how is all his sacrifice rewarded?  With a policy that tells him he can't love -- we can't--"

As I learned during my semester as a drama minor, a good performer throws herself into the role.  You have to believe in the part you're playing.

And I do believe in this part.  I mean, dammit, it isn't fair.  Josh has made all those sacrifices and he did nearly die and he still has the occasional nightmare about the shooting.  So telling him he could lose his job for marrying me, this truly is unfair.  I'm on the verge of tears here.

Sam looks worried that I'll start sobbing and throw myself into his arms.  I'm considering it, but I'm thinking it might be too over the top, you know?

"So," he says, "you're saying that this thing with Irving--"

"He's not Josh."  I do this neat choking-back-the-tears thing I learned in Intro to Acting class.  "Irving is a caring, considerate, compassionate man.  He's not Josh."

I sit down in Josh's chair with a few sighs and resume telling Sam my tale of woe.  "It's hopeless.  If you really want to be Josh's friend, you'll convince him to forget about us."

"But it's not hopeless."  I look up.  Sam has this gleam in his eye, as though he has just found a new cause to believe in.  "If two people love each other, the government has no business telling them they can't, well, love each other."

And they pay him to write?

"Yes, Sam, but the policy--"

"Is going to change," he announces.  "I'm a lawyer.  I will find a loophole."

He positively marches out the door, off to fight for truth, justice and my right to have sex with Josh.

Which is my idea of one hell of a noble cause.

***

I made CJ come with me to Sam's office, which, as it turns out, was a tactical error.  Donna had performed reconnaissance and spied Ainsley Hayes in Sam's office.  Kathy had confirmed that they were discussing, in her words, "the death-to-romance thing."

And so I took CJ, who still refuess to admit that she now owes me a lifetime of favors, with me.  We innocently stumble into Sam's office to inquire about his lunch plans.  To our surprise, we interrupt a meeting.

"Oh," CJ says.  "I'm so sorry to interrupt."

"Yeah," I nod.  "Were you guys working on something important?"

Sam gives me a suspicious look.  "We're discussing the dating policy."

Ainsley just looks at us, perplexed.

"How's that going?" CJ asks.

"Fine," Ainsley says.  "We're pretty settled into the superior/subordinate prohibition, but the trouble we're having is with what you might call non-differential employees."

CJ and I exchange a puzzled look.

"Employees who have relatively equal status within the administration," Sam clarifies.

"And your position is?" I ask.

"Mine or hers?" Sam replies with an irritated look at Ainsley.

Ainsley takes the bait.  "All I'm saying, Sam, is that titles and hierarchies exist within the government for a reason.  To overthrow this common sense approach to office politics in favor of something that might charitably be called dumb as dirt is a bad idea."

"Dumb as dirt?" I repeat with a smirk.

"It's an expression," Ainsley says haughtily.

"Yes," I say.  "I've just never heard it used conversationally before."

"This isn't a conversation," she says.  "It's a debate."

"Okay."

"How is leaving individual rights in place a bad idea?" Sam asks.

CJ crosses her arms and watches, amused.

Ainsley turns back to Sam.  "Individual rights?" she scoffs.  "It's certainly not an individual right for a boss, that boss being male, to make advances on his secretary."

I step into the fray.  "Clarification for the latecomers:  Are we assuming that all assistants are female, or that homosexuals don't exist?"

Ainsley gives me a frustrated look and opens her mouth to reply.

CJ beats her to it.  "We're not talking about bosses and assistants," CJ points out.  "We're talking about people who aren't directly superior or subordinate to each other."  She gets an evil grin and says.  "Like, say, Sam and Toby."

Ainsley's mouth drops open, and her startled gaze flies to Sam.

"CJ," Sam sputters.  "Toby is my boss."  I swear he is blushing.

I swallow a snicker.

"Right," CJ nods.  "My mistake.  What about you and Josh?"

"CJ!"

"Actually," Ainsley says, somewhat recovered from her shock.  "Mr. Lyman is the Deputy Chief of Staff."

CJ gives her a look.  "So?"

"So his position makes him your superior.  Indirectly, at least."

CJ and Sam stare at her, then slowly turn their attention to me.

"She's got a point," Sam says.  "I guess you can't date anyone in the West Wing."

CJ looks like she's going to throw up.  I'm sure I'm somewhat pale myself.

"This is all academic," I protest weakly.

"Irving," Sam nods.  "Right."

Ainsley's brow furrows.  "Who or what is Irving?"

"Donna's boyfriend," I answer without thinking.

CJ glares at me.  Were we on a submarine in a war movie, the red lights would be flashing and the sirens blaring an urgent warning.

"What does Donna's boyfriend--?"  Ainsley stops and gives me a speculative look.  "Oh."

Oh, shit.

"No," CJ says.  "What Sam was referring to is the fact that Donna is a stellar example of someone on staff dating an outsider."

Sam seems to grasp the problem finally.  He stands up and circles the desk.  "Were you two stopping by for a reason?"

"Lunch," I say.

"Yes," CJ nods.  "You up for Italian?"

Sam gives a pointed look at the door.  "I think we'll order in."

"Okay," CJ says.  "We'll be going now."

"Right."  I am on her heels as we make a strategic retreat.

Donna is going to kill us.

***

I shouldn't be surprised to see Ainsley Hayes standing by my desk when I get back from delivering some papers to Leo's office.  I mean, I am having that kind of day, aren't I?

Ainsley is pointing and scowling.  Not a becoming look.  Specifically, she is pointing and scowling at the framed bumper sticker sitting in a place of honor on my desk.  I'm guessing she doesn't approve of the sentiment.

"Do you think that is appropriate for an office?" she asks.  "An office in the White House?"

She should look around.  She'd notice that posters and photos and stickers expressing certain liberal Democratic points of view are not unusual here.  Although I will admit that on Josh's side of the building we do tend to be a bit more in-your-face about it.

The offensive sticker (from Ainsley's point of view, that is) reads "Friends don't let friends vote Republican."  I can see why she dislikes it, but ask me if I care.

"Your supervisor has no objection to your displaying this in his place of work?" she asks.

"Technically, this is my workplace.  And, no, Josh doesn't object.  Josh bought this for me, as it happens."

There's a story behind this bumper sticker.  We saw it at the convention the day after we won the nomination.  I found it hysterically funny.  Well, it had been a late night with lots of champagne consumed -- the amount of champagne I consumed was, I now admit, directly proportional to the number of times I saw Josh kiss Mandy Hampton.  So there we are the next morning:  I have just become acquainted with Josh's delicate system, plus I have a raging headache of my own.  Also, I have decided -- and believe me when I tell you that at the time I thought this was an objective opinion -- that Mandy Hampton is entirely wrong for Josh.  And one of the street vendors who seem to come out of the woodwork for events like political conventions has this bumper sticker on display.  Despite my headache and my Mandy-induced funk, I start laughing.  And Josh -- miserably hung-over Josh -- smiles.  He doesn't smirk; he doesn't even grin.  It's a full-out smile.  I swear to you, the sun came out at that very moment.

He buys the bumper sticker, and he oh-so-solemnly presents it to me.  Then, for the very first time in the twisted wonder that is our relationship, Josh does two remarkable things.  First, he hugs me.  It's an extremely tentative, we're-just-friends kind of hug.  Not even Mandy Hampton could have found fault with that hug.  But it feels surprisingly good.  And second -- miraculous, glorious second -- he calls me "Donnatella."  Donnatella is a ridiculous name; I have always hated it.  Yet in that moment, I can only bless my parents for their foresight in bestowing it on me.

And also, in that moment, I come to an important realization:  I know that I would gladly follow this man into the depths of hell.

Which is just as well since, being Josh, he'll probably drive us there yet.

So what I'm saying here is:  I don't care if you are a Republican, don't dis the bumper sticker.

Ainsley, who knows nothing about this, just gives me a disapproving look and changes the subject.  "What I am here to inquire about is something Sam mentioned to me recently."

Sam, please tell me you haven't been babbling about "subtext" and "all the kissing" in front of a Republican.

"Sam has given me to believe that there are certain relationships on this side of the building which, in their intensity, transcend the typical feelings which exist between superior and employee."

You know, if I didn't already understand what she was talking about, I'd have no idea what she just said.  Better play to that.

I do the wide-eyed thing again.  "Well, I don't know how typical you'd consider things on this side of the building," I say, "but the staff's very efficient."

"Oh no," she says, "I wasn't referring to -- I hope you don't think I mean to criticize -- I just was -- I had a sort of -- what you might call--"  She hesitates.

"A wondering?"

"Yes, exactly.  That is the precise word I was looking for.  I have a wondering."

"There's nothing worth wondering about over here, Ms. Hayes." I am dripping proper decorum.

"Oh, you should feel free to call me Ainsley.  Especially since, as Sam has pointed out, you spend so much of your free time with the senior staff."

Gee, thanks again, Sam.

"Do I?" I ask.  "I never noticed.  But then again, what Sam thinks is free time is probably just me working overtime."

"I was given to believe -- and not just from what Sam said -- that you and Mr. Lyman are unusually close."

All right, who else has been talking?  Margaret, I'll kill you.

"Unusually?  No, I wouldn't say unusually."

Especially not when you take into account our marital status.

"I was just--"  Ainsley hesitates again.  "I was -- Could I give you some advice, Donna?"

Oh yeah, 'cause I'm dying to have a conservative Republican lawyer advise me about my relationship with Josh.

"If you feel the need, Ainsley, go ahead."

"It's just that I have seen these sorts of situations in the past.  Office affairs, I mean.  They never turn out well, and it's always the woman who puts herself in a situation that could do serious harm to her reputation."

"Puts herself?" I ask.  Okay, I shout.

"After all," Ainsley says, "a woman can always say no."

CJ, where are you when I need you to hear something outrageous?

"Okay then, Ainsley," I say, "no."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I am not having an affair with Josh Lyman.  No, I have never had an affair with Josh Lyman.  No, I am never going to have an affair with Josh Lyman.  Is that clear enough for you?"

"I'm sorry," Ainsley says.  "I did not mean to, in any way, offend you.  I just -- I'm aware that Sam and CJ are fond of you, as Mr. Lyman clearly is too, and I thought to give you some advice as a friend."

I refrain from pointing out that we're not friends.  Not by a longshot.

"Well, thanks for the advice," I say, "but it's not necessary.  Believe me."

She nods.  "Again, I am sorry if I upset you.  I have to be getting back to Sam now."  She turns to go.

Call me small.  Call me petty.  Whatever.  I'm not letting her get the last word.  I'm a Lyman now, dammit.  It's a family trait.

"Ainsley?" I call.  "You and Sam are co-workers."

She looks at me, clearly puzzled.

"Just a friendly word of advice," I say.

She continues to look puzzled as she walks off.

I do believe the torch of denial has just passed to the next generation.

***

Of my many virtues -- and believe me when I tell you they are plentiful; possibly innumerable -- patience has got to rank at the absolute bottom of the list.  There's even a slim chance that I am actually missing that crucial Patience Gene.

Want me to tackle a hideously boring brief?  No problem.  Need someone to bitchslap some heartless senators?  I'm your man.  Ask me to wait around while someone solves a problem for me and you're suddenly dealing with (as Donna would say) Frustrated Josh.

And Frustrated Josh is an asshole.  Moreso than just, you know, regular Josh.

Anyway, my point is that I cannot abide inaction.  It makes me crazy.  All of which is by way of saying:  I am not handling waiting for the outcome of Ainsley Hayes' aptly-dubbed Death-to-Romance policy well.  There is some pacing involved.  Quite a bit of cursing.  Some hollow threats.  You know, the usual.

Donna finally threatens to, in her words, "tie your ass to that chair with an electrical cord if you don't stop pestering me."

"Fine," I say, and turn away from my office.

"Joshua Lyman, don't you take one more step," Donna orders.

I sigh and pivot to face her.  "What?"

She marches up to me with her skeptical face on.  "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere."

"Joshua."

"To Sam's office--"

"What?" Donna squeals.  "I think you've done quite enough for the day."

"You didn't let me finish," I protest.  "I just want to walk by."

Donna crosses her arms.  I sense that she is displeased -- and she claims that I'm clueless.

"You are not spying on Sam."

"But--"

"No 'buts,' Joshua."  Donna grabs my arm and pulls me back towards my office.  "You are going to sit in here and work on the Brayton Bill."

"The thing about pills?" I say in a wheedling tone.  I do not whine, no matter what my wife says.

"Prescription medication for seniors," Donna corrects.

"But Sam and -- and Ainsley Hayes are in there--"

"I'm painfully aware of that fact, Josh, but there's nothing we can do right now."

I hate it when she's right.  That's almost as annoying as waiting around.

"Hey," I say as she heads for the door.  "What if we challenge the policy?"

Donna turns back and leans against the doorframe.  "Challenge which policy?"

"This policy, Donna.  The one in which Ainsley Hayes ruthlessly thrusts social policy back into the '50s."

Donna grins at me.  "You're suggesting that we go to Leo right now -- after your disastrous senior staff meeting -- and challenge an inter-office dating policy that is not yet written?"

Okay, that sounded a lot better before I said it.  "Well, when you put it like that..."

"The Brayton Bill," Donna says with a pointed look at my desk.

I let her get about two feet away from my door before I call out, "Hey, Donna."

Donna sighs and swivels to face me.  "Yes, Josh?"

I have to lean at a ridiculous angle to see her through the doorway, but she doesn't appear inclined to move back into the office.  "I have another idea."

"Is this one in the same neighborhood of stupidity as your first idea?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"Why don't you go by Sam's office and see if they're still in there."

"Josh," Donna says sweetly, "have you heard from Sam yet?"

"No."

"Then wouldn't you say it's safe to assume he's still in the meeting?"

I stare at her a moment, then give a grudging nod.  "Maybe."

"I have, you know, actual work to do now, so if there's nothing else?"

Not when she's giving me that face.

And so I go back to inaction, with the required pacing and cursing.

I hate waiting.

***

Five minutes pass before Josh decides to bother me again.

"Donnatella Moss!" he shouts.

"No, Josh!" I yell back.

"Donnatella!"

"Some of us have work to do, Josh!"

It's quiet.

Too quiet.

He's coming up with some half-baked scheme; I just know it.

Thirty seconds later, he walks by my desk.  In passing, in this oh-so-casual tone of voice, he says, "I'll be in Leo's office."

I jump up and rush after him.

"Josh!"

He keeps walking, which of course means that he knows what I'm going to say and he intends to ignore my cogent arguments.

I catch up to him -- thank God I wore sensible shoes today -- and grab his arm.  "Joshua Lyman, don't you dare!"

"It's a bad policy, Donna.  Someone should challenge it.  On general principle."

"You don't know it's a bad policy.  It's not even written yet."

He gives me his sarcastic face.  (Which is pretty much his regular face.)  "Right.  'Cause I'm sure Ainsley Hayes will write a progressive social policy.  Seeing as how she's a conservative Republican and all."

"Sam's working on it too," I point out.

"Sam Seaborn.  Ainsley Hayes.  Just which of these two would you describe as a stronger personality?"

"See, I don't think it's so much a question of who's the stronger personality.  I think it's more that Sam has these outmoded ideas that keep him from fighting dirty with women.  He thinks we're all damsels in distress and he has to rescue us."

"Well, that's stupid."

Okay, I'm beaming again.  I can't help it.  I have a husband who doesn't think twice about the gender of the person he's fighting with; he just wants to win.  It's an endearing quality in its own convoluted way.

"Yes, Josh, it's stupid.  But the point is that today I'm the damsel in distress."

My husband, who knows me far too well, snickers.  "That'll be the day."

"Nevertheless, Sam thinks I'm in need of rescuing.  He thinks I'm all broken-hearted over you, and he's in there fighting for True Love.  It's his noble cause of the day.  Don't blow everything now by marching into Leo's office."

Josh runs a hand through his hair, which is always a pretty good sign of his frustration level.  Judging by how mussed up it is already, he's extremely frustrated right now.

I fight the urge to drag him home where I could successfully rid him of any sort of frustration.

"Half an hour," he finally agrees.  "I'll wait another half an hour."

We turn around and head back toward Josh's office.

The sight that greets us there is not promising:  Sam is standing by Josh's door.  Everything about him indicates defeat -- his slouched shoulders, his frown, the way he refuses to look us in the eye.  Sir Galahad has, apparently, not slain the dragon and rescued the fair maiden.

This fair maiden, I have to tell you, is pretty damn pissed.

"That," Josh notes in disgust, "is what happens when you refuse to admit that women can fight just as dirty as men."

And he walks off toward Sam to get the bad news.

***

I walk right past Sam and into my office.  Idiot.  I knew I should've stormed Leo's office.

"Josh," Sam says, following me inside and closing the door behind him.  "I--"

"Talk to me, Sam," I interrupt.  "Tell me good things.  Tell me you convinced Ainsley Hayes that interoffice dating policies are an infringement of our vaunted individual rights and that helping to write an interoffice dating policy is tantamount to arguing a liberal, Democratic, special-rights-for-a-few, big-government-involved-in-every-aspect-of-our-lives point of view."  I pause for breath.

"Josh--"

"Better yet, tell me you convinced Ainsley Hayes to pack up her Republican bags and go work somewhere else."

"Josh!" Sam nearly shouts.

"What?"

"I'm trying to tell you--"

There's an ill-timed knock at the side door, and CJ sticks her head in.  I swear, the woman is psychic.

"Sam," she says, moving into my office.  "What happened?"

Sam gives us both an irritated look.  "I was trying to tell Josh that things didn't go exactly as planned."

Shit.  "Sam!"

"I tried, Josh," he protests.  "And there are several loopholes in the policy."

CJ crosses her arms.  "But?"

Sam gives me an apprehensive look.  "But the loopholes aren't really applicable to you."

"To me?" I ask.  "What, it says 'Any employee may socially see any other employee -- except for Josh Lyman'?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sam answers.  "It's just..."

"It's just what, Sam?" CJ demands impatiently.

"Look, you're fine, CJ," Sam answers, his tone defensive.  "You and Danny are free to do whatever--"

"This is not about Danny Concannon!"  CJ flushes.  "How many times--?"

"Can we get back to me?" I interrupt loudly.  "How am I prohibited from -- from dating anyone in the office?"

"To be fair, it's not just you," Sam says.  "Leo's pretty much screwed, too."

"Sam," I warn.

"There's a prohibition against superiors dating their subordinates," Sam explains.  "And since you're the deputy chief of staff..."

CJ and I exchange a look.

"You're saying I can't date anyone in the White House?"

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Sam admits.  "At least, you can't date anyone on the President's payroll.  The First Lady's staff--"

"No," I answer sharply.  I am not losing Donnatella.

CJ jumps in before Sam can question my response.  "What are the specifics?"

"I got Ainsley to admit that there's no reliable precedent to outlaw intradepartmental dating," Sam says happily.

CJ nods.  "You mean someone in Communications could date someone in, say, Operations?"

"Or Legal," I comment snidely.

CJ gives me a sharp look.

"Yes," Sam nods. "Exactly.  Another loophole."

A loophole of absolutely no use to me, given that Donna is both my subordinate and an employee in my department.  We are, in effect, doubly screwed.

"Anything else?" I ask, desperate.

Sam thinks for a minute, then shakes his head.

CJ gives me a nearly imperceptible shrug.  We're so screwed.

"Oh, there is another loophole," Sam says, "but unless you're planning to marry Donna, it won't do you much good."

I will not look at CJ.  I will not look at CJ.

"What?" CJ asks, her voice unusually high and strangled.

Before Sam can answer, there's a knock on my door.

Sam gestures at the door.  "Should I get that?"

***

The more I stand out here, the more pissed I get.  I mean, first of all, the damn door is so solid that you can't hear anything no matter how hard you're listening.  And, second, my fate is being decided in there.  Why am I standing out here like a, well, to quote Ainsley Hayes, like a secretary?

So I knock.  If Josh doesn't specifically tell me to go away, I'm marching in.

I'm just about to reach for the door when Sam opens it.

I take quick stock of the faces around me.  Sam is still dejected, CJ is looking stunned and Josh is actually covering his mouth with his hand.  This means he is trying not to smile.

He's trying not to smile?

"What's going on?" I ask.

Josh is trying to hide his amusement.  "Sam's explaining our new Republican inter-office dating policy."

I wince.  Am I misreading Josh's body language?  'Cause I don't usually do that, but he said "Republican."  That can't be a good sign.

"As I was telling Josh and CJ," Sam begins, "see, the thing which you must venture to remember is--"

God help us, he's starting to sound like Ainsley Hayes!

"Sam?" CJ looks at her watch.  "Spit it out.  I've got a briefing in two hours."

"Ainsley made the point -- and I'm not sure she's wrong here -- but she said that individuals in public service should be willing to make certain personal sacrifices."

It's a very good thing Ainsley Hayes isn't in the room right now because I would have to throttle her.  Near-fatal gunshot wound, fourteen hours of surgery -- let's not even discuss the trial and its aftermath.  You want to talk about sacrifice, lady?  My husband is the poster boy for sacrifice this year.

CJ shoots Sam a look.  "And you agreed with that dimwitted notion?"

"Well," Sam starts.

"It's politics, Sam, not the priesthood!" CJ shouts.

"Fair point," Sam concedes.  Which I'm thinking is smart of him.

"Give me the soundbite, Sam," CJ says.

"Well, you know, the basics I already mentioned: no supervisors dating people who work directly for them," Sam says, giving me this contrite look.

Well, I expected it.  Still, it's disappointing.

"I did get Ainsley to concede on the married couple thing, not that that helps--"  He stops, suddenly realizing that in his version of reality Josh doesn't know I'm ready to dump poor Irving.  "Not that that helps anyone in particular," he finishes.

"Married couples?" I barely manage to get the words out.

Josh is trying not to smile.  He's playing the role of dejected-guy Josh to the hilt.

"Yeah," Sam says.  "Ainsley and I reached a compromise on that.  Suppose there's a case of a married couple.  If the couple wants to work in the same department, it's up to the discretion of their supervisor."

The dejected-guy Josh mask is definitely slipping.

Sam goes on.  "You know, if they can convince their supervisor that they can work together professionally and all."

Oh my God.

I want everyone out of the room now.  Must.  Kiss.  Husband.

"It was the only thing I could get her to budge on," Sam continues.

"So," CJ says, "if you had the case of a supervisor who married someone who worked for her--"

"Is Danny applying for the deputy press secretary position?" Josh asks.  It's as good a time as any for me to punch him in the arm.

"Then it would be okay as long as her supervisor approved?  And this is not about Danny!"

"Right," Sam says.  "But it's a pretty useless provision.  I mean, they can't date first.  What kind of knuckleheads get married without dating?"

"Excellent question," CJ says with a pointed look at Josh and me, aka Mr. and Mrs. Knucklehead.

You can imagine what this moment is like for Josh.  He's just won a major victory; the Moss-Lyman Defense is now official White House policy.  And he can't tell anyone.  He can't strut; he can't swagger; he can't even smile.  Poor boy.  It's killing him.

CJ, sensing that Josh is reaching critical mass, steers Sam out of the office with much commiserating and mumbled phrases along the lines of "You did your best; she just outwitted you again."

The minute the door is closed behind them, I quite literally jump into Josh's arms.  There is much kissing.  Also much self-congratulations on Josh's part.

"Didn't I tell you we had nothing to worry about?" he asks in between kisses.

"No, quite the opposite actually."

"You must not have been listening then, because I'm sure I said--"

And once again, the door opens.

"Guys?" CJ says.  "Not to interrupt, but I just wanted to remind you that you're not out of the woods yet.  There's no guarantee Leo will approve.  In fact, given his latest pronouncements--"

"Which were all your fault," Josh reminds her.

"I'd say he's inclined to disapprove.  And as press secretary, I have to remind you that it's still going to look like a highly suspicious relationship to the media.  We're really going to have to work on a strategy about how to release this news to the press."

"You're not putting this out with the trash, CJ," Josh says.

"We'll discuss our options later," she says.  "Then there's the Ainsley situation."

"I thought this was the Ainsley situation?" I say.

"I'm just saying," CJ explains, "that she may be a Republican, but she's not completely stupid.  She's heard enough to know that there's something going on here.  And we don't know who she talks to.  We have to be careful there."

"Oh, so now it's 'we,' is it?" Josh asks.

"Damn straight it is," CJ answers.  "If I leave you in charge of things, you'll get yourselves fired yet.  And I'd miss Donna."

"Thank you, CJ," I say.

"I think she just insulted me," Josh mutters.

"I know," I tell him.  "That's why I'm thanking her."

"Yeah, well, guys, I'm just saying -- don't screw this up."  With that, CJ closes the door behind her; and Josh and I go back to what poor, deluded Sam would call "all the kissing."

THE END

11.29.00