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Title: An Innocent Kiss
Author: Jo March
Spoilers: "In Excelsis Deo"
Archive: Sure, just let me know where it is so I can come visit.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. They belong to Aaron Sorkin. As is painfully 
obvious, I am no Aaron Sorkin.




Maybe it was the gift.  Or that inscription.  Or maybe 
it was just that children's choir singing "Little 
Drummer Boy" and all those other Christmas carols.  I'm 
a pushover for Christmas carols.  Josh complains about 
this constantly, but I love Christmas music.  I bring in 
my portable CD player and listen to them all day from 
the Friday after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve.  Josh 
maintains that this constitutes a violation of the 
separation of church and state, given where we work.  I 
offered to compromise by only listening to the secular 
stuff like "Jingle Bells," but that wasn't enough for 
Ebenezer Lyman.  Finally I brought in headphones so that 
he couldn't possibly tell what I was listening to.

"Can too," he replied.  There's nothing like an Ivy 
League education to help a guy with those snappy 
comebacks.

"Josh," I answered, "you can't hear one note when I've 
got these things on.  I could be listening to Tupac 
Shakur or the Backstreet Boys for all you know."

"Tupac Shakur or the Backstreet Boys?" he repeated.  
"There's two names you don't usually hear in the same 
sentence."

"I have very eclectic tastes," I replied.

He continued to complain for awhile about how I couldn't 
hear him call me if I had the headphones on, but we both 
knew I'd won.  I always hear Josh; hell, I hear Josh 
before he even calls me.  We both know that, but it's 
one of the many things we don't discuss.  When you have 
that kind of near telepathy with someone, you don't want 
to analyze it for fear of losing your connection to him.  
Or having to deal with what it means.

And I don't want to deal with what it means.  Except I 
guess I sort of have to now.  Which brings me back to 
Christmas Eve and the choir.  And the inscription Josh 
wrote in the book he gave me.

I ask again: Would it have killed him to buy me skis?

Okay, I know I'm digressing.  I tend to do that.  Josh 
says it's incredibly annoying, although I happen to know 
that secretly he finds it alluring.  He said so to Sam.  
Who told Toby.  Who just happened to mention it to CJ.  
Carol overheard that, which meant it got back to Bonnie 
and Ginger, who literally came running to tell me.  And, 
all right, maybe the phrase Bonnie and Ginger used was 
"kind of cute," but you know how these things get 
muddled the more removed they are from the source.  So 
I'm guessing "alluring" was the word Josh originally 
used.  I am not basing this on ego, by the way.  I'm 
extrapolating based on first-hand evidence.  Which 
brings us back to Christmas Eve.

(I swear I can hear Josh say, "At last," inside my head.  
Josh seems to have taken up residence there.  And that 
is annoying.) 

My point is that I was already what you might call 
susceptible on Christmas Eve, what with the choir and 
the music and Josh having written this very sweet 
inscription in the book he gave me.  I don't think that 
what happened later was my fault.  Not at all.  I prefer 
to blame Josh.  Or CJ.  Maybe Toby.  Definitely Sam.  
But mostly Josh.

If we get fired over this, I swear I'll kill him.

* * *

Margaret and Kathy asked me to help with the decorations 
for the office party, but instead I let Josh talk me 
into going to hear the choir.  Looking back on it, I 
realize this was my first mistake-ducking out on my 
responsibilities like that.  If I'd been helping set 
things up for the Christmas party, I wouldn't have been 
standing next to Josh, listening to carols and getting 
all emotional.  Plus I would have known where the 
mistletoe was.

And believe me when I tell you that I would never have 
put mistletoe in the middle of Josh's office.  Whose 
idea was that anyway?  Everyone knows that mistletoe is 
supposed to go in public spots, so you can have a 
perfectly innocent kiss with witnesses.  And without 
tongues.

But instead of turning the bullpen into a winter 
wonderland, I was listening to these boy sopranos 
singing about heavenly peace and holy nights and it was 
all I could do to hold back the tears.  Tears, I might 
add, that had nothing to do with the use of phrases like 
"incredible smile" and "joy in my life" in a certain 
book.  Nor did my feelings have anything to do with the 
fact that Josh's arm was around my waist.  Josh touches 
me like that all the time, and I can honestly say that 
it didn't effect me any more then than it ever had 
before.

Can I just point out here that there was nothing 
inappropriate about this?  It's not like Josh was 
leading me off into the supply closet or something.  We 
were standing right there with President Bartlet and 
Leo, after all.  If there had been anything 
inappropriate about Josh holding me, don't you think the 
President of the United States or the Chief of Staff 
would have mentioned it?  So you see, it was all 
perfectly innocent.  Okay, maybe he was pulling me just 
a little closer than normal and maybe I was aware of the 
fact that he's a man and kind of attractive in a quirky 
way.  And I could smell his cologne, which I happen to 
know is very expensive and appealing because it's what I 
gave him for his birthday last year.  But mostly it was 
innocent.  Well, except for the fact that I started 
thinking about how I shouldn't think about  how Josh 
just has this intensity about him that makes you think 
he'd be an incredible lover and it's been more than a 
year since I...

Where was I?

Right.  The choir.  The music.  Al Roker as Santa.  Jose 
Feliciano.  Well, Josh and I left after Jose Feliciano 
and before Al Roker.  I don't remember deciding to 
leave, but Josh still had his arm around me and I didn't 
realize where we were headed until we were halfway 
there.

"I have never understood the more subtle nuances of this 
holiday," Josh said.  "Mixing elves and reindeer with 
the birth of the Messiah, for example."

"Comes from your being Jewish, I suppose," I replied.

"And do you even know what Chanukah is?"

"Chanukah," I answered, taking care to imitate the 
slightly gutteral sound on the "Ch" the way Josh does, 
"also known as the Festival of Lights, is a Jewish 
holiday commemorating the rededication of the Jerusalem 
Temple by the Maccabees.  Chanukah is observed by 
lighting candles for eight nights as a way of thanking 
God for delivering the few and the weak from the hands 
of the numerous and the powerful."

Josh looked impressed, as well he should.  "Where does a 
Presbyterian get that kind of knowledge?"

"Stewart Goldman.  Boyfriend.  Freshman year of college.  
I considered converting for a couple of months."

"What happened?"

"Alan Davis.  Sophomore year."

By then, we were back at the bullpen.  Margaret was 
attempting to lead everyone in "Deck the Halls," and I 
could suddenly understand Josh's aversion to Christmas 
carols.  I counted eighteen singers in at least seven 
different keys.  And none of them were on the same 
verse.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here," Josh said, "and 
say that somebody spiked the eggnog."

I decided to test his theory and poured myself a cup.  
"You're right."

He put on his offended face.  "You know, Donna, it's ]
eggnog, not coffee."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that it wouldn't be establishing any sort of 
precedent if you'd actually brought me a cup too.  It's 
not like I'm going to expect you to bring me eggnog 
every morning."

"It's a slippery slope, Josh.  Eggnog on Christmas Eve, 
coffee on weekdays; before I know it, you're expecting 
me to show up at your place every morning to fix your 
breakfast."

"You've had worse ideas."

"Josh, get your own damn eggnog."

He went toward the eggnog, and I went off to talk to 
Ernie, this new guy in Human Resources.  Despite his 
first name, Ernie is awfully good looking.  I mean, you 
hear a name like Ernie and you expect a guy to be about 
5'5," weigh 250 pounds and live in his parents' 
basement.  I don't know where Ernie lives, but he looks 
like a young Robert Redford.  Seriously.

"And will your wife be coming to the party later?"  
Bonnie was asking him.  She and Ginger were practically 
draped over the poor man.  Not what you'd call subtle, 
but they seemed to be getting their point across.

"I'm divorced," he said.

"That's so sad," Bonnie said.  Of course, she was 
grinning rather widely, which ruined the effect.  "And 
you're going to be all alone over the holidays?"

I didn't plan to enter the conversation.  I figured 
Ernie had enough problems trying to choose between 
Bonnie and Ginger, not to mention that both Kathy and 
Nancy were heading toward us.  And anyway Ernie's too 
blond for me.  I mean, our kids would be albinos.  You 
have to take these things into consideration.  But that 
didn't mean I couldn't appreciate him.  Like a work of 
art.  Michaelangelo's David springs to mind.

But then he moved closer to me (almost stepping on 
Ginger's feet, I might add).  "What about you?" he 
asked.  "What are your plans for the holidays, Donna?"

I was momentarily speechless, which Josh would tell you 
does not happen often.

"Huh?"

Ernie looked at me like he was confused.  "That is your 
name, isn't it?  Donna?"

"Donnatella."

Only two people call me that, and my mother was miles 
away in Chicago.  Sure enough, I turned and saw Josh 
standing behind me.  I turned back to Ernie.

"Donna.  My name's Donna."

Ernie had that look.  You know, that look men get when 
they're trying to decide if you're with someone else.  I 
hate that look because when they do it, they're not even 
looking at you; they're looking at the other guy for 
permission.

"Ernie," I said.  (In my experience, it helps to say a 
man's name at a time like that; it helps refocus his 
attention on you.  Of course, sometimes you need to say 
it twice.)  "Ernie, this is my boss, Josh Lyman."

"Donna," Josh said.  "We have that thing."

"What thing?"

"That work thing."

"Christmas Eve, Joshua."

"Government business, Donnatella."

So off we went, back toward Josh's office.

"I swear, Josh, if you think I'm going to work on 
Christmas Eve..."

"We're not working.  It was just a clever way to get you 
out of an awkward situation.  Don't bother to thank me."

"And I would be tempted to thank you because...?"

"Because I got you out of that awkward situation."

"You mean that awkward situation where I get to talk to 
a good-looking single man who seems interested in me?"

"He's not single."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's married."

"He said he was divorced.  I heard."

"Right.  Because, you know, men never lie to beautiful 
women."

"He works in Human Resources.  How would the deputy 
chief of staff know his marital status?"

"It's my job to know these things."

"I've actually read your job description, Josh."

"All right.  It's one of those things men know."

"Generally, it's women who pick up on those subtle 
nonverbal cues that give away a married man on the 
make."

"This isn't about nonverbal cues.  This is more like 
'takes one to know one.'"

"You're not married."

"I have, however, been on the make."

"It's that kind of reasoning that almost lost us the 
election."

"If you're going to bring up the Ohio primary again, 
that was Toby's fault."

"So you keep insisting.  You're wrong.  You're also 
wrong about Ernie."

"Ernie?  You're seriously thinking of going out with a 
guy named Ernie?"

"I am not--"

"And look at him.  Do you have any idea how blonde your 
kids would be?  We're talking albino here."

"Okay, now that's just weird."

"What?"

"I thought the same thing.  The albino kids."

"So you know I'm right?"

"I didn't say that.  Although it is possible you're not 
entirely wrong."

"Well, as long as you know."  
 
"Is that all?"  I asked.  "Because if there isn't any 
real work to do.  I'm going back to where people are 
having actual fun."

"No, that's pretty much it.  Now that I've successfully 
defended your virtue, you're free to leave."

So Josh disappeared inside his office, and I sat down at 
my desk.  I could have gone back to the party, but I 
know Josh.  I know that he probably really was going to 
work.  And that would mean he'd come looking for me 
eventually with some quasi-emergency, it just made more 
sense to stay nearby.

That was when I remembered that I hadn't given Josh his 
Christmas present.  So I grabbed it out of the bottom 
desk drawer and went into his office.

He'd taken off his jacket and was standing transfixed in 
the middle of the room, looking as though he expected 
the ceiling to fall on him.  Again.

"Should I call maintenance?"  I asked.

"What?  No, it's--" He looked at me as though he'd just 
had some sort of revelation.  "What do you have there?"

"Your Christmas present."

"You bought me a Christmas present?"

"Yes, Josh.  It's traditional to exchange gifts at 
Christmas.  You didn't me skis, and I got you this."

Now I went to a lot of trouble wrapping that gift.  I 
spent two hours searching for just the right wrapping 
paper-snowflakes on a silver background; Josh would have 
hated the Currier and Ives print I used for my family's 
presents.  And there was this elaborate white bow that I 
spent another hour getting just right. I shouldn't have 
bothered.  Josh tore it apart quicker than my seven-
year-old nephew tears into a new batch of Pokemon cards.

"Well?"  I asked.

"Coffee?  You gave me coffee?"

"Not just any coffee.  This is a very special gourmet 
blend."

"I give you a rare book, and you give me coffee?"

"It's the thought that counts, Josh."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what you were thinking."

"That now you can't say I never bring you coffee.  Also 
that I could have bought you a very nice coffee press if 
I made more money."

"So the hidden meaning behind this gift is that you want 
a raise?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it a hidden meaning, Josh."

"If you ever got that raise, would you actually bring me 
coffee?"

"Only in your dreams."

He smiled.  Josh, I must admit, has a great smile.  He 
has a number of great smiles.  I know; I've catalogued 
them.  My personal favorites are the "I just said 
something clever" smirk and the "I know something you 
haven't figured out yet" grin.  This was the latter.  I 
should have realized then that I was in trouble.

"Okay," Josh said, "we had the carolers, the visit from 
St. Nick cleverly disguised as a morning news show 
weatherman, the drunken revelers at the office Christmas 
party, and the gift giving.  What's next?"

"Well, we could watch 'It's a Wonderful Life,' but I 
have a plane to catch in two hours."

"What about mistletoe?"

"Mistletoe?  What are you talking about?"

"Mistletoe," he recited.  "A plant traditionally used as 
decoration during the Christmas season. In European 
folklore, mistletoe was believed to bestow fertility and 
to be an aphrodisiac.  Which, you'll admit, is a useful 
combination.  The tradition of kissing under the  
mistletoe was originally associated with the Greek 
festival of Saturnalia and later with primitive marriage 
rites.  The Scandanavian tradition holds that mistletoe 
represents peace; enemies could stand under the 
mistletoe to declare a truce or married couples could 
use it to kiss and make up." 

"Josh, I'm impressed.  Seriously."

"You don't work for Jed Bartlet this long without 
picking up some useless bits of trivia.  So, Donnatella, 
should we move to the mistletoe portion of the evening?"
        
"Josh," I said, moving closer-just to make my point, you 
understand-"the tradition requires catching someone 
underneath the mistletoe."

He grinned again and pointed up.  That was when I saw 
the mistletoe directly above my head.

And then suddenly Josh had his arms around me, and we 
were kissing.  As kisses go, this was nice.  Sweet.  
Completely appropriate.  No tongues.

Well, not at first anyway.  I don't know exactly how it 
happened; I'm not even sure who started it (though I'm 
willing to bet it was Josh), but, yes, tongues did 
become involved.  This is not to imply that it was one 
of those sloppy, groping kisses where you feel like your 
date is examining your mouth for gold filings.  This 
felt the way talking to Josh feels-fun and exciting and 
like I just don't want it to end.

I heard the door open, and we looked over to see CJ 
standing there.

Josh let go of me rather abruptly.  "Jeez," he said, 
"doesn't anybody in this building ever knock?"

"I've said it before," CJ replied, "but I think it bears 
repeating:  Boy, are you stupid!" 

* * *

Sometimes there's just no reasoning with Josh.  When he 
found out that CJ was there because she'd offered to 
give me a ride to the airport, he decided that I was 
somehow to blame.

"Me?  You were the kisser; I was just the kissee."

"Oh yeah?"  There was that snappy Ivy League patter 
again.  You have to wonder if his parents ever felt the 
tuition money had been wasted.

"Yeah."  I prefer to think of my own reply as succinct.

"Would you two listen to yourselves?"  CJ said.  "Do you 
have any idea how much trouble you could be in?  Do you 
know how lucky you are that I was the one who saw you?  
There are press at that party.  Press, Joshua!  The 
deputy chief of staff consorting with his assistant 
behind closed doors-my god, do you have any idea how big 
a Christmas present that would be to most reporters?"

"I wouldn't call it consorting,"  I said.  Josh was too 
busy sputtering to say anything coherent.  He sat down 
behind his desk, where he seemed to be trying to tear 
his hair out.

"Donna," CJ continued, "do you have any idea what the 
two of you looked like?  There are people out there with 
cameras!"

"It was just a little kiss, CJ," I pointed out.  
"There's mistletoe, see?  It was perfectly innocent."

"What I saw sure didn't look innocent," CJ replied.  "It 
looked like full-blown tongue hockey."

Josh looked up, with that malicious gleam in his eye-the 
one he usually reserves for Republican members of 
Congress.

"And the pot calls the kettle black," he said.

"What?" CJ and I asked in unison.

"So I kissed Donna.  Under the mistletoe.  On Christmas 
Eve.  Big deal.  It didn't mean anything."

"What do you mean it didn't mean anything?" I asked.  I 
don't think Josh heard me.  He was in full attack mode 
and too focused on  CJ.

"And, yes, we're co-workers," he continued.

"You're her boss," CJ said.

"Yes.  We work together.  It's not like there's a 
conflict of interest involved.  It's not like she's a 
reporter and I'm, you know, the press secretary."

"This is about you and Donna, not me and Danny."

"But it could be."

"Are you trying to blackmail me, Josh?"

"No," I said.  "No, he's not.  No one is blackmailing 
anyone.  It was just an innocent kiss."  I turned from 
CJ to Josh.  "And apparently it was completely 
meaningless."  I looked back at CJ.  "And nobody knows 
about it except the three of us.  Disaster averted.  Now 
if you two will stop arguing about it, CJ can drive me 
to the airport."

"Donna--"

"Trust me, Josh.  You really don't want to say anything 
else right now."  And with that, I left his office.

* * *

The cost of parking a car at Reagan for ten days is more 
than I could afford even if I got a raise.  And the 
price of a cab from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is even 
worse.  So when CJ originally offered to drive me to the 
airport, it had seemed like a really good idea.

Now, of course, I was wishing I'd called the cab.  After 
all, I know Josh's credit card numbers, and I figured he 
owed me.

Christmas Eve traffic in DC was like, well, Christmas 
Eve traffic in DC.  We were inching along, as CJ divided 
her attention between the road and her anger over the 
public relations disaster she'd decided Josh and I were 
trying to create.

"Josh Lyman, besides being a royal pain in the ass, is a 
high profile member of this administration," she said.  
"And he has more than his share of enemies.  Do you have 
any idea how many people on Capitol Hill would love to 
cause him embarrassment?"

"Forty-seven."

CJ looked rather astounded.  "You're making that up."

"No, I keep count."

"You keep count?  What do you have-a list?  An enemies 
list?  Like Nixon?  Please, Donna, tell me you don't 
have a list!"

"Just in my head.  Not written down or anything.  What 
kind of assistant would I be if I didn't know who was 
out to get my boss?"

"Don't write that list down.  Ever.  Anywhere."

"I won't."

"Writing that down would be worse than-than--"

"Worse than kissing Josh under the mistletoe?"

"Don't mock me, Donna.  You know that Josh has been 
hanging on by a thread ever since the Mary Marsh thing.  
The least appearance of impropriety could be disastrous 
for him.  And it doesn't matter how you feel about him-"

"I am not in love with Josh."

"Whatever.  Those forty-seven people-whose names I do 
not want to know-are only going to see the fact that 
he's your boss.  They're going to scream sexual 
harassment.  If we're lucky, they'll only suggest that 
the Deputy Chief of Staff is sleeping with his assistant 
in the White House.  And nothing that gets said about 
you will be even remotely civilized.  If you're lucky, 
the worst thing you'll get called will be bimbo."

"CJ, you are worrying for nothing.  Josh and I are not 
lovers.  We have never been lovers; we never will be 
lovers."

"Whatever.  And then there's Leo's situation.  
Lillienfield is going to drop that bombshell as soon as 
the holidays are over.  We can't possibly salvage Leo's 
career if we have to deal with charges against Josh as 
well."

"There's also Sam and the call girl," I suggested.  
Look, I like Sam; but I really needed CJ to get irate 
over something else.

"Dear god, is there anything the assistants don't know?"

"Nuclear missle codes.  Although there's always a 
possibility that Mrs. Landingham has those."

"Look, Donna, all I'm saying is--"

"Don't kiss Josh.  Believe me, CJ, I don't even want to 
look at him right now."

"That bad, huh?"

"Josh doesn't think about me that way.  I don't think 
about him."

"Right.  You're both completely thoughtless."  This time 
when I looked at CJ, she was grinning.

"You know the irony here?"  CJ asked.  "I have always 
thought that you and Josh would be perfect together.  
God knows you're the only woman who can put up with him 
and keep his ego in check."

"But I thought you just said that my getting involved 
with Josh-which I have no intention of doing anyway-is a 
bad idea?"

"It is.  For now.  All I'm saying is that once we're out 
of the White House you might want to rethink your 
relationship."

"We're in our second year."

"I know."

"Then there's re-election.  That's another four years."

"I know that too."

"You know, if I did have any desire to date Josh, that 
would seem like a ridiculously long time to wait."

"Tell me about it."

"Yeah.  So how * is * Danny?"

*  *   *

CJ dropped me off at the US Air terminal, saying that 
she had a business dinner she had to get ready for.  I 
hoped she had the sense not to let Josh know she was 
going out with Danny.

My plane was ninety minutes late boarding.  This sort of 
delay always happens to me.  During the campaign, I once 
ended up stranded in an airport overnight.  Josh got so 
worried about my safety that he gave me his VIP lounge 
card.  That was where I headed now.  The place was full 
of business travelers.  One man, who had obviously had a 
few too many cups of holiday cheer, was annoying 
everyone else by singing "Silent Night."  That was what 
made me think of Josh.  Josh has a very sensitive 
system, and the eggnog was spiked.  I thought I should 
call and remind him not to have a second cup, so I got 
out my cell phone.

He answered on the first ring.  "Josh Lyman, deputy 
chief of staff and despoiler of virgins."

"I'm not spoiled, and I'm definitely not a virgin."  

"I thought you weren't speaking to me."

"I'm not.  Except in my official capacity as your 
assistant."

"Then in my official capacity as your boss, tell me what 
you got on CJ."

"What?"

"I figure it was a nice long car ride; and you're doing 
the whole Thelma-and-Louise, men-are-scum thing. She let 
some juicy little tidbit slip. Something we can use 
against her for the next few years.  It's about Danny, 
isn't it?"

"Joshua Lyman, there are days when I am ashamed to admit 
I know you."

"Come on; what did you get?  Cause I was thinking of 
getting the IRS to investigate whether her goldfish 
constitutes an illegal gift, but I might be on shaky 
ground there."

"You think?"

"Donna, you must have got something."

"Yes, I got a very long lecture about why you were at 
fault."

"Me?  If I'm going down on this, Donnatella, I'm taking 
you with me."

At that moment, I heard the click that meant somebody 
was switching us to speakerphone.

"Under the circumstances, Josh," I heard Sam say, "that 
last sentence was quite the unfortunate choice of 
words."

I put my hand on my forehead.  I could literally feel 
the headache coming on.

"Sam?" I asked.  "What are you doing in Josh's office?"

"I'm providing comfort in his time of tribulation.  And 
can I just say that I'm totally behind the idea of you 
two crazy kids finding love?"

"Oh god, no!  Josh, please tell me you didn't tell Sam."

"Okay, I won't tell you," Josh replied.

"Josh," I asked, "how much eggnog did you drink after I 
left?"

"Three cups."

"Okay.  Sam, here's what you need to do:  you're going 
to have to take Josh home; he'll never make it there on 
his own.  Then brew some coffee.  Just don't let him 
drink any until after he throws up."

"Can't I just put him in a cab?" Sam asked.

"No," I answered.  "He forgets how to use a key.  Stay 
with him until he's sober because otherwise he'll be 
calling the Post to issue a denial."

"But, Donna, I have a plane to catch," Sam protested.

"So do I," I said.

"Yes, but you're Josh's co-conspirator here.  You're his 
forbidden love."

"Dear god."  My headache had reached migraine 
proportions.  "Please tell me he didn't say anything 
like that."

"I get paid to read for subtext," Sam answered.

"There is no subtext!  There's not even text!" I 
insisted.

"Well, as much as I hate to disagree with you there, 
Donna," Sam said, "in my experience--"

"Would this be your experience with call girls or your 
experience with Leo's daughter?" I asked.

"You know, you were a much nicer person before you 
started working for Josh," Sam said.  He sounded 
wounded.  For a politician, Sam Seaborn has a very thin 
skin.  "However, my point is that when two people spend 
this much time denying their attraction, they're usually 
crazy about each other."

"I'm not crazy about Josh," I answered.  "I am being 
driven crazy by him, but that's not exactly the same 
thing."

Then I heard a voice in the background-one which was 
getting less coherent by the moment-saying, "I wanna 
talk to Donnatella!"

"Josh," you're on speakerphone," I said.  "I can hear 
you just fine."

"I think I'm drunk, Donna."

"Yes, Josh, you are.  You have a very sensitive system."

"I was not drunk when I kissed you."

"Okay," I said.  I was kind of curious to see where this 
was going.

"Cause I just wanted to clarify that."

"Okay," I said again.

"And you did too kiss me back.  You were not just the 
kissee."

This did not warrant a reply.  "Sam," I said instead, 
"do what I told you.  And remind him that he has an 
appearance on 'Meet the Press' next Sunday."

"Donna," Sam protested, "my plane--"

"Look at it this way, Sam.  You can reschedule your 
flight.  Yourself.  Don't let Kathy do it.  She'll ask 
too many questions.  And if you do this, Josh will owe 
you for three months at least."

"Oh, this is worth six months minimum," Sam said.

"Done," I agreed.

"I do not love you, Donnatella Moss," Josh said.

"I don't love you either, Josh," I answered.  With that, 
I hung up.  I find that it's always a good idea to try 
to get the last word when you're dealing with Josh.    

After hanging up on Josh, I tried to concentrate on the 
mystery novel I'd brought along to read on the plane.  
Even though it was the latest installment in a series I 
love, I couldn't keep my mind on it.  For once, I just 
didn't care whether Amelia Peabody's idiot son would 
finally get the nerve to tell Nefret he's loved her for 
years.  So I opened the other book I'd been carrying 
around with me-The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing.  
Not a real page-turner, that one-not that I've ever made 
it past the inscription.

Look, you already get why I deserve hazard pay for 
putting up with Josh Lyman, right?  He's demanding, 
sarcastic, hostile; I spend half my day trying to keep 
him from screwing up and the other half apologizing when 
he does.  But Josh can be funny and sweet and oddly 
endearing at times.  Even when he's drunk and telling me 
he doesn't love me.  And when he's buying me some silly 
book instead of any of the seventeen sensible items he 
could have chosen from the list I thoughtfully provided 
him.  After all, skis wouldn't have come with a note 
like this:

Merry Christmas, Donnatella.  Sorry it's not skis, ski 
boots, a ski jacket or any of the fourteen other items 
you suggested.  As compensation for the disappointment 
you're going to tell me about for the next month, I give 
you this confession:  I do not know how I would function 
without you. I don't just mean your skill as an 
assistant.  I can't imagine what this office would be 
like without your wit, your compassion or your 
incredible smile.  I'm not sure sometimes why you put up 
with me; I just know that there is more joy in my life 
with you here.     
                        Josh

You see how something like that could lead to a 
momentary lapse in judgment, don't you?  I mean, if the 
man wasn't such a jerk sometimes, he could melt your 
heart.  In a completely Platonic manner of speaking, of 
course.

*  *   *

I love my family; I really do.  It's just that I love 
them more when I'm in DC and they're in Illinois.  This 
is not to say that Christmas wasn't good.  I had fun.  I 
went shopping with my mother and my sisters; I ate too 
much turkey; I watched "A Charlie Brown Christmas" with 
my nephew.  I argued politics with my Aunt Sadie's new 
husband, who is a Republican and remarkably ill-
informed.  I watched Josh on "Meet the Press," during 
which my mental enemies list hit fifty.

But when my ten days of vacation were up, I headed back 
to DC with a certain sense of anticipation.  I love my 
work; and what with the State of the Union speech coming 
up, I knew Josh needed me.  In a purely professional 
manner.

Still, coming back from vacation always makes me 
melancholy.  I usually feel like I'm the only person 
getting off the plane who doesn't have someone waiting 
for her.  If I'd been thinking clearly Christmas Eve, I 
could have made plans for someone from the office to 
pick me up.  Instead, I was trudging along toward 
baggage claim alone when I heard a familiar voice yell 
out, "Donnatella Moss!"

He was sitting at a Starbucks kiosk, looking extremely 
rumpled.  I wondered briefly if he'd bothered to go home 
most nights without me there to remind him.

"Josh, what are you doing?"

"Picking you up at the airport."  He took my overnight 
bag out of my hand, which immediately made me 
suspicious.  That's just the sort of ordinary courtesy 
Josh tends to ignore.  He started carrying on a 
monologue about all the work that had piled up while I 
was away.

"Is that what this is about?"  I asked.  "You think you 
can talk me into going to the White House and working 
tonight?  Well, no, Josh.  Just no.  I have ten hours of 
vacation left.  No."

"Well, it's just-there might be a message on your 
answering machine when you get home.  I didn't want you 
overreacting to it.  I'm sure we can straighten 
everything out."

"Straighten what out?  What have you done now?"

"I didn't do anything.  It was Sam.  And Toby.  CJ 
didn't exactly offer to help, but that was probably 
because I compared it to her thing with Danny."

I stopped, nearly colliding with a family of five 
wearing identical Disney World sweatshirts.  "Josh, 
please tell me this isn't about what I think it's 
about."

"Do you think it's about what happened at the Christmas 
party?"

"Yes."

"Then it's exactly about what you think it's about."

"What did Sam do, Josh?"

"And Toby.  CJ is not without blame."

"What did they do, Josh?"

"They talked."

"To whom?"

"Each other.  Initially."

"Initially?"  I heard my voice come out about three 
octaves too high.  Josh noticed too and grinned.

"You're sounding like Minnie Mouse there, Donna."

"Josh, please just tell me what happened."  We started 
off toward baggage claim again.

"Well, Sam knew that CJ knew, and he sort of forgot that 
Toby hadn't been there."

"Okay.  Toby knows.  That's embarrassing, but I suppose 
we should have expected it," I said.

"Yeah, but Sam told him while they were on their way to 
the senior staff meeting yesterday.  And by the way, I 
would have been there to head off disaster myself if I 
hadn't been running late because I generously gave my 
assistant an extra three days off."

"Your assistant worked five weekends in a row to get 
those three days, and will you please just get to the 
point?"

"Promise you won't get upset?"

"Josh, I've gone way past upset already."

"Well, Sam was telling Toby about-about the thing that 
happened Christmas Eve.  And you know how preoccupied 
they get.  So I guess they weren't paying attention to 
where they were going or who was behind them and, well, 
Leo sort of overheard."

I grabbed Josh's arm for support.  (And by the way, he 
must have left the office some time during the last ten 
days cause from the way his muscles felt he'd been 
working out.)   

"Leo knows?" I squeaked again.

"Yeah."

"Leo McGarry?"

"Do you know another Leo?"

"Leo McGarry our boss?"

"Well, technically Leo's my boss.  You've got to get 
clear on this whole chain of command thing, Donna."

"Leo knows."

"We've established that.  It's time to move on and 
develop a strategy."

"Josh, there is no strategy.  You kissed me-"

"You kissed me back."

"That is so not the issue.  You kissed me.  Leo knows.  
We're screwed."

"Now that's what Sam would call an unfortunate choice of 
words."

"This is serious, Joshua."

"Yeah, that's what Leo said.  And Toby.  CJ said it 
twice."

"Which is when you mentioned Danny."

"Yeah, I think she's kind of pissed."  The problem, from 
my perspective, was that Josh wasn't pissed.  Or 
worried.  He was gearing up for a fight, which always 
makes him happy.

"Josh, just tell me about the message on my answering 
machine."

"Oh, that's from Leo.  He wants the two of us in his 
office at 8 a.m. tomorrow."

And that brings us to today.


* * *

Some people have regular jobs.  They get to work around 
nine a.m., leave by five p.m., and never have to work 
nights and weekends.

I work for Josh.

That means I'm used to being at the office by eight a.m.  
Lots of people are there early in the morning.  If 
you're fond of forty-hour weeks, a career in the White 
House is probably not for you.  To be honest, one of the 
things I most love about this job is the pace of it-the 
fact that there's always something (usually something 
very important) going on, always lots of people 
scurrying around, lots of noise.  You either thrive on 
trying to make order out of the chaos around here, or 
you quit within a week.  Me, I thrive.

So there is nothing particularly unusual about my 
getting to the office at 7:30.  And maybe it is just my 
imagination when I think that the security guard who's 
waved me in every day since President Bartlet took 
office is looking at me with sympathy.  I could be wrong 
too when I think the six people talking near my desk 
look up guiltily when they see me.  However, I know for 
a fact that people start talking again as soon as I walk 
into Josh's office.

He's wearing the same suit he had on when he dropped me 
off at my apartment last night.  It looked rumpled then; 
it looks ready for the trash heap now.

"You're wearing that to the meeting with Leo?"

"Good morning to you too, Donna."

"You're not wearing that to our meeting with Leo."

"Fine, thanks.  And how are you this morning?"

"Josh, I've told you this before:  you need to keep an 
extra suit here if you're going to work these kinds of 
hours.  Your clothes make an impression.  Haven't you 
ever read 'Dress for Success'?"

"You're worried about my clothes?  Cause CJ, Sam and 
Toby have all been here this morning, and none of them 
thought that what I was wearing was going to make any 
difference.  Or at least, if they did, they didn't 
mention it."

"What did they say?"

"CJ harangued.  She called me a thoughtless, 
misogynistic jerk.  She said it had only been a matter 
of time until I dragged you down with me."

"She's right," I reply.  "What about Sam?"

"Sam cackled."

"Cackled?"

"Seriously.  He is, in his words, filled with glee.  He 
left here whistling 'Hello, Young Lovers.' I, for one, 
did not find that amusing."

"What about Toby?"

"Oh, he just wanted to know where the briefing memo on 
the commerce bill was."

"He didn't say anything about us?"

"Well, I mentioned the meeting in Leo's office, and Toby 
said they should fire me and make you Deputy Chief of 
Staff.  Frankly, I'm afraid he might pass that idea on 
to Leo."

"You could be my assistant.  This could work."

"You expect me to live on what you make?"  

He walks over to where I'm standing.  I should tell him 
to stop doing that thing where he invades my personal 
space.  For some reason, I don't.

"Josh," I ask instead, "how much trouble are we really 
in?"

He's standing next to me now, exactly where we stood on 
Christmas Eve.  He reaches out and touches my cheek and 
he grins.  "I'm not worried," he says.  "I figure nobody 
here is going to be stupid enough to let you go, and 
they know you won't stay without me."

"They do?  Who told them that?"

"I may have suggested something along those lines 
yesterday," Josh says.

"So what you're saying is that your fate is in my 
hands?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Cause I'm liking this idea.  Be nice to me, or Leo 
fires you and I get a new boss."

"I may have overstated the case."

"Would my new boss pay me more?"

"Not if you take this attitude with him."

"Could I work for CJ?  Cause, you know, we have that 
whole Thelma-and-Louise, men-are-scum bonding thing 
going."

"You enjoy making me miserable, don't you?"

"Torturing you does brighten my day."

 "You're a hard woman to live with, Donna Moss."

We head off toward Leo's office.  Wherever we go, people 
stop.  They stop working, they stop talking, I swear 
some of them stop breathing.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm about to face a firing 
squad here?" Josh asks.

Outside Leo's office, Margaret jumps up from her desk 
and hugs me.  She's on the verge of tears.  "I blame 
myself," she says.

"Now there's a strategy," Josh says.  "Let's blame 
Margaret.  Why are we blaming Margaret?"

"The mistletoe in Josh's office," she says.  "I was 
spreading holiday cheer."

"You couldn't have put up a wreath?" Josh asks.

I punch him in the arm.  That shuts him up long enough 
for me to reassure Margaret that it's not her fault.  
"Because, you know, Josh has never needed any help being 
a jerk."

"Excuse me?" Josh says.  "Can we just review events 
here?  I think I've mentioned before that I was not 
acting alone."

"Josh, shut up," I say.

I must sound upset because, for once, he actually does.

Leo is making us wait.  He is purposely making us wait.  
Margaret has gone in and out of his office twice.  We 
all understand Leo's tactics; we've watched him use them 
on other people.  And it's making Josh crazy.  He jumps 
out of his chair, walks around, sits down, jumps up 
again.  I'd usually put a hand on his shoulder to calm 
him down, but I guess that's not a good idea today.

Finally, Margaret makes one last trip into Leo's office 
and back.  This time, she nods and tells us we can go 
in.

"Show time," Josh whispers into my ear.  And, you know,  
I realize he's trying to be encouraging, but I wish he 
hadn't done that.  It's kind of distracting. 

We're standing in front of Leo's desk like a couple of 
teenagers who got sent to the principal's office for 
talking in class.  And the principal looks like he wants 
to expel us both.  Leo's not saying a word, which is 
surprisingly effective.  Josh knows he doesn't dare say 
anything before Leo talks; after all, there's always the 
chance that Leo heard the story incorrectly.  Then Josh 
and I can be outraged and claim the moral high ground.  
You haven't truly lived until you've seen two 
professional politicians try to psych each other out.

Leo breaks the silence with a nice all-purpose question:  
"Just what the hell is going on with you two?"

There's only one safe answer to that question, and Josh 
beats me to it.  "Nothing.  There is nothing going on 
between us."

Leo looks as though he doesn't believe Josh.  "Are you 
sure?  Because that's not the story I heard from Sam."

"Sam just misunderstood something I said," Josh replies.

"That's not the story I heard from Toby."

"Toby wasn't even there," Josh says.  He looks at me 
like he's hinting that I should get involved in the 
conversation.  If we were alone, I'd remind him about 
that whole chain of command thing.

"You do understand that this is the White House, don't 
you?" Leo asks.  "We are supposed to be held to a higher 
standard of conduct here.  You can't be consorting with 
every pretty girl who works for you, no matter what the 
circumstances.  If the two of you can't work together 
professionally, you're not going to be working together 
at all."

"You know," Josh says, "I'm not completely sure that's 
fair.  I mean, we're two consenting adults.  Suppose we 
wanted to--to--well, just suppose.  What gives the 
federal government the right to tell us we can't?"

"This is about political perceptions, Josh," Leo 
answers.  "You of all people should understand that."

"Yeah, well, I don't.  Cause if you want to talk about 
perceptions, what's it going to look like when you fire 
Donna because we're having an affair?"

Leo is the only person I know who can bellow louder than 
Josh.  "You're having an affair with Donna?"

"Hypothetically, Leo," Josh clarifies.  
"Hypothetically."

"Because I thought this was about you kissing her.  If 
I'd known things had gone that far--"

"Hypothetically," Josh says again.

"I'm not sleeping with Josh."  I figure it's time to 
ignore the chain of command before Josh gets us both 
fired.  "I have never slept with Josh.  I don't want to 
sleep with Josh.  I never will sleep with Josh."

"So there's nothing going on here, Donna?"  Leo asks.  
"Josh isn't taking advantage of you?"

"Well, sure, but that's what he does," I answer.

"That was certainly helpful," Josh mutters.

"I don't mean sexually," I explain to Leo.  "There's 
nothing going on sexually.  I don't even like him half 
the time."

"You're sure about this?" Leo asks us.  "Because I gotta 
tell you, I've wondered about you two myself."

He has?

"You have?" Josh asks.

"Yeah, sometimes you two act like you're already 
married."

"We do?" I ask.

"Sometimes," Leo says.  "And if that's where things are 
headed, you can't work together.  Not in this 
administration.  We could always find another job for 
Donna, but not as your assistant."

"That is not fair," Josh starts again.  I swear the man 
is intent on snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

"It's also not an issue," I add.

Josh, of course, ignores me.  He's making an argument 
now, and he doesn't care that it's a non-issue.  "Donna 
is the only assistant I've ever had who can keep me on 
track.  I'd fall apart without her.  I couldn't 
function.  I--"

You know, at moments like these, I wish I had a tape 
recorder.  Then I could play his own words back to him 
every time he yells at me.

Leo shakes his head.  "I'm getting very mixed signals 
here," he says.

"No," I say.  "No mixed signals.  Josh is just being 
Josh; you know how hostile he gets.  There's nothing 
going on."

"You're sure?"  Leo asks again.  "Cause I keep hearing 
subtext."

Has he been talking to Sam?

Josh finally comes to his senses.  Sort of.  "There's no 
subtext," he says.  "Leo, you can't split us up."

"All right," Leo says.  "For now.  But consider 
yourselves on probation."

"What does that mean?" Josh asks.

"It means no more kissing.  I don't care if it's 
Christmas, Passover, Valentine's Day or if the groundhog 
just saw his shadow.  One hint of impropriety, and one 
of you is out of here.  And, Josh, it will probably be 
you because people actually like Donna.  No hugging 
either.  No holding hands.  No touching."

"But I've always touched her," Josh protests.

"What?"  Leo yells.  Again.

"Good touching," I explain, "not bad touching.  Like 
putting his hand on my back when we're walking."

"Try not to do that any more, Josh," Leo says.  "Don't 
open yourself up to more gossip."

Which is a good point and I hate to bring it up, but I 
do have my duty.

"I think the gossip's already started," I say.

"Margaret!" Leo yells.

She must have been standing by the door.

"Yes?" she asks as she comes in.

"Is there gossip about these two?"

"No more than usual," Margaret says.

Leo is this close to splitting us up again; I can feel 
it.

"About the kiss, Margaret?" I ask before Leo can say 
anything.

"Oh, that," Margaret replies.  "CJ's fixing that."

"How?" Leo asks.

"Well, she told Carol to tell Bonnie and Ginger-you 
know, in the strictest confidence-that Sam totally 
misunderstood something she told him."

"Which was?" Josh asks.

"Well, she thought at first that you were kissing Donna, 
but you weren't.  The two of you were just standing 
under the mistletoe and trying to figure out who put it 
up.  But Sam got the story wrong."

Leo looks confused again.  I'm starting to feel sorry 
for him.  "How will that help?" he asks.

"Well, Bonnie and Ginger will feel guilty about helping 
pass the rumor on in the first place, so they'll tell 
Kathy and me," Margaret explains.  "We've got it covered 
from there.  By the time the new story finishes making 
the rounds, Donna won't even like Josh."

"Finally, the truth emerges," I say.

Leo dismisses us, and we head back to Josh's office.  
CJ's revised rumor must already have made the rounds; 
hardly anyone pays attention to us as we make our way 
down the hall.  

"Probation," Josh mutters.  "I feel like I'm in junior 
high."

"It's not a big deal."

"I think it could be unconstitutional," he says.  "Get 
me everything you've got on--"

"Josh, forget it.  It's not like we're--"

"I know, but if we were--"

"But we're not."

"I know, Donna. But if we were, it would be unfair."

"But we aren't.  And we won't."

Josh doesn't say anything else on the subject, and I 
know it's just become another one of those things we 
don't talk about.  I've been thinking about it, however, 
and I realize that Leo gave us two options:  either stay 
together with a Platonic working relationship, or stop 
working together and have a non-Platonic relationship.  
Not that I think about Josh that way, you understand, 
but it occurs to me that there is a third option:  work 
together, have a sexual relationship and just don't tell 
Sam, CJ or Toby.

Not that I'd ever consider sleeping with Josh.  It's 
just always nice to know you have options.