Will's predominant emotion as he looked around the extravagantly bedecked ballroom was relief.  Considering the fact that his three-week contract expired at midnight, he thought he should feel depressed.  Or sad.  Or at least melancholy.  After all, his time at the White House was up.  He would no longer be writing with the terrifyingly inspirational Toby Ziegler, no longer be in a position to influence national policy, no longer be woken in the middle of the night by more noise than he'd heard since the last Bastille Day he spent in France.

Maybe that last one was a positive change, but his premise still stood -- he should feel despondent, dammit.

But the best he could manage -- besides the urge to imbibe now that the nausea had subsided -- was relief.  It was one thing, after all, to rail against a policy that allowed Americans to sit idly by while people all over the world were being slaughtered or starved or enslaved.  It was quite another, Will had learned rather quickly, to be the person at whose feet blame could be laid when the President committed to the largest foreign policy shift since the Marshall Plan.

It was rather intimidating to have the entire Department of State on your enemies list.

And so Will was, as he had been all day, vacillating between pure glee that the United States was finally going to put its money where its arrogant mouth was, and blind terror that an American solder would die in Kundu and Will would go to his grave feeling responsible.  Given the choice, Will preferred the former feeling, and was heading to the bar to speed along the next bout of lightheaded happiness when Charlie tapped him on the shoulder in greeting.

"See, what I don't understand is what she sees in him," Charlie declared without preamble, frowning in the direction of the President's table.  Will tried to follow his gaze, but between the champagne, the light flashing off the disco ball, and the madding crowd, he couldn't see who'd captured Charlie's attention.

With an unconcerned shrug, Will scanned the throng, absently observing the masses in their finery.  The women were very glittery.  "What I don't understand," Will countered, squinting a little as the sequins on a nearby dress caught the light, "is who thought a disco ball was a good idea."

"He's pompous," Charlie continued.  "And French.  Which might actually be the same thing."

Will stepped hastily aside to avoid a couple heading unsteadily to the bar, holding his own glass to his chest to avoid a spill.  "That woman's jewels probably cost more than my cousin's chalet in Switzerland."

Charlie blinked.  "You have a cousin who owns a chalet in Switzerland?"

Surprised that Charlie had actually responded to something he'd said, Will nodded.  "Yes."

"People really own Swiss chalets?"

"Yes."

Charlie tilted his head to the side.  "I always thought that was just something people said. Like 'the French are incredibly pompous.'"

Amused, Will asked, "People say the French are incredibly pompous?"

"I'm really not sure," Charlie admitted, his gaze seeming to home in on the object of his obsession once again.  Hard as Will tried, he couldn't discern which well-dressed young lady had captured Charlie's attention, though Will figured the sudden attack of jealousy had more than a little to do with the four glasses of champagne Charlie had already emptied.

Amazingly, Charlie's voice betrayed not even the slightest trace of slurred sibilants.  "But if they don't say that already, they should really start."

Will sipped the last of his drink, watching an exuberant couple execute complicated dance moves atop the Inaugural seal on the floor.  "My point," he continued after a while, "is that, considering the attendees to this Ball include the President, the First Lady, more than half of the top Administration officials, and a sizeable helping of literati, perhaps the disco ball was a blown call."

"I think he's kind of effeminate," Charlie decided.  He widened his stance a little, placing his hands on his hips.

Will gave up on getting Charlie past his fixation.  "I'm going to get another drink.  Do you need anything?"

"Not unless you can hook me up with a member of some royal family who'll agree to make me a Duke."

"You know, I probably could rustle you up a royal," Will answered.  "But I doubt they'd get here in time."

"Yeah," Charlie sighed.

Will chose the closest bar, waiting patiently while a blonde in all black and a copper-clad redhead swore to the bartenders that, yes, they really did need another round and, no, AA wasn't in their future.  When they stepped aside, Will nodded to the bartenders.  "Just some champagne, please."

He figured he damn well deserved a few more glasses of champagne.  According to Toby, anyway, the foreign policy shift was entirely Will's fault.  As much as Will would have liked to take credit for the change, it had been the President's old El Salvador speech that got the ball rolling, and ultimately it had been the President's decision.  Still, during his more optimistic moments, Will liked to think the new foreign policy doctrine wouldn't have happened without his influence.  He was the catalyst.  He was almost a midwife of sorts for the new foreign policy doctrine.

And he had clearly had too much champagne.  If Toby had heard that metaphor, he'd have locked Will in a room with a copy of Strunk & White.  Odd how quickly Will had gotten past his distrust and, yes, fear of Toby.  Of all of them, really.  Although Will sometimes found Toby and the others difficult to understand, he really would miss the exhilaration of working with such talented and unrepentant policy wonks.

Fortuitously, Josh materialized at Will's elbow, bouncing a little and looking much less angry than he had earlier.  "Hey," Josh greeted cheerfully.

Will, who had heard a story about Josh, a bachelor party, and a pair of bright yellow waders, instinctively checked to see if Josh was holding a drink.  "Hey, Josh.  Great party."

"Wait 'til you see those Rust-Belters."

"Huh?"

"The Rust Belt Ball."  Josh took another sip of what Will figured was either brandy or iced tea sans ice.  Considering Josh's peppy mood, Will was going to guess brandy.

Will raised his eyebrows.  "So the Rust-Belters are real party animals?"

"No."

"Okay."

"So," Josh said, fixing Will with an intent look.  "How's your level of frustration now?"

Perturbed, Will asked, "What?"

"Your level of frustration.  You were, you know..."  Josh frowned, looking up at the ceiling as if it contained a thesaurus.

"Pissed off?" Will suggested sardonically, deftly placing his empty flute on the tray of a passing waiter.

Josh grinned, and Will decided he was definitely much more cheerful than he'd been an hour ago.  Perhaps Josh had taken the same route as Charlie and loaded up on the alcohol.  "Well, I was going to go with irritated, but you did shatter a window."

Will held up his hands defensively.  "Hey, I was assured that window was shatterproof.  Perhaps I just have a better arm than Toby."

"Believe me," said a new, unfamiliar voice.  "You do not want to let Toby hear you say that."

Will turned a quizzical look the newcomer's way.  The redheaded man offered his hand and a vaguely leonine grin.  "Danny Concannon."

"Ah."

Danny's grin widened.  "So you read the piece," he surmised, cutting his eyes towards Josh with a self-satisfied expression.

Josh merely rolled his eyes and took another sip.  Will generally kept members of the press at arm's length, but there was a comfortable rapport between Josh and Danny that put him at ease.  Relatively.

Will nodded.  "CJ had a copy, yes."

"That she highlighted and posted somewhere with a threatening note about giving damaging quotes to any member of the press?" Danny guessed, laughter in his tone.

"Well," Will said.  "Yes, actually."  CJ, it seemed, liked her highlighters.  Will would kind of miss receiving copies of Wall Street Journal articles with angry lines from colored pens and the occasional highlighted passage of Republican drivel, next to which would be scrawled "Response?"

"Nice speech, by the way," Danny remarked as he snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.  He kept one for himself and handed the other to Will, who nodded his thanks.

"You couldn't grab me a glass?" Josh protested, gesturing with the half-finished drink in his hand.

Danny swallowed quickly.  "No."

"Why not?"

"You've had two already," Danny explained.  "And Donna made me promise."

Will frowned, puzzled.  As much as the White House staffers' inability to remember his name bothered him, he had trouble attaching names to faces he'd seen only a couple of times.  And considering the sheer number of White House staffers and their marked dislike for him, he usually stayed in his temporary office and avoided most everyone but Toby.  The name Donna sounded familiar, though he couldn't quite picture who she was.  "Donna who?"

"Donnatella," Josh answered promptly.  He swirled the last little bit of liquid around in his glass, then knocked it back.

"Donna Tella?" Will repeated.

Laughing, Danny corrected him.  "No.  Donna Moss.  Her full name is Donnatella."

"And she's...?" Will asked.

"My assistant," Josh answered.

"Oh."  Will brightened.  "The tall, leggy blonde?"

Will could've sworn that Danny snickered as he half-turned away and stared intently up at the brass section on the dais.

"The tall, leggy blonde?" Josh repeated, his voice rising in volume and pitch.

Leaning back slightly, Will nodded.  "Come to think of it, where is she?"

Josh's expression darkened.  "Not here."

Ah, Will thought.  The source of Josh's earlier displeasure was his absent assistant and, presumably, her role in the PR flap.  The details of the incident remained fuzzy, since Will had spent the better part of the past 48 hours crafting language that conveyed every nuance of the new foreign policy doctrine.  He'd caught comments from the punditocracy on trips through the bullpen, and he'd read half of an op-ed piece while downing a ham and cheese sandwich in the middle of the night.  But besides that, all Will knew was that Donna's damaging quote had caused CJ quite a headache in the pressroom.  She and Toby had engaged in a spirited conversation about it in Toby's office, and those walls weren't really as thick as one might think.

Danny nodded solemnly.  "Donna's at her apartment in a gown waiting for, you know, a ball to show up."

Will slowly shook his head.  "Are you aware that the whole lot of you talk very strangely?"

"Yes," Danny answered cheerily.  "But you'll catch on.  Just try using seven words when two would suffice."

Will wondered if the way Josh's hand waved in the air at about shoulder-level was due to Josh's alcohol intake or his indignation.  "Donna's really not that tall," Josh insisted.

"Josh." Danny shot his friend an exasperated look.

"She's not," Josh insisted stubbornly.  "She's shorter than I am."

"She's really not coming?"

Toby's voice came from directly behind Will, who startled, then turned to look at his temporary boss.  Former boss.  "Hi," he said, rather too loudly.

Toby gave Will a very strange look.  "Hello."

"I can't convince her," Josh lamented.

Will leaned closer to Danny.  "Why does Josh care if his assistant comes to this thing?"

Danny stared at him with a distinctly pitying expression.  "You've got some catching up to do."

"Not really," Will answered with a shrug, trying not to let any trace of his melancholy shadow his words.  "I won't be around much longer."

Toby cleared his throat and looked vaguely uncomfortable.  It was disconcerting, Will thought.  He'd seen Toby discouraged, infuriated, and almost everywhere in between, but uncomfortable?  This was new.  Will tried to catch Toby's eye, but the older man seemed to be avoiding his gaze.

"Well, okay, this is the perfect sendoff," Josh decided.  "Toby, where's Charlie?"  Josh glanced around, but was apparently distracted from his search for Charlie by one of the ever-present waiters.  With a jaunty shrug, Josh took a glass of champagne and turned back to the others.

"Why?" Toby asked.

Josh blinked.  "Why what?"

"Charlie," Will explained to Josh, "is mooning over some woman."

"Still?" Danny asked.

Toby blew a stream of cigar smoke into the air.  "Yes, and he can't seem to moon in silence like a real man."

Will felt as if he were watching a good game of badminton, his attention moving back and forth between Toby and Danny.  Though in all fairness, trying to keep up with the rapid-fire shorthand between just the two of them was exponentially easier than some of the West Wing meetings he'd attended.  Danny glanced over and took pity on him.  "Charlie used to date Zoey."

"Whose assistant is she?" Will asked, squinting, trying to bring a face into mental focus.

Josh barked out a laugh.  "She's not an assistant, she's a daughter.  Specifically, the President's youngest daughter."

"Ah," Will said, looking over towards the Bartlet table.  "Which one's Zoey?"

"The one with the incredibly handsome French boyfriend," Toby answered.

"I bet his pants don't have thirteen buttons," groused Josh.

Will frowned.  "And why are we--"

"Don't go there," Toby sighed.

Danny nodded in agreement.  "There are some things -- you just don't want to get a piece of."

"Yes," Will decided.  "Good point. I probably don't want to know whose pants have thirteen buttons."

Josh muttered.  "I'm gonna go get her."

Toby turned a concerned look Josh's way.  "How many of those, exactly, have you had?"

"Not nearly enough."

"So," Danny summarized with a knowing smile, "too many."

"That's not fair."

"He's a lightweight.  Put him in a cab."  Toby punctuated his words with a healthy swig of his own drink.

"Toby!" Josh protested.  "I am not a lightweight."

"You once taped a letter to your forehead," Danny pointed out.

"I won a Fulbright Scholarship!"

Will discovered that shaking his head this much made him feel as if something were going to come loose.  "You taped an acceptance letter--"

"Please, Will, don't get Josh started on his academic record." Toby gestured with his cigar.

"Seven-sixty verbal, baby," Josh crowed.  "You know -- Wait," Josh stopped, a pensive look on his face.  "A cab.  Good idea, Toby.  Let's go."

Toby, blinking.  "What do you mean by let's?  You can't possibly think--"

"Seriously, 760 verbal," Josh interrupted excitedly, looking for somewhere to stash his empty champagne glass.  "I can get her to come out and go to the ball."

"Uh-oh," Danny muttered, eyes wide.

"No kidding," Toby answered.  "This can't end well."

"No, no," Danny insisted, lowering his voice.  Will followed his gaze and clamped his mouth shut.  CJ Cregg, dressed in scarlet and heading their way.  "Incoming."

Puzzled, Josh said, "Incoming?  Danny, what are you -- CJ!  Hi!  I've been looking for you!"

CJ stopped next to Josh and leveled a disbelieving stare.  "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Josh answered too quickly.

"Josh," CJ said, putting quite a bit of menace into the one syllable as she leaned closer to her colleague and narrowed her eyes.  Will took an unconscious step back, remembering the way she'd nearly mowed him down in the West Wing hallways just before Christmas.  "You've had too much to drink and now you've come up with some idiotic idea that will land you on the front page of the Washington Post, haven't you?"

"Donna didn't give Danny's researcher that quote," Josh blurted out.  "It wasn't Donna."

CJ glanced over at Toby, who looked about as surprised as she did.  "Excuse me?"

"Donna didn't--"

"Donna called me," CJ interrupted, crossing her arms.  "Donna called me and said she'd talked to--"  CJ stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing.  "Damn.  She covered for him?"

"Yes," Josh answered.

"She covered for him?" Toby repeated, nearly shouting as he looked to Danny for confirmation.  A few nearby partygoers glanced over in irritation until they realized who it was doing the yelling.  "What the hell was she--?"

Danny shrugged.  "Look, I don't know who the source was--"

"Show them the article," Josh insisted, poking Danny's arm.

"I've seen it," CJ snapped.  "I practically have it memorized after that round robin in the pressroom.  The budget cut thing, right?"  Josh nodded and CJ glanced around as if expecting Donna to appear.  "Damn, I should've caught that.  I'm gonna kill her."

"Oh, I've got that covered," Josh answered.

Damn the crowd anyway, Will thought as a gaggle of bejeweled women prevented him from edging further away from CJ's annoyed gaze.  Even directed at others, the sheer force of her irritation was intimidating.

"Excuse me?" CJ demanded.

"Hey, CJ," Danny said, stepping closer and drawing the press secretary's attention.  "Is the First Lady's latest candidate wearing a kilt by any chance?"

CJ's eyes grew very, very wide.  "What?"

"I saw the First Lady earlier," Danny explained with a very large, very satisfied grin, "ushering a kilted man your way, and I figured--"

"He's a urologist of Scottish descent, if you can believe it," CJ confessed with a sigh.  It was almost comical the way CJ bent her stately frame to try to hide her scarlet-clad body behind the others.  She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial undertone.  "Is he around here?"

Toby rolled his eyes and gestured with his cigar.  "CJ, just tell the man you're not interested."

"It's the kilt, isn't it?" Danny asked smugly.

"I wouldn't get all high and mighty, there, considering you paraded around the White House in, what, a pair of red pajamas?" CJ retorted.

Wondering why Danny had been wearing pajamas in the White House and how he'd missed it, Will glanced at the others for explanation, but Toby was hiding a chuckle behind his drink, and Josh was obsessively checking his cellphone.  Charlie wandered back over, but his attention was split between the Bartlet table and the half-empty glass of champagne clutched in his hand.

"Hey, I'm of Scottish descent, too," Danny replied, "but you don't see me baring my shapely calves around--"

"Shapely calves?" CJ snorted.

"Oh, that guy."  Josh lifted his chin in the direction of the approaching wannabe Highlander.  "Did you ask him if he was wearing anything under the kilt?"

"Commando, baby, the only way to go," Charlie opined.

The others stared at Charlie in wordless fascination.

Shaking off Charlie's odd outburst, CJ surreptitiously glanced around.  "He's headed for me?" she asked in dismay, gliding forward to wedge herself between Josh and Danny.  "Where?"

"CJ, you really think you can hide?" Toby demanded in an exasperated tone.  "You're twenty-seven feet tall and you're wearing a dress so eye-catching it rivals the disco ball."

Josh glanced around, craning his neck to look up.  "There's a disco ball at this -- Hey, there's a disco ball!"

"Thank you, Josh," Toby muttered, groaning as Josh momentarily lost his balance, flailing his arms in the air until CJ yanked him back upright with one hand.

Danny placed his free hand on CJ's back.  "I'd be happy to volunteer my services, CJ.  You know, talk to him, Scotsman to Scotsman--"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Danny," CJ interrupted, rolling her eyes.  "Josh, I know you're planning something incredibly stupid--"

"I am not!" Josh yelped.

"--but keep in mind that I'll kill you if you do it.  This is a PR problem, and I'll deal with Donna tomorrow.  If I had time, I'd deal with you tonight, but there's a urologist in a skirt headed this way, so I'll see you later."

Will watched in awe as CJ slipped effortlessly through the crowd, shaking hands and trading smiles, but never once stopping until she was out of sight.  "She's really something," he said.

"Yeah," Danny and Toby agreed in unison.  They exchanged an uncomfortable glance that Will couldn't quite fathom, then Toby turned on Josh.  "He gives that quote to a reporter--"

"Researcher," Danny corrected automatically.

"--and she covers for him?"

Will raised his free hand.  "Uh... who's 'he?'"

"Jack Reese," Josh answered, not taking his eyes off of Toby.  "Believe me, I'm having this conversation with her in about fifteen minutes."

"Okay," Will said, more to himself than to the others, who weren't listening to him anyway.  "But I don't know who Jack Reese is."

His curiosity was evidently not a concern to his companions, who skipped directly to another point in the conversation without bothering to provide directions to the unintiated.

"You're going to yell at Donna right now," Toby surmised with a pained sigh.

"I am, indeed.  For I am Josh, Doer of Stuff.  Possessor of 760 Verbal."

"God, Toby, why haven't you stolen this man for your writing staff?" asked Danny.

Toby managed to glare at both Danny and Josh at once, a trick Will suspected he'd mastered during his tenure at the White House.  "You can't really just enjoy the balls and do this later?"

"No, and I need reinforcements," Josh answered.

With a nod, Danny chimed in, "Right.  We're the bad cops."

"We?" Toby demanded, eyebrows raised in eloquent disbelief.

"Yeah," Will repeated.  "We?  I barely know Dana and--"

"Her name's Donna," Josh corrected.

"Okay," Will amended amiably, "I barely know Donna, and I have no idea who Jack Reese is, so really--"

"Donna's boyfriend," Danny supplied.

"Ex-boyfriend," Josh corrected with a venomous look.  "Jack Reese lives in Italy now."

Will rubbed his forehead for a moment, but the dull headache didn't seem to be going anywhere.  "Okay, you realize the story's getting more confusing instead of less, right?"

"I think where I went wrong," Charlie said, adding yet another subject to the already confusing conversation, "is that I let Zoey go to France."

Almost grinning, Toby repeated, "Let Zoey?"

"Yeah," Charlie said.  "There are perfectly good exchange programs in places like Finland."

Toby nodded seriously.  "Where Zoey would've met a Nordic god and brought him home instead."

Charlie glowered at Toby.  "You're really not helping matters."

"I wasn't trying to."

"So I have four bad cops," Josh interjected with an expectant look.  "Let's go."

Will asked the obvious question.  "Where are we going?"

"To talk to Donna," Josh answered, looking at Will as if he couldn't believe anyone could be quite that clueless.

"Right," Will nodded slowly.  "To talk to her about covering for her ex-boyfriend who lives in Italy about a quote given to a researcher that ended up in your story."

Danny patted Will's shoulder.  "Exactly."

"And I fit into this scenario... where?"

"Well, he didn't live in Italy when he gave the researcher the quote," Josh said, ignoring Will's perfectly valid question.

Shaking his head almost involuntarily, Will asked, "Didn't the story run yesterday?"

"Yes," Danny said.

"So the day before yesterday, when the researcher called Donna's Italian ex-boyfriend--"

"He's not Italian, he just lives in Italy," Charlie interjected.  "Italy," he repeated thoughtfully.  "Zoey could've gone to -- No. Then she'd have met some Italian artist."

Toby hid an amused smile behind his glass of bourbon.

"Since when?" Will demanded, frustrated.  "Yesterday?"

Grinning, Josh slapped Will on the back.  "You got it."

A little mournfully, Will said, "I really don't."

"We'll explain on the way," Danny said.

"On the way where?" Charlie asked.

"Oh."  Will brightened at the opportunity to explain to someone else and turned to Charlie.  "We're going to Donna's."

"Okay," Charlie agreed.  Apparently unable to let the Zoey problem out of his teeth, he added, "Rio de Janeiro is a perfectly good destination."

Danny shook his head.  "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie -- Latin lovers."

"Damn."

"Let me get this straight," Will said, attempting to stop Josh's efforts to usher them toward the coat check.  "You want the Communications Director, the President's body man, a reporter for the Washington Post, and a DNC speechwriter to tag along to your assistant's apartment so that we can play bad cop while you simultaneously yell at her for taking the credit for her not-Italian ex-boyfriend's quote and play the good cop?"

Josh blinked.  "Yes.  Exactly.  Except that we're going to yell at her and then bring her back with us so she doesn't miss the balls."  With that, Josh sauntered off in the direction of the coat check, an amused Danny at his heels.  Toby finished off the contents of his glass in one long gulp, then slammed the glass down on a nearby table.

Charlie fixed a sympathetic look on Will.  "You really, really do not want to miss this."

Will shrugged his acquiescence and followed Charlie's lead, letting Toby bring up the rear.  "He's going to take a cab to get his assistant to come to the ball?  This isn't a joke?"

"It is actually kind of funny," Charlie tossed over his shoulder.

"Funny strange, maybe," Will muttered, snagging a champagne flute from a passing waiter and downing the contents.

Toby took the opportunity to slip past Will.  "You really do want to catch up on a few of the more interesting moments around here."

Charlie nodded his agreement.  "It's like my love for Zoey."

"How is it like your love for Zoey, exactly?" Toby asked.  "And how do you propose to win her back from a moneyed, titled French fop?"

"Easy," Charlie answered defiantly.  "I'll win her back with my charm."

Chuckling, Toby handed his ticket to the coat check attendant.  "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.  Members of the French royalty are never charming."

"Also with my rugged good looks," Charlie continued, digging his own ticket out.

"He's French and royal and better looking than the majority of the women I work with," Toby countered.  "His only weakness is gonna be his lack of intestinal fortitude."

Will gave Toby an odd look as he accepted his coat and tipped the attendant.  "Intestinal fortitude?"

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, tapping his ticket against the palm of his hand for a moment.  "The French aren't really known for their courage.  We did have to save their asses back in the forties."

"Wasn't that clever of us, considering that none of us was even alive?" Toby observed drolly, but Charlie was on a roll.

"I'm tougher than Jean Paul any day," Charlie decided, tucking the ticket back in his pocket.

Will and Toby exchanged amused looks as Charlie started towards the door where Josh and Danny were waiting.  "You're going to win her back by turning into a Popsicle?" Will asked.

"I'm tough," Charlie answered, his tone dismissive.  "I can handle a little cold weather."

"It's 10 degrees out," Will told Toby, who nodded with what Will would almost describe as a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, if Toby were the kind of person to have any sort of twinkle in his eyes.

Josh pushed the door open, hunching his shoulders against the cold, and practically tumbled down the stairs to the sidewalk in his haste to flag down a cab.  Toby paused on the top step to tamp out his cigar, while Danny, Charlie, and Will joined Josh at the curb.  Charlie shoved his hands in his pants pockets and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Cold?" Will asked, wishing he'd remembered to bring a hat.

"Nah," Charlie answered.  "I'm fine."

"I'm cold, and I'm wearing a jacket," Will pointed out, but Charlie merely upped the frequency of his weight-shifting and turned his back to the brisk wind.

"Taxi!" Josh yelled, hopping a small snowbank into the street to flag it down.  The cab obligingly pulled to a stop, skidding a little.  Josh yanked open the passenger side door.  "Let's go."

Danny opened the door to the backseat and paused, while Charlie all but dove into the front seat.

Toby shook his head in amusement, while Will just watched in disbelief.  "We're really doing this?"

"Apparently," Toby answered dryly.

Josh raised his voice, "Just get in the damn car, wouldya?"

Toby rolled his eyes and slid into the cab.  Josh started to follow suit, then paused and looked back at Will.  "Are you coming or what?"

With a strange little laugh, Will shrugged and stepped forward.  Danny held the door open wider, forcing Will to sit in the middle.  "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Good," Josh said, and slid in next to Charlie.  "Let's go!"

"This is nice," Charlie slurred as Josh gave the driver Donna's address.  "This is like Cinderella."

"Is this a taxi or a pumpkin?" Danny inquired, reaching over the seat to poke Charlie on his shoulder.

"If one of you mentions a fairy godmother, then as God is my witness--"

"Listen," the cabbie said, "I'm not sure which streets are still blocked off from the parade, so is it okay if I take another way there?"

"Sure," Josh said amiably.  "All roads lead to Donnatella."

"Are we in a Bob Hope movie?" Toby asked, putting a cigar in his mouth and leaving it there, unlit.  "The Road to Donnatella?"

"Which of us is Dorothy Lamour?" Will inquired dryly.

"You're not putting my ass in a sarong," declared Charlie.  "Well, unless Zoey asked me to."

"Is this a theme for the evening?" Josh whined.  "Men in skirts?  'Cause if it is --"

Toby cut Josh off.  "Will, how did you do on the SAT?"

He couldn't quite process the question.  "I'm sorry?"

"The SAT test.  What'd you get?"

Will looked at Toby, whose face was unreadable, then over at Josh, who was half-turned around in his seat with a smirk plastered across his face.  "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I remember.  It was, you know, twenty years ago."

"Not for me," Charlie chimed in.  "I'm a young man in his prime, in the full flower of his manhood."

"Josh, here," Danny said, jerking a thumb in Josh's direction, "is the proud owner of a 760 verbal, as you may have heard."

"That's very good," Will said, hoping against hope that the conversation would end there.

No such luck.  "So.  How'd you do?" Toby asked, which alarmed Will because he suspected that Toby already knew the answer.

"I may have, you know, missed one.  It was a long time ago."

"One?" Josh asked, twisting around to gape at Will.  In doing so, his elbow connected with the back of Charlie's head.  "Sorry, Charlie," he said, then started to chuckle.  "Hey, that was funny.  'Sorry, Charlie.'"

"Yeah, I've never heard that one," Charlie said, turning around to give Josh a slightly glazed dirty look.  "You missed one on the SAT, Will?"

"Well, more like none."

"You aced the SAT?" Josh asked, his voice reedy and plaintive.  "Back in the days when you couldn't use calculators and stuff?"

Will threw his hands up in exasperation.  "Honestly, you guys still remember and talk about things like this?  You're running a country, and you're trading SAT scores?"

"The President made a 1590," Charlie said.  "You kicked Presidential ass, there, my friend."

"I'll be sure to bring it up next time I talk to him," Danny said.  Was he gloating?

"Is this one of those things I should catch up on?"

"Absolutely.  He was first in his class at Notre Dame and I was second in mine, but I scored higher on the SAT, so--"

"God.  I'm sorry.  Stop talking, please."

"Okey-doke."  Danny settled back in the seat, his face turned toward the window.  "Are we there yet?"

"What are you, seven?" Toby grumbled.  "We're nearly there.  And that makes me ask, Josh -- suppose we do get her to come with us?  How will she ride in this already-at-capacity cab?"

"At capacity?" Will repeated sardonically.  Beside him, Danny snorted in amusement.

"Sorry," Danny said, his hands in the air.

"No problem."

Danny smiled at him.  "See?  You're catching on.  Repetition of a key phrase for emphasis."

"You do it, too!" Will exclaimed.

"Well, they're a bad influence on me."

Charlie cut in.  "Are you saying we're repetitious?"

"Repetitious?" chimed Will and Danny together, then, as one, they added, "Yes."  Will was beginning to feel as if he were getting the hang of this.

"I have a plan," was Josh's non-sequitur.

"What?" Will asked.  Charlie, Danny, and Toby seemed to be tensing up, as if they'd had previous, unhappy experiences with Josh's strategies.

"I have a good plan," Josh said, louder.

"Why," Toby asked mildly, "do I doubt that?"

Josh seemed to ignore him.  "See, I'm the good cop--"

"What is your obsession with good cop/bad cop?" Toby inquired.

"It's you.  You're a good bad cop," Josh insisted.

"Josh has a point," Danny put in.

"On his head!" Toby bellowed.

"Anyway, the object of this exercise, good cop/bad cop aside, is to fit another person in this cab?" Will asked.

At that, the driver turned around and fixed them all with a steely glare.

"Hi.  How're you doing?" Will asked with what he hoped was a jaunty wave.  The cab driver shook his head and turned on the radio, flooding the car with country-western music.  Why, Will thought idly, were all country songs about somebody's baby leaving, drunken debauchery, pickup trucks, or, you know, all of the above?

Toby merely raised his voice.  "Seriously, there's no room for a sixth person.  There's no room for a fifth person."

"Actually, there are six people in the cab already," Will pointed out.  Off of Toby's venomous look, he shrugged defensively.  "I'm just saying, you forgot the driver."

The driver eyed Will suspiciously in the rearview mirror.  "Where is it you guys work, again?"

"The Republican National Committee," Toby answered without a moment's hesitation.

Danny turned his face to the window, putting one gloved hand to his mouth to hide his smile.  Will covered with a cough, while in the front seat, Charlie just started to laugh.  Will couldn't see exactly what happened, but Charlie's sudden yelp suggested a sharp rap on the head from Josh.

"Sorry," Charlie mumbled.  "I was thinking of a thing."

"Zoey's lover," Josh suggested, earning himself a glare from Charlie.

The driver nodded his head as if their strange reactions confirmed his suspicions.  "So I picked you up at the Inaugural Ball because...?"

Will ducked his head in anticipation.  Beside him, Toby folded his hands carefully together and answered, "We're at the Opposition Ball."

Leaning closer to Danny, Will whispered, "They have such a thing?"

Laughter threatened to overtake Danny's thin whisper when he answered, "Sure, why not."

"Yeah," the cabbie said with a derisive shake of his head.  "I'll look for that on the news tonight."

Despite the grin he couldn't seem to suppress, Danny managed to sound almost authoritative when he said, "Well, given how damn liberal the media are these days, I doubt the Opposition Ball will get much coverage."

Toby bit down so hard on his unlit cigar that he snapped it in half, at which point Will lost the battle.  He buried his face in his hands and laughed until his sides hurt.

Josh, it seemed, was too focused on directing the cab driver onto Donna's street, which thankfully distracted the cab driver from his demonstrably insane passengers.  Will held his breath for a moment until he'd brought his amusement back under control.

Beside him, Danny smirked and leaned forward to tap Josh's shoulder.  "If you do manage to convince Donna to come back with us, tell her she can sit on my lap."

Josh twisted in the seat, but couldn't turn enough to face Danny, who was directly behind him.  "Not in a million years," he pledged to Will instead.

Will nodded solemnly, then exchanged amused looks with Toby when Josh went back to pointing out Donna's building.

Tilting his head to the side, Charlie offered, "She can sit on my lap, then."

Toby brushed the last of the cigar remnants from his jacket.  "Aren't you saving yourself for Zoey?"

"Yeah, but I'm flexible."

Will snickered at the poisonous glare Josh turned on Charlie.

Danny poked Josh again.  "So, what's she wearing?"

"Shut up, wouldya?" Josh yelled.

"What am I again?" Toby asked.  "The good cop, right?"

"Bad cop!"  Josh leaned across Charlie to point at Donna's brownstone for the cabbie's benefit.  "It's that one right there."

The cab eased to a stop, and Josh seemed torn between one last lecture on who was playing which role and leaping out of the cab.

"Would you go?" Charlie grumbled impatiently.

"'Kay," Josh said, scrabbling for the door handle.  "Let's do this."

"Yeah," Toby muttered.  "This is going to end well."  He paused before getting out of the cab to warn Josh:  "You put your hands on that woman anywhere normally covered by clothing, and so help me God, Josh, I'll remove your lungs with the nearest blunt instrument."

Josh ignored him, preparing to marshal the troops for battle, but Will grinned at Toby.  "Wow."

"What?"

"Your impression of CJ is... quite astonishing."

"Get out now," Toby growled.

As Will slid out of the cab to join the insanity, it occurred to him that he was starting to feel like a part of the group.  He was beginning to understand their complex verbal shorthand and their labyrinthine interpersonal relationships -- just when his time with them was over.

But he'd save the melancholia for tomorrow.  Tonight, he'd just enjoy the ride.

THE END

03.15.03