All characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, Warner Bros., & NBC. Big ups to Robin and Leslie. Standard disclaimers apply. Please send feedback.

---

May Day
Violet


"You're going to ruin your back that way."

C.J. raised her head slowly, struggling to make her eyes focus. "What?"

Leo stood in her doorway. "Sleeping hunched over your desk like that. You're going to pull it out of alignment. And the New York Times is not an adequate pillow."

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and rubbed them gently. When she pulled them away, she frowned at the remnants of makeup smudged across them. "I forgot to take my contacts out," she muttered, blinking rapidly.

"You haven't been evicted, have you?" Leo wondered.

"What? No."

"You have working heat and running water where you live, right?"

"Of course."

"Then you don't have an excuse. Go home."

"No." C.J. sat up straight. "I can take a shower downstairs. Carol can swing by my apartment and get some clothes for me when she comes in."

"Or you could go home."

"I have too much to do," she said adamantly.

Leo shook his head and walked away. C.J. yawned for a long moment and awkwardly got to her feet, massaging her neck with one hand. Wincing at the sunlight, she paced around her office. She trudged out into the hall, and was promptly knocked down by Josh and Donna.

"Sorry!" Donna helped her up. "See, Josh? Further evidence."

"Sorry, C.J." Josh rolled his eyes at Donna. "You're overreacting."

"I'm a freak."

"You're not--"

"A freak, Josh. I am. I should go join the circus."

"Right behind you," C.J. murmured, leaning against the wall.

"You're overreacting," Josh told Donna again.

"When I die, Michael Jackson can buy me at an auction and display me next to the Elephant Man."

"Why do you think you're a freak?" C.J. asked.

"I didn't recognize Tom Unger yesterday afternoon."

Josh scoffed. "He's a freshman Representative from Ohio, Donna, not a movie star."

"I thought he worked at J.C. Penney's!"

C.J. pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. "You thought Congressman Unger worked at J.C. Penney's? Did he have one of those little nametags on?"

"No." She sighed miserably. "I'm a freak."

"You are not a freak." Josh put a hand on her arm and guided her down the hall. "You just made a mistake, that's all. It happens. And for God's sake, you're going to outlive Michael Jackson."

"You think so?"

"I know it." He turned around. "C.J.?"

"What?"

"You have newsprint on your face."

C.J. put a hand to her forehead. "Lovely."

Sam came up behind her. "Definitely."

She jumped. "What are you doing?"

"Agreeing with you," he said. "This is a lovely morning. The sun is shining, flowers are blooming... you look like hell."

"Yeah, that's really lovely."

Sam regarded her suspiciously. "Did you even go home last night?"

"Not as such," she admitted.

"You shouldn't do that. It's not good for you."

C.J. rolled her eyes. "Why is it that when one of you guys sleeps in the office, it's par for the course, but I do it once in a great while and everyone's all a-twitter?"

Sam paused. "Okay, I really don't have an answer for that, so you know what?"

"You're going to change the subject?"

"She knows me so well," he announced to no one in particular. "I need you to talk to Maury Barth today."

"Maury Barth hates me."

"Yes."

"Why do I have to talk to him?"

"He hates me more."

"No, I mean, why does anyone have to talk to him?"

"He wants a private interview with the President," Sam explained. "And he keeps misquoting things I write in his column."

"This is not fair," C.J. told him.

"I know. But you'll do it?"

"Yes."

"You're a pearl," he called, walking away.

"I'm a diamond in the rough," she replied.

"C.J.?"

She turned. "Carol. Thank God."

Her assistant looked her over. "You need a change of clothes?"

"Please. Also, could you pinch me?"

"Pinch you?"

"There's a pretty good chance this is all a crazy dream, right?"

Carol clicked her tongue sympathetically. "I can't help you there."

"It figures." C.J. yawned again. "I'm going to take a shower."


* * *


"Sweeps month," Josh said, walking into Leo's office.

Sam followed him. "Also, April showers bring May flowers."

"Good call."

Leo looked up. "What are you two talking about?"

"The spring," Josh told him. "We're revelling in it."

"I'm thinking of making some New Year's resolutions," Sam added.

Josh glanced at him. "On May first?"

"I have my own fiscal year."

"Good," Leo said. "Now, if you two can refrain from finding a maypole and skipping around it with ribbons, we can get back to the real world. Josh, you're going over the new numbers today."

Josh pulled up a chair. "Haven't we established that I'm not a math guy?"

"I'm not asking you to do calculus, I'm asking you to read down a list."

"I can do that."

"I hope to God you can, because I'd hate to have to fire you."

"I wouldn't," Toby said, striding into the room.

Josh chuckled. "You can't fire me."

"I can fire Sam, and that would make you cry."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Astonishing to me that I just got brought into this conversation."

Toby ignored this and spoke to Leo. "I'm working on India. Second draft."

"How close is it to being finished?"

"Close enough," Toby said vaguely. He looked around. "Where's C.J.?"

"I hope she didn't fall asleep in the shower," Sam said.

Josh's eyes twinkled. "We could go check."

"I know seven ways to kill a man with my bare hands," C.J. informed them ominously as she entered the office.

"Really?"

"Do you want to take that gamble, Josh?"

Leo looked at them. "Yeah, because it's not as if we have actual work to get done today."

"Point taken." Josh stood up. "I have numbers to read. Firing Sam would make me cry?"

"I've moved on," Toby said dismissively.

"I think we all have." Leo pushed his chair back from his desk. "Let's light a fire under this day. C.J.?"

"I have the morning briefing and then Maury Barth."

"Looking good."

"Not really; I hate Maury Barth."

"He meant you," Sam put in.

"Oh." C.J. smiled for the first time that day. "Thank you."


* * *


"Charlie!" The President hailed him as he walked into the Oval Office. "Did you say 'rabbit, rabbit, rabbit' this morning?"

The young man blinked. "No, sir."

Jed shook his head reproachfully. "You should have said 'rabbit, rabbit, rabbit'."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be." Jed circled his desk and sat down.

Charlie stepped towards him. "May I ask why?"

"Ah," Jed said sagely. "I was waiting for that, you know."

"I know, sir."

"It's a tradition -- some would say a superstition -- passed down to me by my grandmother. When you wake up on the first morning of a new month, before you speak any other words aloud, you're supposed to say 'rabbit, rabbit, rabbit'." Jed looked at him expectantly. "You never heard that?"

"No, sir."

"Abbey claims she never heard it either." Jed frowned. "Is it possible my grandmother made it up to see if she could make me look ridiculous?"

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Well, Mr. President, I don't know your grandmother, but..."

"That's what I thought." He put his glasses on. "What do we have going this morning?"

"You have a security briefing in five minutes, followed by greetings to a group from Mothers Against Drunk Driving, and a phone conference with the President of Lebanon. And C.J. needs a minute when you have one."

"Okay. And I'm assuming there's still a health crisis in sub-Saharan Africa, a power crisis in California, disaster conditions in Kansas, recurrent violence in Jerusalem, and the endless arguments about what to do with the tax money of the American people."

Charlie nodded. "Don't forget you have the budget remarks tonight at Crawford High School."

"Of course. It's a light day."

"Yes, sir."

Leo came through the door. "Good morning, Mr. President."

"Good morning, Leo. Did you say 'rabbit, rabbit, rabbit' this morning?"

"No, sir. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm not your crazy grandmother." He tilted his head. "Security briefing's about to start. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." He took his glasses off and stood. "Let's go."


* * *


"Nine o'clock in the morning and we're already screwing the people," Josh announced.

"What now?" Donna asked from her desk.

"NASA." He emerged from his office, gesturing with a file. "I don't know what we're testing the flow-rate of ketchup for, but apparently it's very, very expensive ketchup."

"There are people who test that?"

"Maybe they're checking for differences among the fifty-seven varieties of Heinz."

Donna stood up and walked over to Josh, reading along with him. "Well, can't you just take their ketchup away?"

"Not without Congressional approval."

She looked at him with eyes wide. "Do me a favor?"

"If you're going to ask for a bottle of French's Mustard and a ramp, I can probably get you federal funding."

"I want you to send a note to Tom Unger."

Josh scanned her pleading expression and took a step back. "Not a chance."

"On my behalf, so he doesn't feel insulted that I didn't recognize him."

"You're crazy."

"If it's crazy to think that we should do what we can to avoid alienating members of Congress, then call me crazy like a fox, Josh. Send him a note."

He crossed back into his office. "Why do I have to be involved in this?"

She followed him. "Because I work for you, and if I look bad, you look bad. And I'll feel better if you help me out with this, and if I feel good, you'll feel good."

"You really thought I would buy that?" Josh sat down behind his desk. "Write him a note yourself, if you want."

"But he already thinks I'm a freak."

"You know, I never thought I'd find studying a list of budget figures so attractive." He winked at her and turned a page. "You know, when you print these out, you should include a label that the figures are in hundreds of millions."

"It's not obvious?"

"It's important to note."

"You think somebody's going to think you want to spend three dollars and fifty cents on a fighter jet?"

"Donna."

"I'll reprint it." She gave him another beseeching look. "Please send him a note."

"Go work," he scolded her. She sighed softly and left.


* * *


C.J. walked into the Mural Room with two mugs of coffee. She set them on the table. "Mr. Barth."

The pudgy, gray-haired man picked up a cup. "Miss Cregg, you are living proof of de Beauvoir's dictum that women are not born, they're made."

C.J. sat on the sofa opposite him. "I... really don't know what you mean by that."

"Me neither." Barth sipped his coffee. "You got any hot chocolate around here?"

"I'm afraid not." She crossed her legs. "So, let's talk about this interview. Your columns generally fall somewhere right of Richard Nixon."

"I consider myself a moderate conservative, actually, but I'm not surprised at the stereotype from a liberal administration."

"Why should we grant you an exclusive with the President?"

He leaned toward her, folding his hands. "How can you call yourselves champions of the First Amendment when you systematically deny access to a faction of the press?"

"Why do you expect us to give you ammunition to use against us?"

"Why do you answer every question with a question?" Barth grinned toothily. "Honestly, Miss Cregg. I don't intend to attack the President; I intend to pose some questions on behalf of the millions of citizens who didn't vote for him. Now, don't tell me the President's scared of a couple little old Republicans with typewriters."

"He can give you twenty minutes at six o'clock this evening," C.J. said grudgingly.

"Well, I suppose I'm grateful."

"Provided you stop misquoting his speeches in your columns."

"I have never done so intentionally." Barth assumed an offended tone. "It would go against my journalistic integrity."

"Sam Seaborn doesn't see it that way."

"That's right. We're all out to get you."

Toby opened the door and caught C.J.'s eye. He inclined his head toward the hall. She stood up. "My assistant will show you out, Mr. Barth."

"And I'll see you in a few hours." He shook her hand. "Call me Maury next time."

C.J. withdrew her hand and followed Toby out of the Mural Room. "Dear God, turn me into a bird, so I can fly far, far away from here."

"Barth is that bad?"

"You mean you can't see my skin crawling?"

"I'm really not paying any attention." They rounded a corner. "We have a situation."

C.J. groaned. "Who did what to whom?"

"They've been in the Situation Room for fifteen minutes," Toby informed her.

She stopped in her tracks. "Fifteen minutes? And you just now came and got me?"

Toby shrugged. "I have no more to tell you now than I did fifteen minutes ago."

"It's the principle--" She gave up and started over. "What do you have to tell me now?"

"Nothing."

"Great."

"We're waiting for Leo." He led her into the Roosevelt Room, and they sat down at the table.

"Does anyone in here know what the Appalachian Regional Commission does?" Josh asked as he walked in.

"It develops the Appalachian Region," Larry volunteered.

"Somewhere along the line, someone's going to ask why they need a hundred million dollars for that."

Sam walked up behind Josh and scanned the list over his shoulder. "Somewhere along the line, someone's going to suggest we take a pay cut."

"Yeah, but I can explain to them why I'm broke. I can't explain the other thing."

"So refer them to someone from the Appalachians." Sam took a seat. "Does anyone in here know what's happening?"

"It's not a domestic situation," Josh said. "That's all I've got."

"That clears up a lot," C.J. grumbled. "So some jet pilot stationed in Guam could have lost his keys, or we could have blown up all of India."

"Guam's domestic," Sam said.

"I know. I couldn't think of a good example offhand."

"So there's nothing we can do right now but wait," Ed concluded.

"That's basically it," Josh agreed. "We could start a round-table discussion of modern cinema or a game of finger football."

"Or not," Sam replied.

"Why not?"

"I haven't been to the movies in a year, and Toby always wins at finger football."

"All right, listen up." Leo walked briskly into the room. "Half an hour ago a Chinese military surveillance plane crashed into the Pacific Ocean."

"That's a pretty big target," Josh murmured aside to C.J. "You'd think they'd have seen that one coming."

Leo shot a stern look at Josh. "This is funny to you?"

"Which part of the Pacific?" Josh asked.

"A good bit south of Taiwan. Three U.S. vessels were within signaling range. Rescue efforts started ten minutes ago."

"Wait a second." Toby drummed his fingers on the table. "The plane crashed thirty minutes ago. Why are they just now--"

Leo frowned. "We don't know."

"Do I need to push back the two o'clock briefing?" C.J. asked.

"Maybe by thirty minutes. We'll have more from the Pentagon by then."

"Leo," Sam said, "Is there any chance that Americans were involved--"

"No," Leo said firmly.

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be on very little information." Leo looked around the room. "That's all for now. Go back to work, but be ready for a military briefing."

As everyone began to file out of the room, Josh glanced back at Leo. "I'm sorry for the target crack."

"You should be," Leo said. His mouth crinkled into the slightest hint of a smile. "But it was funny."


* * *


"...The plane was an HD-5 Beagle, carrying a three-man crew, designed for low-intensity electronic missions. Rescue efforts are underway, and the Department of Defense will continue to quietly follow the investigation into the cause of the crash." C.J. selected a reporter to call on. "Peter."

"C.J., can you tell us anything at all about the investigation? Can you at least elaborate on the efforts in progress?"

She leveled a steady look at him. "I choose not to elaborate when the Secretary of Defense has used the word 'quietly'."

"Should've left that one out," Danny said.

C.J. turned toward him. "Danny, do you have a question?"

"Sure. China has been building up missile defenses over the past few years, especially in the area around Taiwan. Is the United States heading down a dangerous road?"

"I don't speculate, Danny. All I can tell you is that the words and actions of the White House are designed to help secure the peace." She scanned her notes. "That's all I have for you right now. Thanks."

Danny followed C.J. out of the Press Room. "How's your day going, Ceej?"

"It's -- Ceej?"

"I was experimenting."

"Don't ever do that again."

"Okay."

She rounded the corner into her office. "Not ever."

He leaned against the doorjamb. "How's your day going, C.J.?"

"Cloudy with a chance of rotten."

"You didn't go home last night," Danny said.

C.J. whirled around and looked at him. "How'd you know that?"

"I've never seen you wear a skirt with those shoes."

"I fell asleep over the HUD memo sometime after four-thirty in the morning." She rubbed her temples gently. "I live an exciting life, Danny. Did you need something?"

"Not really. Except to let you know that the HUD memo is making the rounds already."

She dropped into her chair. "You have the HUD memo?"

"I haven't looked at it personally. Katie has it."

"What, you and Katie are passing notes in class now?"

Danny looked at the floor. "Kind of."

"Kind of?" She looked at him questioningly. "I was joking."

"We have a kind of a thing."

"I was joking." C.J. took a breath. "I don't want to know."

"'Kay."

"You notice my shoes?"

"It's my eye for detail." He swung out of her doorway. "I hope your day gets better."

"And I hope pandas will learn to fly," she said, and began to rummage through her drawers for an aspirin.


* * *


Sam pretended to knock on the air, and walked into Josh's office. "How's the budget looking to you?"

Josh waved a hand in the air. "I'm a little concerned by some of the small-ticket items, like... what was it, Donna?"

"The Railroad Retirement Board," she told him, slipping a file into his bookcase.

"What about it?" Sam asked.

"Well, for one thing, I'm not sure how you retire a railroad," Josh said. "But that's just another hundred million dollar thing."

"And yet, you won't give me a raise," Donna commented.

"Don't worry about the small-ticket stuff," Sam said. "Worry about how you're going to justify the seven hundred billion dollars we're trying to subtract from the Republican tax cut plan."

"I'm not going to justify it. You are. You're Communications."

Sam furrowed his brow. "So what are you doing here?"

"Lending moral support," Josh said innocently.

Sam scoffed. "We're going to have to go down to 850 billion on Education. No way around that."

Donna approached them. "Can I ask a question, Sam?"

"Sure."

"Don't you think that in order to get our budget through, we need all the Congressional support we can possibly get?"

"Of course."

Josh groaned. "Don't encourage her."

Donna let this pass and looked at Sam hopefully. "Don't you think if one of us did something accidentally that soured the White House relationship with a certain Congressman--"

Sam looked at Josh. "What'd you do?"

"I didn't! It was her. She mistook Tom Unger for a coat-check girl or something."

"It was an honest mistake," Donna whimpered. "A stupid mistake. But it was an honest mistake. And I just want you to write me a little note--"

"We haven't had enough trouble turning this place into a festival of apologies?" Josh retorted.

"In all fairness," Sam said, "Tom Unger's only been in the House for about five months. Could you pick him out of a lineup?"

"Sure. Of course." Josh leaned back in his chair. "No."

"Here's what you do." Sam got to his feet. "You write her the note, you send it, you forget about it. Everyone feels better."

"I won't feel better," Josh said. "But I'll do it."

"Thank you!" Donna beamed at Sam. "And thank you."

"You owe me," Josh called after her as she started out.

"In your mind, maybe," she shot back, and left.


* * *


"Yes, sir," Bartlet said into the phone. "And I have the same wishes for your country. Thank you." He put down the receiver and looked at Charlie. "He's one arrogant guy. You wonder how the people of Lebanon feel about that."

"Considering they're in the most war-torn part of the globe, sir?"

"Yeah, they probably don't mind too much."

Charlie stepped back toward the door. "Admiral Fitzwallace is waiting to see you, sir."

"Send him in." Bartlet stood up as Charlie left and Fitzwallace entered. "Admiral."

"Mr. President." He came to stand in front of the desk.

"What have you got for me?"

"From the information we have now, it looks like a case of engine malfunction. The plane was not intentionally downed. We'll know more when we find the in-flight recordings."

"And the crew?"

Fitzwallace bowed his head. "Two of the three bodies have been recovered."

Bartlet nodded slowly. "Do we know why it took so long for the rescue operations to commence?"

"Not as of yet, sir. If the Chinese crew put out a distress signal, the delay is significant."

The President frowned. "Fitz, if I find out that these American soldiers let that plane sit in the water for one second...."

"Sir, if that's the case, they're no longer American soldiers."

Bartlet met his gaze. "You can guarantee me that?"

"I'll see to it myself."

"Thank you, Admiral." He extended a hand.

Fitzwallace shook it. "Thank you, Mr. President. I'll get back to you as soon as we know more."

He turned smartly on his heel and left the room. The President watched him go, shaking his head. He sat back down at his desk and reached for the phone.


* * *


C.J. heaved a sigh as she walked into the lobby of the White House. "Mr. Barth--"

"Maury," he interrupted. "I told you already."

"You're forty-five minutes early."

"I'm not fashionably left-wing and I'm not fashionably late," he said smugly, tapping his foot. "Where would you like me to wait for the President?"

"Actually, I wouldn't."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you watch the news, Mr. Barth?" C.J. inquired.

"I find television news repellently biased."

"That's unfortunate. You might have heard something about a plane crash in the Pacific--"

"Read about it on the Internet," he interrupted. "It's the medium of the future, you know."

"Be that as it may, the President's schedule has changed, and I'm afraid we'll have to cancel you this afternoon."

Barth's eyebrows shot up. "You're backing out?"

"The President is otherwise occupied," C.J. said coolly.

"C.J.--"

"Ms. Cregg."

"Whatever. You can rest assured that I'll be writing about the lack of faith this White House keeps with the representatives of the people."

"Actually, we are the representatives of the people." C.J. ushered him efficiently toward the door. "And I'm sure your readership has already found enough reason to hate us."

"You've given them plenty," he snapped. "And you can tell Seaborn that inaccuracies do sometimes occur."

She stared at him. "Sam Seaborn is a lawyer, Mr. Barth."

He stormed out, scowling at the security guards he passed. C.J. ran a hand through her hair and stood still for a little while. Then she turned and went down the corridor to Toby's office.

He'd lowered the blinds and left the door barely ajar, the way he did sometimes when he was having trouble writing. She watched him from the doorway until she was sure he knew, without looking up, that she was there. She smiled a little. "Toby Zachary Ziegler."

He kept his gaze on the screen of his laptop. "Why are you middle-naming me?"

"Why did you put me off this morning?"

"I didn't--"

"Toby Zachary Ziegler. T.Z.Z." She stepped into the office a little way, shutting the door behind her. "It's like the zap when you tongue-test a battery. Or if you do it backwards, it sounds like ZZ Top. Maybe if you stopped trimming your beard--"

"Are you high?" he wondered, raising his eyes at last.

"Not remotely," she said sadly. "I've just been having one of the worst days of my life. Do we know why that plane crashed yet?"

"Not really."

"I think it crashed just because I didn't have enough problems."

"You have plenty of problems."

"You're telling me." Her voice turned serious. "Why did you put me off this morning?"

"I didn't put you off," Toby said. He pushed his chair back and stood up. "I didn't have any information about what was going on."

"You should have told me right away, and not just because it would've gotten me away from Barth sooner." She drew nearer to his desk and changed the subject. "How's the India thing coming?"

"Almost finished."

"Wasn't it almost finished last night?"

"You want to write it?" He saved the file on his laptop and walked around his desk, standing close to her. "Everybody's having a hard day, C.J. Everybody's got work to do. Any day you work in the White House shouldn't be counted among the worst days of your life. And I didn't put you off this--"

She interrupted him by pressing her mouth to his.

His first instinct was to kiss her back, and he did. His next instincts were to remember that they were in his office, and stop her, but he didn't. He reached out, possibly to take her by the shoulders, but found himself touching her breasts, tugging at the buttons of her blouse. They came apart under his fingers. She tilted her head back, and his mouth traveled along her neck. She held onto his shoulders at first, and then started to pull his shirt out of his trousers. His mouth found hers again, their bodies rising into each other as he stroked her thigh underneath her skirt.

She was loosening the buckle of his belt when she made a tiny sound deep in her throat. Hearing it snapped Toby back, and he knew where they were, and who they were. He lingered for a split second more, and then the hands that had been holding her against him pushed her away.

She looked at him, her eyes bewildered and blurred. He felt a surge of anger, and did not know where to direct it.

"That," he said, catching his breath, "has to never happen. Here. Again. Ever."

C.J. opened her mouth to say something sarcastic, but his eyes caught hers, and she was suddenly flooded with guilt and fear. "I'm sorry," she blurted.

Toby wrenched his gaze away and looked at the floor, the window, anywhere but where she was standing. Words did not come to him.

"You're going to the thing at the high school," C.J. said, trying for a casual tone.

He nodded and managed to speak again. "You should go."

She tried to fix the blouse, realized a button or two had been lost, and settled for smoothing down her skirt. Her skin was burning. She swallowed hard and tried to fight the blushing as she hurried out to the hall.

Toby muttered several curse words under his breath, and straightened out his clothes before going back to his desk.


* * *


"This motorcade thing's non-negotiable, huh?" Jed said as he walked to the car.

"Kind of comes with the territory," Leo said.

"It's necessary. And it's nice not to get stuck in traffic. I don't miss getting cut off, or hitting every single red light in the area."

Leo opened the door of the limo. "So what are you complaining about?"

"I do miss getting cut off and hitting every single red light. I miss driving."

"Yeah," Leo said sympathetically as they got into the car. "You miss cursing at everyone who passed you on the highway?"

"Yeah, but now I can just curse at this guy." Jed gestured to the driver. "How're you doing, Gary?"

"Fine, thank you, sir."

"Your name is Gary, isn't it?" the President continued.

"It's actually Phil, sir."

"Never gonna get that right, am I?"

Toby opened the door and slid into the seat next to Leo. "Evening, Leo. Mr. President."

"Toby!" Jed folded his hands. "How much do you know about the rites of spring?"

"If you're referring to baseball, I know quite a bit."

"I'm referring to the ancient customs of the beginning of May," the President said, in the tone he took when he was about to deliver a lecture.

Toby leaned back against the seat. "Then I'm sure I know considerably less than you, sir."

Jed smiled. "The Celts and early Saxons celebrated Beltane as a major rite of passage. People would go off into the woods to collect greening branches and blossoms, and when they got there, they would enter into sexual liaisons that society didn't normally accept."

Toby looked at Leo. Leo looked at the President. The President looked at Toby.

"The Puritans had it banned by an act of Parliament in 1644," Jed added. "And the custom didn't move with them to America."

"So essentially, your ancestors screwed us all up," Leo said.

"Seems that way, doesn't it?"

Toby glanced out the window. "So we still don't know about the plane?"

"The Pacific's deep," Leo said. "It might take them all night to sort through the debris and find the recorder. May take a couple of days. We'll hear as soon as possible."

Bartlet nodded. "Also, my grandmother's rabbit thing didn't work. You know what that means?"

"Someone's pregnant?" Toby guessed.

Jed scowled at him. "It means I don't get an automatic month of good luck."

"Why should this month be different?" Leo asked. The car pulled away.


* * *


Josh strode into his office, shuffling through messages. He tossed a few into the wastebasket and jotted notes on some others. Suddenly, he stopped short and burst out laughing.

"Donna!" he shouted, between guffaws.

She appeared in his doorway, looking wary. "What's going on?"

He thrust a piece of paper into her hands. "This. From Congressman Unger."

Donna scanned the note, reading sporadic phrases aloud. "'Mr. Lyman, in response to your note of this afternoon, no offense taken... didn't know the young lady worked for you... thought she was...' oh, my God."

Josh grinned. "You got to the good part."

"He thought I was a deranged tourist?"

"Or a stoned college student. You didn't get to 'stoned college student'?"

"Oh, my God." She slumped onto his couch.

"Come on. You have to see the humor."

"I don't think I do."

"Really? Because that note made me feel pretty good, and when I feel good, you feel good, right?"

"Not even a little bit," she said, covering her face with her hands. "Okay, here's what I want you to do."

Josh crossed his arms and sat on the corner of his desk. "I'm not writing another note for you."

"I don't want you to write a note. I want you to crush him."

"You want me to crush Tom Unger?"

Donna nodded emphatically. "Whatever it takes."

"Whatever happened to protecting our relationship with members of Congress?"

"That was before one of them called me a deranged tourist."

"And a stoned college girl," he reminded her, with a chuckle. "Why do you keep skipping that part?"

"This is incredibly humiliating."

"A little bit," Josh said. "Donna, you're a smart person who makes mistakes sometimes. Which means you fit in pretty well around this joint."

"I guess." She stood up, hugging herself. "Thanks for writing the note for me."

"You're welcome."

Donna started to leave. "So you're not going to crush him?"

"Not unless he gets in the way of our education package."

She considered this. "Fair enough."


* * *


"Did you spill something on yourself?"

C.J. looked up. "What?"

"You changed your shirt," Danny said, from the threshold of her door.

"Danny, you're starting to cross that thin line between observant and creepy."

"Sorry." He held up his hands. "This is me backing off."

She reached up to rub her neck. "What do you need?"

"What time's the President coming back?"

"The event's due to end at nine-thirty, which means it'll probably be sometime around ten when he finishes working the crowd. He'll be back by quarter after. And that was all in the four-thirty briefing, so what do you need?"

"I miss our little evening chats. Remember? We used to talk about things, and then you'd give me a piece of hard candy--"

"We never did that."

"We could start. I like hard candy."

"Danny--"

"Actually, I wanted to tell you I won't be in next week. I'll be out of town."

"Special assignment?"

"No assignment at all," he said.

"You're taking a vacation?" C.J. raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "You don't take vacations."

"A little bird told me it was time to start."

"Okay." She rested her chin in her hand. "You and Katie?"

"I don't tan," Danny said cryptically. "I burn."

"Okay."

He took a step backward. "So we'll hear from you about the plane?"

"When I know."

"See you later." Danny strolled away.

"Later," C.J. said absently. She shuffled some papers on her desk. Suddenly, a determined expression crossed her face. She gathered up her reading and took it with her out of the office, closing the door behind her.


* * *


It was much later when Toby returned to his office. He set his briefcase down in the dark. As he headed for his desk, he took off his jacket and dropped it on the couch.

"Mmph," the couch said.

Toby turned on his desk lamp and saw C.J. pull herself into a sitting position. His expression was guarded. "When did my office become the Ritz-Carlton?"

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Sure."

"I wasn't," she insisted, pushing his jacket away. "I was just thinking."

"In here."

"Yes. We have to have this conversation, and since my day is already shot, I figured we should do it tonight."

Toby shuffled his feet. "This is my office."

"I'm profoundly aware of that," C.J. said. "I messed up. And I told you I was sorry."

"Yes."

"We're not supposed to be this way," she said miserably.

"No."

She looked at him. "Could you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Could you do anything but give me another monosyllabic answer?" she pleaded. "I'm not used to being the one with all the words."

Toby sighed quietly. "We've been pitiful lately. This..." His hand made circles in the air. "This is beneath us. There has to be some kind of self-control and sensible behavior."

"We weren't going to sleep together anymore," C.J. said.

"I know."

"We weren't just sleeping together."

"I know." He paced toward her. "There is no switch on this. There is no cure for this. We have to deal with it; we're not supposed to be this way. Denial isn't working. Much as I hate to compromise -- this is in the middle."

"Well." In the lamplight, he could see her wry smile. "I always knew you were an eloquent bastard."

"I am, in fact, both those things." Toby hesitated a little longer, and sat down beside her.

They were quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry," C.J. said.

"Yeah."

"So what now?"

"Damned if I know."

She put her hands over her mouth and moaned into them. "I hate this."

"It will change, one way or the other," Toby told her.

"You sound unnervingly sure."

"I am."


* * *


"You have to be really quiet," Donna cautioned Bonnie and Ginger, leading them through the bullpen. "Or they'll wake up and it'll ruin everything."

Ginger stifled a giggle. "I have to see this."

They clustered in the doorway. Josh and Sam were leaning against each other in the middle of Josh's couch, both fast asleep, heads resting on each other's shoulders.

"Precious," Bonnie said.

"I'm thinking we need photos for posterity," Donna said. "Eight by ten glossies."

"Blown up to actual size," Ginger said, and couldn't help laughing out loud.

Sam started to stir at the sound, and his movement caused Josh to wake up. He blinked at them groggily. "What?"

Donna and Bonnie started laughing, too, collapsing against each other.

Josh glanced down at the top of Sam's head. "Hey!"

"Huh?" Sam mumbled.

"What are you doing?" He shoved Sam lightly. "Get off!"

"Oof." Sam toppled over to the other side of the couch. He buried his face in the upholstery.

"That was all him," Josh told the women.

"Sure it was," Donna and Ginger replied in unison.

Josh reddened. "You're not gonna, like, spread this around, are you?"

"How much is this worth to you?" Donna asked.

"You're blackmailing me?"

"Hell, yes."

"It's been a long day," Sam said into the arm of the couch.

"We'll negotiate our terms in the morning," Bonnie said matter-of-factly. Still laughing, she and Ginger trudged off down the hall.

Donna wiped her eyes. "Do you two need to be left alone?"

"You're going to hell, Missy," Sam scolded her.

"Sorry." She grinned at them.

"No, you're not," Josh observed.

"Honestly, I am." Donna walked away. "I can't believe I didn't grab a camera."


* * *


Toby rested his head on the top of his couch, staring at the wall opposite him. He put one hand over his eyes; the other one was lying in C.J.'s hair. She made a soft sound in her sleep, trembling under the jacket he'd draped over her. He ran a finger very lightly over her cheek, barely touching her.

Leo coughed as he came into the doorway. C.J. raised her head a fraction of an inch from Toby's knee, saw him, and sat up so quickly that she winced. Leo glanced at her and didn't comment. "What time is it?" she asked.

Toby checked his watch and grimaced. "Ten after two."

"They found the thing from the plane," Leo said.

"What do we know?"

"The translators are still having at it, but first impressions..." Leo shrugged. "It was a mechanical failure. They knew the engine was in trouble; they had to know there were Americans in range. There was no distress call."

C.J. rubbed her eyes. "They just went down?"

"They just went down," Leo confirmed. "Fitz's guy is going to do a briefing. You can cover the rest in the morning."

"What time is it?" she asked again.

"Eleven after two."

"It's the morning now," C.J. pointed out.

"Yeah. So go home." Leo's gaze flickered back and forth between the two of them, coming to rest on C.J. "You do not have my permission to spend another night in this office."

With a great effort, she managed to get on her feet. "So all they had to do," C.J. murmured. "All they had to do was call for help."

"Yeah." Leo frowned to himself. "Mayday. Mayday."

"What?"

"Go home." He turned his back on them and walked away down the hall.

C.J. began to follow him. She turned around shakily and looked at Toby. "I--"

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said decidedly.

C.J. squinted at him and thought she saw the shadow of a smile. "Yeah?"

"Go." The smile was faint under his beard, but it was definitely there. "Sleep in a bed, like a person. I'll see you tomorrow."

She turned and left. Her walk was unsteady with exhaustion at first, but grew stronger as she went on. By the time she exited the White House, she was smiling too.

---

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