Once More With Feeling

Tuesday Morning, March 12, 2002 – 5:30 a.m. The West Wing, Chief of
Staff's Office

Leaning on the edge of her desk, Margaret balanced a stack of file
folders against her stomach and stared out the window to her left. A
woman not traditionally given to idle daydreaming, the Chief of
Staff's assistant found it hard to put personal thoughts on the back
burner this morning.

Continuing her reverie, Margaret thought back over the intervening
weeks since she had told Leo about the recurrence of her cancer.
He'd taken it surprisingly well; had gone so far as to assure her
that she could exercise the option of a second radical mastectomy and
its attendant recovery time without jeopardizing her job.

And then, well, then he had asked her out for dinner and dancing.
Ever concerned about media scrutiny and public opinion, Margaret
asked him if it was a date. They'd agreed on an evening out as
friends; they both desperately needed an evening meal that did not
come out of white cardboard cartons from the Chinese restaurant
nearest the White House.

However, that evening never materialized. Leo had been on his way to
pick Margaret up when Nancy McNally rang his cell phone. India and
Pakistan were saber rattling again and the words "nuclear armaments"
were being bandied about a bit too freely for the United States. Leo
called his assistant to tell her he was on his way to pick her up,
for work. By the time that crisis had been averted, the only meal
they shared was a bagel and a cup of coffee from the Mess.

Margaret mentally brought herself back to the present with a shake of
her head. Standing up straight, she walked over to the bank of file
cabinets and began opening drawers and reinserting the various manila
folders in their appropriate locations. That task completed, she sat
down at her desk and printed out three copies of Leo's schedule.

Returning from placing a copy of the schedule, along with the notes
for the first Senior Staff meeting on her boss' desk, Margaret logged
into the White House email system. Midway through her review of
those messages sent since midnight, the email indicator chime
sounded, alerting her to a new message. Scrolling to the top of the
page, the tall red head shook her head as she read the message.

To: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
From: ldmccafferty@osc.org
RE: Appointment

Just a reminder, we have you on the schedule for 4:30 to talk with
Dr. Matthews about your upcoming treatment protocol. Dr. Matthews
also wants to confirm that Mr. McGarry will be joining you for this
appointment.

Margaret hit the reply button and composed her answer.

To: ldmccafferty@osc.org
From: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
RE: Appointment

Thanks for the reminder, Lucy, it's on both of our calendars. Tell
Dr. Matthews that Mr. McGarry and I will see her this afternoon.

"Barring unforeseen national emergencies." Margaret muttered to
herself as she clicked on the "Send" icon to transmit her message.
Hearing the sounds of the Chief of Staff entering his office from the
hall. Margaret stepped away from her desk and walked toward the
kitchen.

Two minutes later, Margaret entered the office with a carafe of
coffee and the morning newspapers. She put the papers on the edge of
the blotter and reached for the coffee mug that sat on the left
corner of the desk. "Good morning, Leo."

The Chief of Staff turned away from his computer screen and glanced
at his assistant over the edge of his gold wire-framed
glasses. "Morning Margaret. What time's Staff?"

"Eight in the Oval, sir. You have an NSC briefing with the President
immediately following Staff, and Sam and Toby after that."

"Thanks." Leo answered as Margaret shoved his schedule toward the
center of the blotter with her free hand. "Anything else I should
know?"

"Bruno emailed this morning. He wants a meeting with you, the
President, and Josh before the end of the week."

"And people in hell want ice water." Leo groaned, turning back
toward his computer. "Get with Charlie and Donna and set it up."

"Yes, sir." Margaret answered, walking across the carpet and opening
the door that lead to the hallway.

"Margaret"

Rolling her eyes, she turned slowly back toward her boss. "Yes?"
Margaret answered, rolling the word out to at least twelve syllables.

"We have that thing with your doctor this afternoon, right?"

"Yes, at 4:30."

"Call Eddie, tell him to pick us up at the East Entrance at 4:00."

"Leo, there's really no need for you to go with me. I can keep the
appointment, take notes, and fill you in later." She desperately
wanted to keep him from worrying about her radiation treatments. By
her reckoning, the welfare of this administration and the country
came first, her health somewhere . . . a great deal . . . further
down the list.

The Chief of Staff favored his assistant with a small grin. "E for
effort Margaret. You're not calling me off that easily. There's no
need for you to go through this alone. Besides, I've already told
the President and Josh that I am going to be out for the afternoon."

Turning toward the door for the second time, Margaret shot back over
her shoulder, "You know, going through this alone hasn't exactly been
an option since the mammogram results came back."

Waiting until his assistant was well out of earshot, Leo
replied. "Not if I have anything to say about it."



Tuesday Afternoon, March 12, 2002 – 12:40 p.m. The White House Mess

Off at a corner table, most of the assistants to the Senior Staff
were having lunch, nibbling at meals and pushing stacks of paper back
and forth. Forks and highlighter makers waved in the air above the
faux wood surface as one or another of the four women made a point.

Paying for his lunch, Charlie shook his head and smiled at the scene
before him. Stopping at the table, Charlie looked over Ginger's
shoulder at what was obviously a photocopy of an article from a
medical journal. "A little light reading, ladies?"

"Hey Charlie." Carol said, looking up from something Donna had
printed off the web. "We're just trying to educate ourselves about
breast cancer"

"You and the rest of the West Wing."

Bonnie nodded as she flipped through a stack of articles. "Toby
actually came in this morning with a copy of "Susan Love's Breast
Book" and had pages marked for Ginger and I. Do you know how un-Toby-
like that is?"

Charlie nodded, pulling up a chair from another table. "So, what's
in this pile of information that I should know about?"

Donna smiled warmly at the President's body man and passed him a
small stack of papers. "Start with these and don't be afraid to ask
questions."



Tuesday Afternoon, March 12, 2002 – 3:55 p.m. The West Wing, Chief
of Staff's Office

Leo poked his head around the doorframe between his office and
Margaret's. "Time to go, Margaret."

Margaret finished shutting down her computer and stood as Leo helped
her into her trench coat. Retrieving her purse from the bottom left
desk drawer, Margaret eyed her boss. "I do believe you're more
stressed out about this appointment than I am."

"Probably because I've never had to see an oncologist before." Leo
wisecracked, in an effort to mask his concern. "Let's not keep the
good doctor waiting." The Chief of Staff ushered his assistant out
of the office and toward the waiting car.

Within twenty minutes, Leo and Margaret were standing outside the
entrance to the Oncology Services offices. Margaret's nervousness
had become apparent on the ride over and she was visibly shaking as
they rode the elevator to Dr. Matthews' office suite. Now she was
chewing on the edge of her thumbnail, unwilling or unable to open the
heavy oak door to the reception area.

"You scared?" Leo asked.

"Indeed." Margaret answered, forcing herself to quit gnawing on her
nails, a habit she'd supposedly given up at the age of twelve.
Laughing self-deprecatingly, she continued. "Funny, you'd think I
could go through a simple informational appointment with ease. It's
not as though I don't know what to expect. I'm sorry, Leo."

"Have you had radiation before?" The tall redhead shook her
head. "Then I'd have to guess that you *don't* know what to expect.
It's normal to be scared." Leo replied; placing his right hand on
her left forearm and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "You ready?"

Margaret squared her shoulders and grasped the chrome
doorknob. "Let's do this." She twisted the knob and stepped across
the threshold, Leo just behind her. Walking up to the check-in desk,
she smiled bravely. "Good afternoon, Lucy."

"Margaret, how are you?" Lucy inquired, pushing the clipboard with
the sign-in sheets across to Margaret, indicating the line for her to
initial and record the time.

Deflecting the question, Margaret smiled and nodded. "How are you
feeling? That little one giving you any trouble yet?"

"Just the morning sickness." Lucy grinned and patted her stomach.

"They say that usually dissipates after a while." Remembering her
manners, the older woman inclined her head toward her boss. "Lucy,
I'd like you to meet President Bartlet's Chief of Staff, Leo
McGarry. Leo, this is Lucy McCafferty, the woman who actually runs
the practice."

Leo stepped forward and shook Lucy's hand. "It's a pleasure Ms.
McCafferty."

"It's Lucy, please. I'll call back and let Debbie know you're here."

Leo and Margaret found seats along the far wall. Margaret tried to
reread the copy of the Washington Post that was scattered across an
end table as Leo scanned the faces in the room, feeling strangely
guilty for being one of possibly three healthy people in a room half
full of cancer patients.

The door on the far wall swung open and Debbie stepped into the
waiting room. "Margaret?"

Margaret and Leo stood up and walked through the door, following the
nurse toward a small lab area.

"Margaret, we need to weigh you and get some blood." Debbie said,
pointing toward the scale.

"Why the blood draw?"

"Corrine wants a CBC as a baseline before you start treatments. Keep
track of your white cell count, all the usual numbers."

Margaret nodded her understanding and stepped up on the scale.
Looking to her left she saw Leo hanging back near the hallway. "Do
needles bother you, Leo?"

"Wha . . . no, I'm fine with needles. I just figured you wouldn't
want me knowing how much you weigh." Leo scuffed his left foot
against the highly polished gray and cream patterned floor covering.

`Chivalrous to the end.' Margaret thought smiling slightly. "Trust
me, by the time this protocol is over, you're going to know more
about me than you ever wanted to. I don't care if you know how much
I weigh."

Debbie finished recording her patient's weight on the chart and
turned toward the Chief of Staff. "So, is this the infamous Mr.
McGarry?"

"Call me Leo." The Chief of Staff said, extending his right
hand. "And what, pray tell, did my assistant say to render me
infamous?"

"Oh, not much. Let's just say we're well aware of her work
schedule. It's always a chore getting Margaret to come in for
appointments."

"That's because she's a workaholic who works for a workaholic." Leo
said. "It's not like I haven't tried to get her out of the office
early on occasion; never works."

Debbie nodded as she wrapped a thin strip of rubber around Margaret's
upper right arm. "Make a tight fist for me dear, that's good."
Debbie slipped the needle into the vein at the bend of Margaret's arm
with ease, and popped the red capped test-tube onto the needle,
filling the vial with blood. Finished with the procedure, Debbie
placed a cotton ball on the puncture site and bent Margaret's
arm. "Hold that for a couple of minutes, dear." Debbie turned to
the counter and wrote some information on the test-tube and the chart.

Leo looked down at his assistant. "Are you okay?"

"Absolutely, getting my blood taken is a non-issue." Margaret said
with a brave smile.

Checking to make sure the stick-wound had stopped bleeding, the nurse
applied a small Band-Aid and Margaret rolled her blouse sleeve down,
buttoning the cuff. Standing, she slipped into her black wool suit
jacket.

"You can go on to Dr. Matthews' office." Debbie said.

Margaret nodded her thanks and gestured to Leo to follow her.
Walking quickly down the corridor, she stopped at the last door on
the left and knocked.

"It's open." Corrine called from within.

Margaret pushed the door open and held it for Leo as she stepped into
Dr. Corrine Matthew's private office.

Corrine closed the file she was reading and stepped around her desk,
spreading her arms wide. Margaret took two steps forward, her
posture echoing the doctor's. The two women hugged warmly as Leo
looked on, wondering at the relationship.

Margaret backed out of the embrace, keeping her right arm around the
oncologist's shoulders. "Corrine, this is Leo McGarry. Leo, Dr.
Corrine Matthews, my friend and oncologist."

Corrine stepped forward and put her hand out. "Don't look so
stricken, I'm not going to hug you!" Both women laughed as Leo
rolled his eyes. "May I call you Leo?"

"By all means."

"And you're to call me Corrine. If we're going to be working
together to get this young lady healthy again, first names are de
rigeur." Indicating a small oval conference table along the back
wall, the oncologist nodded at her guests. "Please have a seat. I'm
going to step out and get the chart." Corrine opened her door to
find Debbie coming down the hall, file folder in hand. "Thanks
Deb." Corrine returned to the office and looked at her patient and
the Chief of Staff. "Can I get either of you a cup of coffee?"

Both Leo and Margaret nodded and Corrine poured mugs for each of them
from the carafe on the credenza by the door. The older woman placed
the mugs on the conference table and seated herself at one end.

Leo reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a small black leather
notebook and fountain pen. Catching his assistant's amused glance,
he groused, "What?"

"Toby's been giving you lessons."

Leo chose to let the comment slide and nodded his head at the
oncologist. "Where do we start?"

"At the beginning." Corrine replied with an enigmatic grin at her
patient. "I understand that Margaret's explained the results of her
biopsies to you, do you have any questions about that?"

"No, I think I'm up to speed on understanding her original diagnosis
and how this lump was located."

"Then let's move on to the treatment protocol. Margaret has a
metastasis of her original diagnosis, which was a ductal cancer, the
most common of the three types. Although we removed both lumps, of
which one was malignant, and while we are confident that we removed
all the malignant cells, there is a possibility that some cells
remain. So, we are following the recommended protocol for adjuvant
radiation treatment. The treatments will take place five times a
week, with a total of five weeks when Margaret will actually be
receiving radiation. Margaret will get treatments for one week, have
three weeks off, and then start the process over again. During that
time she will have bimonthly check-ups here at our office.

Leo looked up from where he was furiously scribbling notes. "So,
this whole protocol takes about five months."

"Correct." Corrine answered, smiling at Margaret, who sat next to
Leo, her hands resting on the tabletop. Margaret you have an
appointment at 8 Thursday morning at the GWU Breast Care Center for
your simulation."

Margaret looked slightly confused, "Simulation?"

"It's the appointment where they take x-rays, maybe a CT Scan, and
make the necessary marks on your breast for the upcoming radiation
therapy. The whole thing takes about an hour. We also need to talk
about side effects. Since I know you prefer it this way, I am going
to hit the worst one first."

"Fire away." Margaret said, leaning forward slightly in her seat.

"There has been some research and writing about the concern that
radiation therapy on the left breast can stimulate cardiac problems
that lead to mortality."

"Coronary failure?" Margaret asked, her eyes widening as her hands
formed tight fists.

"Yes, Margaret. But you need to be aware that this presents in
approximately one percent of patients. You have excellent cardiac
health, so I am confident this will not be a problem for you. I
simply have to make you aware of it."

"I understand, continue."

"The primary side effects for patients receiving radiation of the
breast are fatigue, loss of appetite, and skin changes. Let's go
over those one at a time. First fatigue, the side effect radiation
patients experience most often. You're going to have to curtail
those office all-nighters." Corrine shot Leo a warning glance. "I
want you to get between 8 and 9 hours of sleep a night. If you can't
manage that, I will give you something very mild to help you sleep.
Leo, I want you and the rest of the staff to make sure Margaret is
out of the office by 7 every evening. I don't care if she takes some
files home to read, but nothing more strenuous than that."

"Got it." Leo said, smiling at the oncologist.

"Good. Also Margaret, you are probably going to want to get a temp
in the office to help handle your workload, because you will not feel
up to keeping your usual schedule, especially during the weeks when
you are undergoing radiation. You will also find yourself getting
tired in the middle of the day. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT, attempt to
work through it. Take a nap for an hour or so."

Leo laughed at the look of utter horror on Margaret's face. "It's
okay Margaret, you can use the couch in my office."

"But you have meetings in your office."

"And for an hour or two each day, I can hold meetings in the
Roosevelt Room, the Mural Room or any one of a hundred other places.
What's next?" Leo asked Corrine.

Corrine smiled slightly; thinking that Margaret was in good
hands. "Next is loss of appetite. The traditional three meals a day
are out. Don't answer that Margaret, I know you often skip a meal.
That's no longer an option either. You need to eat six or seven
small meals throughout the day. I want you to maintain your current
dietary habits, with the addition of a little more protein. You will
also need to consider using a nutritional supplement like Ensure for
those times when the thought of eating seems to be more than you can
handle."

Margaret nodded her head, resigned to the fact that her lifestyle was
going to undergo some of the same changes she experienced almost nine
years ago.

"The good news is that you should not have any nausea and vomiting
with this treatment. Some patient's experience diarrhea, but that's
relatively rare. Let's discuss the final side effect, skin changes.
Corrine consulted the notes on Margaret's chart. As I mentioned
earlier, when you go in for your simulation, the tech will make a
series of marks on your chest and breast to guide them in centering
the radiation beams. When you bathe, do not attempt to scrub those
marks off. Also, you'll need to use a mild soap, one that doesn't
have perfume or deodorant, on the radiation site. The skin on and
around the radiation site will become tender and inflamed, so placing
heat next to the affected area is out. This means tepid water when
you bathe, no hot water bottles, no heating pads. If it gets too
uncomfortable, use an ice pack or cold compresses for short periods
of time, no more than 10 minutes. Also, do not use any of the
lotions, powders, or creams you normally use on the radiation site.
Cornstarch can be used in place of powder, but not directly on the
radiation site.

"Anything else?" Margaret asked.

"I'm just getting to the good part." The older woman smiled at her
patient and the Chief of Staff wondering how they were going to take
this next bit of information. Not well, she imagined. "What I am
about to say may make one or both of you uncomfortable, but it has to
be discussed. Margaret, as I've mentioned, the radiation treatments
are going to leave your breast tender and irritated. The best thing
you can do is to not wear a bra. The elastic on the straps, tops,
and sides will only irritate the skin further, which could lead to
infection. You will need to cease wearing silk blouses like the one
you have on now and switch to soft cotton or cotton blend t-shirts."

Unfortunately, Dr. Matthews' last statements were made at the same
time Leo had taken a sip of his coffee. Choking, Leo spit part of
the liquid that was in his mouth onto the table. "Excuse me, you're
advocating that my assistant come to work, in the White House,
braless?" Leo wiped up the coffee with his handkerchief.

"I am not advocating it, Leo, I am ordering it. Margaret can follow
orders or she can risk a secondary infection and a stay in the
hospital."

Leo placed his hands in front of him in a gesture of apology and
surrender. "You win."

Margaret muttered so low that neither her boss nor her oncologist
could hear her. "Bet your ass." She wasn't wild about the idea of
coming into work without half of her lingerie, but if Corrine said
that's what was necessary, then she would follow orders.

"What else should I know?"

"A couple more things relevant to skin changes. You might be more
comfortable with a small padding of cotton or some other soft
material underneath your left breast. If the area around the
radiation site begins to itch or burn, exposing it to the air helps,
usually more than a cold compress." Corrine tried not to smile at
the identical blushes that were rising up Leo and Margaret's faces.
Pulling a sheaf of papers from the file and pushing them toward
Margaret, the older woman continued. "Any questions, you two?"

"I'm sure we'll both have a substantial list, once we've had time to
digest all this information." Margaret said, nodding at the papers
Corrine had provided, which contained all of the information she'd
just heard, along with phone numbers and web addresses for cancer
information services.

"You have my numbers." The oncologist said. Reaching into her left
lab coat pocket, she extracted a business card and handed it to
Leo. "Here's my card, Leo. My phone numbers and email address are
on there. Do not hesitate to contact me."

Leo placed the card in his wallet, and pulled one of his own from an
inside pocket. Making a notation on the back, he handed it to
Corrine. "Here's my card as well. The home number is on the back."

"When do the treatments start?" Margaret asked.

"Next Monday, March 18." Debbie has called the radiation department
at the GW cancer center and made the arrangements. We went with the
early morning, since that's what you preferred when you were on
chemotherapy. Your appointments will be at 7:00"

"That's perfect, thanks Corrine."

"You're welcome Margaret. Be sure and see Lucy to set up an
appointment for two weeks from today. Also, I will probably stop by
GW Monday morning for your first treatment."

"Yeah, because *that's* going to be the party of the century."
Margaret said, grimacing. Standing up, she put her purse over her
shoulder and walked toward the door. "Thanks for taking so much time
to explain all of this to us, Corrine. I truly appreciate it."

"Glad to do it Margaret." Corrine smiled at her patient and turned
toward the Chief of Staff. "Leo, it was a pleasure to finally meet
you. Make sure this young lady follows orders. You might want to
share this information with CJ Cregg, Margaret seems to obey her!"
Corrine grinned as Margaret rolled her eyes.

"Good to meet you too Corrine. Trust me, the entire Senior Staff is
probably going to be assigned to Margaret's behavior modification
detail." Leo held the office door open for Margaret and followed her
into the hall.

Halfway to the reception area, Margaret and Leo stopped at the sound
of Corrine's voice calling for her patient. "One moment." Margaret
said to Leo as she turned and retraced her steps to the doctor's
office.

"What's up, Corrine?" Margaret asked, twisting the university ring
on her right hand.

Leaning in close to her patient's ear, the older woman spoke
quietly, "He's even better looking in person than on CNN." Corrine
laughed merrily as Margaret blushed and made a halfhearted swat at
her right shoulder.

"You're demented, Dr. Matthews." Margaret called over her shoulder
as she hurried back to Leo's side.

"What was that about?" Leo inquired.

"Just Corrine trying to make me feel better." Margaret replied.
Let's get back to work."

Tuesday Evening, March 12, 2002 – 6:02 p.m. West Wing Lobby

Leo and Margaret returned to the White House and entered the West
Wing, obviously continuing an argument they'd been carrying on in the
car.

"Absolutely not, Leo. I won't do it." Margaret said, careful to
keep her voice low, so as to not alert other staffers to their
disagreement.

"You heard Dr. Matthews, you need rest. I want you to pack your
briefcase and get out of here within the next ten minutes. If you're
not gone, I'll call in a favor with Ron Butterfield." Leo swiped his
ID badge through the card reader and waited for his assistant to do
the same.

"Who died and made you dictator?" Margaret struggled not to laugh at
Leo going into mother hen overdrive. "You know, as do I, there's too
much work to be done for me to bail out of here. At the very least I
need to start making arrangements for when treatments *do* begin.
Then there's the revised summary of the benchmarking study, the next
campaign trip . . ." Margaret's words began to run together as the to-
do list lengthened in her mind.

Knowing it was useless to press an argument when his assistant got
that "do-or-die" look about her, Leo shook his head and
grimaced. "Fine, we'll do it your way. For now. Bear in mind that,
on Friday, we start playing by Dr. Matthews rules."

"Dr. Matthews rules, as interpreted by the White House Chief of
Staff, with input from the rest of the Senior Staff, no doubt."
Margaret looked across the lobby at the sound of running
footsteps. "Oh no, I wonder what's gone wrong?"

Josh ran up to the pair, several pieces of fax transmission clutched
in his right hand, a panicked expression on his face. "Great, you're
back."

"Josh, take a breath and tell me what's going on." Leo said,
clapping his right hand on his deputy's right shoulder in an effort
to bring him back to earth.

"The Israeli Prime Minister... press conference about an hour
ago . . . called the leader of the PLO a nice list of less than
polite names . . ." Josh gasped between ragged breaths. "PLO leader
threatening retaliation with force . . . Nancy and Fitzwallace in Sit
Room with the President . . . you need . . ."

Leo pulled off his overcoat and thrust it at his assistant. "Right
behind you Josh. Margaret, you know what to do." Leo and Josh began
to hurry toward the stairwell as Margaret shook the creases out of
Leo's black cashmere coat, folding it over her right arm.

Entering the West Wing proper, Margaret turned left instead of right,
heading for the Oval Office. Stepping inside the reception area, she
watched Charlie handle the flood of incoming phone calls with
infinite patience. Not for the first time, she wondered when the
President would allow Personnel to start looking for a replacement
for Mrs. Landingham.

Charlie looked up from the phone and a message pad. "Hey Margaret,
you heard?"

"Josh caught Leo and I in the lobby. Leo's gone to the Situation
Room. Has a briefing with the NSC and Senior Staff been set up yet?"

"I can't stop trying to appease every Congressional leader and
diplomat who saw the coverage on Cspan long enough to make a single
call." Charlie groaned as another phone line rang.

"I'll track down Donna and we'll set it up in the Oval, to start as
soon as they get back from downstairs." Margaret turned to leave the
office, her progress stopped by Charlie's waving hand.

"It's Phil, on line 4. The call must've rolled over when there was
no answer in your office. Also, come see me when all this calms
down."

"Thanks, Charlie. I'll take that next door. See you later."
Margaret jogged the short distance to her office and leaned over her
desk, grabbing the phone receiver and punching the appropriate line
without stopping to put down her purse or Leo's coat. "Phil, it's
me."

"Hey, MK, sounds like things are a little busy there." Margaret
could hear the laughter barely contained beneath her older brother's
deep voice. Phil never could understand what his sibling saw in the
frenetic pace of the political world.

"Nothing new, nothing I can talk about." Margaret replied. "You're
calling to find out about my appointment with Corrine." It was a
statement, not a question.

"Of course, but if now's a bad time . . ."

"Unfortunately it really is. I'd promise to call you later, but
later could be after midnight and I'm not willing to wake you up to
talk about radiation. Why don't I send you an email from home
tonight with all the details and we can talk about them this weekend?"

"You sure you'll have time MK?" Phil persisted in his childhood
nickname for his sister, primarily because he knew it irritated
her. "I have a feeling your boss is going to have you working
overtime, trying to get that desk cleared off before you have to
start treatments."

"Actually I think my boss is going to have me banned from the White
House this weekend. He just tried to get me to go home." Margaret
replied, juggling the phone receiver as she placed her purse and
Leo's coat on a guest chair and began unbuttoning her trench coat.

"You can tell me all about it this weekend. I'll look forward to
your email."

"Thanks, Phil, talk to you then." Disconnecting the call, Margaret
moved around her desk and unlocked the credenza, pulling a briefing
binder and two files from one of the drawers. Grabbing an ink pen
from the top of her desk, she headed down the hall to find Donna.



Tuesday Evening, March 12, 2002 – 10:17 p.m. West Wing, Chief of
Staff's Office

Margaret finished collating copies of the revised Early Education
Benchmarking Study and stapled each copy to a cover memo that Leo had
signed earlier. Stacking all but two of the copies on the edge of
her desk, she filed one in her bottom right desk drawer and carried
the other copy into the Chief of Staff's office.

Leo was nowhere to be seen, so Margaret took advantage of the peace
and quiet to begin working through the detritus of the most recent
chain of events that was scattered across her boss' desk. Culling
those documents she knew would end up in her in-box for revision,
filing, or shredding, Margaret looked up as she heard someone enter
the outer office. "In here," she called, returning to the stacks of
paperwork.

"Hey, Margaret." Carol said, grinning broadly. "We're going to raid
the mess for a late night dinner. Want to come with?"

Margaret patted her stomach, which had been rumbling off and on for
the last several hours. "You bet." Inclining her head to the right
she continued, "They'll be in with the President and Nancy McNally
for at least the next hour. Let's go." Picking up two stacks of
paper, Margaret levered herself away from Leo's desk and followed
Carol out of the office.



Tuesday Evening, March 12, 2002 – 10:41 p.m. The White House Mess

Like the night of the State of the Union, Bonnie, Carol, Donna,
Ginger, and Margaret were gathered around one of the larger tables in
the Mess, steaming bowls of vegetable soup in front of them. Unlike
their last dinner together, the topic of discussion focused on
Margaret's earlier visit to the oncologist. Margaret supplied the
details as the other four did what came naturally, they took notes on
the backs of envelopes, bank receipts, and paper napkins.

Finishing her monologue, the tall red head looked around the table at
her friends and colleagues. "Any questions from the peanut gallery?"

"Does this whole thing take about five months?" Ginger asked.

Margaret nodded, "That's correct. Next question?"

"Will your hair fall out?" This from Bonnie, with Donna nodding her
interest as well.

"Radiation only causes a patient to lose hair in the area that's
being radiated. I may lose some or all of the hair in my left
underarm, but that's the worst of it."

The group got quiet as they each reviewed their notes and considered
the long road their friend had ahead of her.

Carol cleared her throat and asked the question she was certain
lurked at the back of the minds of everyone in the White House who
knew about Margaret's illness. "These radiation treatments . . .
they *are* going to work, right?"

"Well I certainly hope so, otherwise I'm going to be getting some
tacky body art and a sore chest for nothing!" Margaret cracked,
laughing lightly. "Oh, come on, ladies. It's not a death sentence,
it's a series of treatments that are designed to work with the
minimum of side effects. Let's talk about something more proactive,
like who I should get from the temp pool to help me out for the next
several months."

"Who can tolerate Leo's temper and demands best?" Donna asked.

Margaret considered this question for a moment. "No one, really.
Catherine was the best at handling him, but she transferred to the
Pentagon two weeks ago. Sarah cries too easily, Denise gets
flustered when he starts piling multiple assignments on her desk,
Marcia can't prioritize worth a damn, and Carrie's typing speed is
too slow. The rest of them I don't know that well. Any suggestions?"

"Let's look at this from a task-oriented perspective." Bonnie said,
reaching for another napkin and uncapping her silver roller ball
pen. "What job duties would you be most comfortable handing over to
someone else."

"The scut work on the campaign stops, that's for sure." Margaret
answered, rolling her eyes. "I could also turn over the revisions of
bills, policies and correspondence. I'd need to do the first drafts,
but someone else could easily do the revisions. I'll definitely need
someone to handle the photocopying and mailing assignments. And I'm
going to need to have someone cover the phones for a couple of hours
each afternoon while I rest."

Bonnie consulted the list she had made. "Campaign trip scut work,
revisions, copying, mailing, and answering the phones for two hours
each day. Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of, I'm going to ask Charlie to have Nancy
cover some of the things I was doing for the President." Margaret
leaned back in her chair and took a sip of iced tea.

"Well, I think this is easily handled. Ginger and I can cover you
on the campaign work, we'll just roll it in with the prep work of the
campaign materials. Donna can handle your revisions; she's done some
of that before. Photocopying and mailing can be done by one of the
interns, except for the stuff that requires a security clearance and
Carol can take that, or Ed and Larry can do it if she's too busy. As
for the phones, well, we'll all take turns with that; Charlie will
want to help as well." The other three assistants nodded their
agreement.

Touched by their generosity, Margaret gazed fondly at her
friends. "Are you sure? This sounds like a slew of make-work for
each of you."

"You said it best, Margaret. None of the temps that we know can
handle Leo, whereas the four of us are old hands. Let us help you on
this. You'd do the same thing if the shoe was on the other foot."
Donna said, rubbing her hand up and down Margaret's forearm.

"Okay, you're on." Margaret said, standing up and reaching for her
tray. "Let's get back upstairs before our respective bosses get out
of their meeting."

The five women disposed of their trash and exited the Mess.



Tuesday Night March 12, 2002 – 11:52 p.m. Chief of Staff's Office

"Margaret!"

Turning from the filing cabinets, Margaret grabbed her note pad and
ink pen and opened the door between their two offices. Noticing that
the President was seated beside Leo on the sofa, she unconsciously
straightened her spine. "Good evening Mr. President, Leo. What can
I do for you?"

President Bartlet stood up and met Margaret halfway across the office
floor. Placing his right hand on her lower back, he guided her to a
side chair. "Margaret I think this is more a case of what we can do
for you.

Margaret sank slowly into the chair, and swiveled her head to gaze at
the President, who had returned to the sofa. "I beg your pardon,
sir?"

"Margaret, he knows about our visit to Dr. Matthews' office this
afternoon. I've explained your protocol." Leo said, shrugging his
shoulders in that "What're you gonna do?" motion he used when the
President pulled a power play and extracted information the Chief of
Staff had no desire to share.

"And you have questions, sir?" Margaret looked at the Chief
Executive, dreading having to discuss the more intimate details of
her illness with the leader of the free world.

"Nah, Leo explained it pretty well. Anything I think of later will
keep until Abbey gets back on Thursday night." Bartlet answered,
smiling at Margaret. "What I want to know is what can we do to make
this easier for you? Leo said something about you needing to get a
temp?"

"That was the original plan. But I talked to the other Senior
Assistants and they've worked out a system for them to split and
share the duties I'll need to jettison from my schedule."

"I know they want to help, but are you sure?" Leo asked, mentally
thinking over whether or not the Assistants would be able to keep up
with the increased workload.

"Positive; Bonnie worked out a very fair division of labor in a
matter of minutes. They're insisting on doing this for me."
Margaret replied, effectively omitting the fact that all of the
support staff knew how many temps the fabled McGarry temper had run
off in the first three plus years of the Bartlet Administration.

Moving on to the next topic, the President leaned forward and propped
his elbows on his knees. "Leo also tells me that Dr. Matthews wants
you to start eating several small meals a day and to take a nap each
afternoon." Margaret nodded her agreement. "I know from Abbey that
rest and nutrition are two of the most important parts of a cancer
patient's recovery. You're to do exactly as your oncologist says.
No more missing meals and no more twelve and fifteen hour days.
You'll also take a nap every afternoon. Don't give me that aggrieved
look, Margaret. I don't care if I have to come over here, tuck you
in, and sing you a lullaby. You will lay down on this couch and you
will rest."

The Chief of Staff's assistant smiled at the mental image of being
tucked in and serenaded off to dreamland by the President. `Give Leo
a direct order to do that and you've got yourself a deal.' Margaret
thought, struggling not to laugh. "Yes, sir, I understand. Will
there be anything else?"

"That's all, just wanted to make sure you knew that you can't back
out of following doctor's orders."

Margaret stood up and nodded at the President and her boss, "Message
received loud and clear, sir."

"Good, now go next door and pester Charlie. He mentioned something
about wanting to see you." President Bartlet and Leo returned to the
stack of briefing books on the coffee table in front of them.

"Thank you, Mr. President." Margaret replied, exiting the office
through the hall door, and pulling it shut behind her. Making the
short trek to the Oval Office reception area, she tapped on the
doorframe, diverting Charlie's attention from the textbook he was
reading. "The President said you asked for me?"

"Yeah, come on in." Charlie said, marking his place and shutting the
textbook. "Donna came to see me and filled me in on your visit with
the oncologist. You going to be okay?" Charlie's calm delivery
belied the worried expression Margaret could see lurking behind his
eyes.

"Just fine Charlie. Radiation is actually the least invasive of all
treatments. All things considered, I'm getting off easy."

"If you say so, Margaret. I told Donna to count me in on helping
cover your workload."

"Thanks, actually I wanted to talk to you about that. I'm probably
not going to be able to cover the social schedule that Mrs.
Landingham always took care of." Charlie nodded his agreement. "Do
you think that between you and I we can bring Nancy up to speed on it
by the end of this week?"

"I don't see why not. She's a fast learner. Let's set aside some
time on Thursday to take care of that." Remembering why he'd
originally wanted to see Margaret, Charlie opened his center desk
drawer and pulled a thick gray vellum envelope out, placing it in the
center of his desk with a soft thud. "Want to see some pictures from
the State Dinner?"

"I didn't even realize those were back already. Let me grab a chair."

"I've got it." Charlie stepped around her and moved one of the
striped side chairs next to his desk. Margaret sat down and leaned
forward on the desk as Charlie slipped the pictures from the
envelope. "Have you ever seen Toby smile that wide?" Charlie asked,
starting with a photo of Toby, CJ and Dr. Bartlet in the Residence
before the dinner. The First Lady and the Press Secretary appeared
in the middle of an animated discussion and Toby was ducking to avoid
getting hit by two pairs of wildly gesturing arms.

Margaret laughed and shook her shoulder length red hair out of her
eyes. "That's rich. Save it for blackmail material."

Margaret and Charlie passed a companionable half-hour, going through
the photos. Margaret stopped at a photo of Donna and Josh on the
dance floor with other couples around them. "They're really
clueless." Margaret laughed.

"Compare that with this photo taken during the State of the Union
reception." Charlie said, pulling a photo of Josh and Amy out of a
photograph album. The look on Josh's face in the two photos could
not have been more different. "Night and day."

"Yeah, but he thinks he's in love with Amy." Margaret said.

"Want to make a bet on how long that lasts?" Charlie winked at his
friend.

"Nope." Margaret turned her attention back to the photographs from
the State Dinner. Someone had snapped a photo of her and Sam
entering the East Room and Margaret smiled softly at the memory.

"You were gorgeous that night." Charlie reminded her.

"Thanks, Charlie." Margaret leaned her shoulder against Charlie's as
they continued sorting through the thick stack of images.

"I have, of course, saved the best for last." Charlie said as they
reached the end of the pile. There in his hands was a shot of Leo
and Margaret on the dance floor.

Margaret found herself unable to pass comment on the picture. It was
taken at close range, or with a telephoto lens, and showed both Leo
and his assistant from the waist up. If she had to pinpoint the
moment the photo was snapped, she'd put it at the moment the Chief of
Staff had told her she looked beautiful.

As if he could read her mind, Charlie broke into her musings, "Want
to tell me what was going on when that picture was taken?"

"Not especially." Margaret said, blushing. "Charlie, do you think I
could . . ."

Charlie bent over, reached into his canvas backpack, and pulled out a
large, flat, white and gold object, which he passed to
Margaret. "Yes, I think you can. More than that, I think you
should."

Margaret flipped the object over to reveal a framed 5x7 copy of the
photograph that still lay on the desk. Leaning further to the left,
she pressed a brief kiss on her companion's cheek. "Thanks Charlie,
you're the best. I'll put it someplace special at home."

"You do that Margaret; maybe you should put it next to your bed so
you can kiss it goodnight." Charlie giggled at the look of horror
crossing her face. "Ooh, did I hit a little too close to the truth?"

"No, you most certainly did not." Margaret huffed.

Charlie chose to let that comment slide and carefully placed the
photographs back in their protective envelope. "Thanks for coming
over to see these."

"Thanks so much, for everything." Margaret indicated the frame she
clutched to her chest. "I'm going to get out of your hair, CJ sent
an email earlier that she wanted to see me sometime tonight."
Margaret walked back to her office, tucking the photograph into her
briefcase, before walking back toward the Press Secretary's office.

Carol smiled at the older woman and nodded. "CJ's expecting you, go
on in."

Margaret nodded and knocked twice on CJ's partially closed
door. "Madame Press Secretary, it's me." Margaret said, poking her
head around the door.

"There *you* are! I was beginning to think you'd either left for the
day or gone into hiding." CJ took her glasses off and rubbed the
bridge of her nose. The Press Secretary moved her legs from where
they were stretched out on the couch and patted the space next to
her. "Come, sit, tell me everything."

"I'm guessing Carol has filled you in, so there's probably not much I
can tell you."

"I did get a briefing from Carol and Donna earlier. I'm glad they've
figured out how to save you from the wrath of Leo when some poor
unwitting temp gets his schedule wrong."

"That's probably the biggest favor Bonnie has ever done me. It will
certainly make things easier, on all of us."

"Or at least everyone's ear drums." CJ and Margaret laughed at the
memory of the Chief of Staff's legendary yelling tantrums. "Donna
says these treatments are going to cause you some discomfort and that
you're not supposed to wear a bra."

"That's correct."

"Bet your boss *loved* that piece of information." CJ raised her
eyebrows.

"He was a little miffed at first, but Corrine told him it was either
me without a bra or me with a bra and running the risk of infection
from the irritation caused by the elastic in the straps and sides.
He backed down after that."

"Donna also said something about cornstarch and exposing the breast
to the air if it starts hurting too badly?"

"I'm supposed to use cornstarch instead of talcum powder underneath
the breast. Also, Corrine said that the radiation site would
probably itch and burn occasionally and that exposing the breast will
provide some relief.

"If that happens, you can always come in here and lock the door for a
few minutes. Carol won't let anyone bother you and I can always go
work in the Press Room or somewhere else. In fact, you might want to
think about taking your naps in here."

Margaret considered the offer. "Good idea CJ. I wouldn't feel
terribly comfortable trying to nap without my shirt on in Leo's
office." Both women chuckled briefly over that image. "If the
treatments bring on that sort of reaction, I may take you up on that
once in a while."

"Please do. One final thing, I think you deserve a little fun before
your treatments begin."

"What did you have in mind, getting Sam to cook dinner again?"

"No, this is strictly a Sisterhood thing. Unfortunately Friday is
the day we roll out the President's recommendations on the Early
Education Benchmarking Study to Congress and the Media." Margaret
nodded and smiled. "However, I think we can manage to take time for
dinner together, say 6'ish, after my last briefing. If this
freakishly warm weather continues, maybe we can eat out on the East
Lawn. If not, we'll commandeer the Roosevelt Room. Plus, the First
Lady will be back in town and it would be nice to include her."

"Sounds great." Margaret agreed. Glancing at her watch, she stood
up. "If you'll excuse me, it's after midnight and I need to check on
Leo. If he's done for the day I need to get out of here and head
home, I promised my brother an email detailing the events of the day
and need to get that written.. Plus I need to hit the Internet and
order a truckload of dressy cotton t-shirts."

"You want a website recommendation?"

"Please."

"Land's End has great women's clothing, including t-shirts in a wide
range of colors."

"Thank you for that piece of advice. I'll see you in the morning."
Margaret exited the Press Secretary's office, waved at Carol who was
on the phone, and turned back toward the Chief of Staff's office.

Meanwhile, in the Oval Office, Charlie stood next to the President as
he flipped through the same photographs Margaret had looked at
earlier. Coming to the last picture, the President glanced up at his
body man, waving the image under his nose. "Charlie, what does this
look on my best friend's face tell you?"

Without thinking, Charlie delivered the first thought that entered
his mind. "Like there's nothing wrong with him that an all night
mattress mambo with his assistant wouldn't cure." Realizing his
gaffe, the younger man clapped his right hand over his mouth. "Mr.
President, I apologize. That was out of line."

Looking back the photo for a second, President Bartlet returned his
gaze to Charlie, who was surprised to see a blush rising up the Chief
Executive's face. "Mr. President, are you blushing?"

"Mattress mambo, Charlie? Do you *really* think that's where his
mind is?"

"Truthfully Mr. President?" Bartlet nodded. "I think Mr. McGarry
was so blown away by the way Margaret looked that he was confronted
with more than that wheelbarrow load of unrequited love he's been
pushing around for who knows how long."

"How did *you* know about that?"

"The fact that he's in love with her?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, *that*."

"Well, I've worked in close proximity to both of them for the last
three years. I've noticed the way he gets when she walks into a room
and when she walks out of it. I've watched him watch her when he
thought no one was looking. And I saw the look on his face shortly
after Toby told him about her breast cancer. Mr. McGarry is
completely in love with Margaret and, in my opinion, everyone should
know love like that." Charlie finished with a grin.

"You know he'll never admit to it, right?" Bartlet asked, looking
back at the picture. "Abbey and I thought for sure he'd own up to it
after he and Jenny were divorced, but nothing happened. In all
honestly, I think he's afraid of getting his heart broken again."

"I'm no expert, but when the feeling's mutual, broken hearts are
usually a minor risk." Charlie replied. "Did you need anything
else, Mr. President?"

"No, Charlie, I'm going up to the Residence in a few minutes. Get
out of here."

"Thank you, Mr. President. Good night."

"Night, Charlie." President Bartlet called to the retreating figure.



Friday Afternoon, March 15, 2002 – 5:49 p.m. The Oval Office

The President, the Chief of Staff, Toby, Sam, and Josh were seated on
the sofas and side chairs, reviewing the earlier Congressional
briefings on the Early Education Benchmarking Study, or "Education
BS" as Toby, Josh, and Sam privately referred to it.

Making notes in the margin of the Executive Summary, Bartlet looked
over at Josh and Sam. "How did the Senate Republicans receive the
news?"

"Surprisingly well, sir." Sam replied, looking over his notes.
There were some concerns about the amount of money we intend to spend
on daycare for indigent children, but we reminded them that was over
five years and in the long run, allowed more single mom's to move
from welfare to work.

"Good work, people. We might get through this one relatively
unscathed." The President put the cap back on his pen and stuck it
in his shirt pocket. "What time is CJ's last press briefing?"

"Six this evening, sir." Toby responded, consulting a typed schedule
that topped a stack of papers at the near corner of an end
table. "The New York Times and the Post plan in-depth articles for
their Sunday editions."

Flipping his binder closed, the President crossed his left ankle over
his right knee and leaned back in his chair. "The more positive
publicity we receive on this thing, the easier it will be to roll out
the full education bill after the summer recess." Consulting his
wristwatch, the President looked at his companions. "It's almost
time for CJ's briefing. Sam turn the television on and we'll watch
it together."

Seventeen minutes later, Sam palmed the remote control and turned the
television off. "Well, she's rolled it to the media three times
today without any repercussions, taken out the trash, and called the
lid. I'd say we can look forward to positive coverage from the print
and electronic media." Sam said with a slight smile.

"Beats a secret plan to fight inflation." Toby wisecracked, slapping
Josh on the back.

"Thanks Toby, I wouldn't want anyone to forget about my finest
hour." Josh said, grimacing at the Communications Director.
Changing his focus, the Deputy Chief of Staff looked across the room
at his boss. "How's Margaret holding up, Leo?"

"As far as I know, just fine. We really haven't talked about her
treatments since we saw her oncologist on Tuesday."

"Donna said her radiation starts on Monday. Are you taking her for
her treatment?"

"Are you kidding? Margaret is the original independent woman, she'd
have my head if I pulled that stunt."

Toby joined the conversation. "Do you think that's wise Leo? From
past experience with Rachel, I can almost guarantee the first
treatment is going to knock Margaret for more of a loop than she's
prepared for. Her emotional roller coaster is going to take off at
warp speed, to say nothing of the fact that she probably won't be
able to work a full day after the first treatment."

"I know Donna and Ginger both offered to take her to GW Monday
morning and she turned them down." Josh said.

"Well, when you put it like that, maybe I'd better cancel my early
meetings and take Margaret to the hospital."

"You do that." President Bartlet said. "Josh can cover your calendar
until you get in." Standing up and tossing his portfolio on the desk
behind him, the President looked around at his closest aides. "The
women are having dinner together tonight, some sort of party for
Margaret before her treatments begin. Let's go raid the kitchen and
see what we can find for our own evening meal." The five men exited
the Oval Office, stopping only to add Charlie to their number.



Friday Evening, March 15, 2002 – 7:02 p.m. The East Lawn

The White House Stewards and kitchen staff, on instructions from the
First Lady, had outdone themselves. A large round table had been set
up in the shadow of three Japanese maple trees. The table was
covered with a bright yellow cloth and decorated with daffodils and
white votive candles in frosted glass holders. The remains of a
salmon and risotto feast were scattered across the plates, and two
empty wine bottles rested in the center of the table. Dr. Bartlet,
Nancy McNally, CJ, Margaret, Donna, Carol, Bonnie, and Ginger sat
around the table, reveling in the uninterrupted Sisterhood bonding
time.

"This false Spring weather is magnificent." Nancy McNally enthused
as she sat back in her chair, tipping her face toward the fading
light of the sun. "You know it's going to get cold and maybe even
snow again, but you just don't give a damn."

"Amen." Ginger said, reaching for her water goblet. "Enjoying
yourself, Margaret?"

Margaret looked around the table and smiled at her friends and
colleagues. "This has been wonderful, just what I needed. Thank you
for setting all this up, Dr. Bartlet."

"My pleasure Margaret, you deserve it"

Nancy sat forward again and looked at her dining companions. "I have
a question for all of you. Is it just me, or did our esteemed
Communications Director smell better than usual this morning?"

"You noticed that too?" Bonnie asked.

"Oh, yeah!" Nancy enthused, smiling at CJ.

"We think he changed his cologne." Carol said.

"He did." Dr. Bartlet replied, taking another sip of wine.

"Pardon me, ma'am, but how do you know?" Donna asked.

"Because he passed me in the hallway this morning and when a man
smells that damned good, I'm going to find out what kind of cologne
he's wearing."

"Well, what was it?" CJ asked, trying not to let her curiosity show.

"Something called Very Valentino for men." Abbey replied, noting
that CJ seemed slightly surprised by that bit of information.

"I'll say this much, Toby smelled the way a man ought to smell."
Ginger added, pantomiming fanning herself.

"I know what you mean." Margaret replied. "I'd follow a strange man
down the street if he smelled as nice as Toby did this morning."

Knowing she was about to cross an invisible line, and truly not
caring, CJ spoke up, a teasing note in her voice. "Well, hell
Margaret, you've been following Leo for eleven years over less than
that!"

"Uh, oh, CJ's gone and stuck her foot in it now." Nancy said,
watching Margaret and the Press Secretary stare one another down.

"Claudia Jean, I'd suggest you take that back." Margaret said.

"Nope, that's my story . . ."

"And she's sticking to it." Carol finished for her boss.

Standing up and beginning to walk around the table, Margaret grinned
at her friend, deciding to have a little fun. "C'mon CJ, you didn't
mean it."

Knowing that the Chief of Staff's assistant was trying to bait her,
CJ refused to bite. "Nope, I meant it, every word." The older woman
stood up as well and started backing away from Margaret, as the rest
of the women watched with ill-contained amusement.

"Oh CJ, you're going to be so sorry you didn't recant that last
statement." Margaret said, breaking into a sprint, as the Press
Secretary did the same.

Within ten seconds the two women had kicked their shoes off and were
engaged in an all-out race for the opposite side of the East Lawn.
The remaining women stood up and followed, eager to see what would
happen next.

CJ glanced ahead of her and saw the only possible escape
route. `Thank the Lord for long legs' she thought as she sped up and
jumped into the air, thankful also for wearing slacks that day. The
Press Secretary easily cleared the low boxwood hedge that separated
the lawn from the driveway and entrance to the Residence.

What she had not counted on was Margaret's skill as a runner and a
high school track star. Margaret easily cleared the hedge as well
and chased CJ up the drive and past the Portico.

Focused as they were on their teasing game of cat and mouse, both
women failed to notice the gathering of men on the Portico. Two of
them with bottles of beer, one with a scotch and a cigar, one with a
cigarette, and two with cans of Coke. Charlie stared wide-eyed in
the direction from which the two women had come. "I didn't know they
could do that."

Leo shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of his soft
drink. "I knew Margaret could."

Exhaling a cloud of fragrant smoke, Toby added his two cents worth to
the conversation. "I don't even want to *know* how you have that bit
of knowledge."

"That fact that you know seriously creeps me out." Sam said, smiling
at Josh.

President Bartlet smiled and elbowed his best friend. "Oh, I want to
know. Leo, we're waiting for an explanation, here."

"Margaret ran track in high school. Medaled in the high hurdles."
Leo answered.

"Wonder what that footrace was all about?" Sam said more to himself
than his companions.

"Better we don't ever find out." Toby said, stubbing out his
cigar. "Back to work, Sam. Those remarks won't write themselves."

Saturday Afternoon, March 16, 2002 – 3:30 p.m. Margaret's Apartment

Bright sunlight slanted through the bank of tall windows as Margaret
lay on the floor of her living room, surrounded by reference
materials and briefing books. Leo had forbade her coming into work
today, but had no problem with her doing background research for the
education bill from home. Stretching her thin frame as she reached
for another throw pillow to place under her chest, Margaret smiled as
she thought about the advantages to working from home. `No business
suits, no high heels, no panty hose, no running to the photocopier or
coffee pot every five minutes.' Flipping open a thick folder of
national high school graduation data, Margaret uncapped pink and
green highlighter markers and prepared to identify the highest and
lowest performers in each state.

Midway through this process, her cell phone rang, distracting
Margaret from her task. Glancing at the clock on her desk as the
pulled her purse toward her, she was surprised to notice almost two
hours had passed. `Time flies when you're busting your ass.' She
thought, extracting her phone from the black leather shoulder bag and
sliding the cover back. "Margaret Rigby."

"Margaret, I can't find the file with the national graduation
statistics." Her boss' voice carried through the receiver, his
frustration coming through loud and clear.

"That would be because you sent the file home with me last night so I
could summarize highest and lowest performers for each state."
Margaret rolled her eyes at Leo's forgetfulness.

"I did?"

"You did. In fact, that's what I was working on when you called. Is
there a specific set of numbers you needed?"

"I need to know the total number of high school graduates from
California for the last three years."

"Do you want *all* graduates, including GED recipients, or just
traditional students?" the tall red head asked, reaching behind her
for a slip of paper and a pen.

"All graduates, and can you break them down by race for me?"

"What you *really* want are the Hispanic numbers, compared to the
rest of the graduates, right?"

"Margaret, you're a mind reader."

"No, I've just worked for you for years and I'm guessing that you and
Sam are about to make your big appeal to Campos for support."

"Smart woman." Leo replied; glad she wasn't there to see the wreck
he had made of his office while trying to track down the file.

"Would you like the statistics on the number of Hispanic children
enrolled in early childhood learning programs over the last three
years as well?" Margaret asked. "I'm certain that file is in my
briefcase."

"That would be great."

"Give me an hour to run the numbers and I'll email them to you."

"Fine." Leo said and disconnected the call.

Margaret closed the case of her cell phone and sighed loudly. Leo's
telephone etiquette left a lot to be desired sometimes. Standing up
and stretching, Margaret pulled the hem of her Notre Dame sweatshirt
over her hips and grabbed her briefcase. Returning to her position
on the floor, she pulled the second file and a calculator from the
navy blue canvas bag, and started organizing the information Leo
needed.

Almost an hour later, as promised, Margaret was entering the data
into an email message and sending it to her boss. Looking at the
clock, she realized why her stomach was rumbling. It was almost 6:30
and she hadn't eaten since noon. Wandering into the kitchen, she
opened the refrigerator and glanced at the contents. Thankfully,
she'd been to the market that morning so there was something other
than bottled water, Diet Coke, Dijon mustard, and unexposed 35-
millimeter film on the shelves. Selecting a variety of ingredients,
she placed them on the cutting board. Turning toward the cabinets,
she pulled out a large stockpot, which she filled with cold water and
set on the stove. Adjusting the left front burner flame, she salted
the water and reached into the cupboard above the stove to select a
box of pasta.

Margaret chopped the vegetables and rinsed bay scallops, leaving them
in the colander to drain. The only thing left to prepare was the
fresh basil and a simple salad. Margaret located her kitchen shears
and carried them to the window located over the sink. Pulling down
the potted basil plant she kept there year round, the tall red head
snipped five of the fragrant leaves, inhaling their pungent scent as
she rinsed and dried them.

Just as she was about to locate her mezzaluna and shred the basil,
the email indicator on her laptop sounded. Margaret turned the flame
down on the stockpot and walked into the living room, shaking her
head at subject line of the latest email.

TO: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
FROM: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
RE: HELP!

Got the information. The graduation statistics are fine. Sam says
Campos is going to want a year by year analysis on Early Childhood
stats, with an age breakdown.

Margaret groaned and decided to see how much time she could borrow to
finish that assignment. She was really hungry, a fact that the smell
of fresh vegetables and basil had done nothing to alleviate.
Clicking open a new mail message window, Margaret began typing at top
speed.

TO: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
FROM: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
RE: Stats for Campos

I can get you those numbers, but it's going to take me a few hours.

Margaret sent the message and sat back to wait for the reply she knew
would be imminent. She didn't have long to wait; the chime sounded
less than a minute later.

TO: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
FROM: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
RE: Stats for Campos

Why so long? It shouldn't take you more than an hour.

Margaret thought about all the editorial comments she'd *like* to add
to her reply. Discretion being the better part of valor, Margaret
tapped the reply button and began composing her response.

TO: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
FROM: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
RE: Stats for Campos

Those numbers won't run themselves; the age breakdown will take at
least two hours. Plus, I'm in the middle of making dinner.

Once again, she sent the message and waited for a response. She was
certain her boss would tell her that dinner could wait, this
assignment was more important. It took a little longer this time,
but the email chime sounded just as she was debating whether or not
to go back into the kitchen and work on dinner.
TO: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
FROM: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
RE: Real Food

You're cooking? An actual meal? Something that doesn't come out of
a carton?

Margaret laughed and decided she might just get to eat after all.

TO: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
FROM: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
RE: Real Food

Yes, real food. Linguine with scallops, snow peas, and tomatoes.

"Let's see how fast that grosses him out." Margaret muttered after
sending the message. Leo was notorious for turning his nose up at
certain vegetables. Her answer came seconds later.

TO: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
FROM: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
RE: Real Food

Sounds good.

Margaret opened a new mail message and decided to see how far she
could push the envelope of Leo's culinary habits.

TO: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
FROM: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
RE: Picky Eater

I thought you hated snow peas?

Leo's response was swift and the subject line gave Margaret a hiccup-
inducing case of the giggles

TO: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
FROM: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
RE: I Am Not!

No, that's the President, must go with his inherent dislike of green
beans. I'm the one who won't eat zucchini or alfalfa sprouts.

Margaret held her breath in an effort to stop the hiccups and
composed her response.

TO: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
FROM: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
RE: You Are Too!

I can never cook for one. There's enough food here for at least four
people. If you'd like, you're welcome to come over for dinner. I'll
do the numbers after we eat.

The email remained silent for a couple of moments. When the new
message was downloaded, Margaret knew her plans for a quiet evening
of a bubble bath and a book were done for.

TO: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
FROM: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
RE: Dinner

If you're sure it's no imposition . . . Is there anything I can bring?

TO: ltmcgarry@whitehouse.gov
FROM: mkrigby@whitehouse.gov
RE: Dinner

Just yourself. Dinner will be ready in about half an hour. I'm
going to go finish cooking now.

Margaret sent the message and logged off the White House email
server. Glancing around the living room, Margaret was thankful she'd
cleaned house early that morning. A couple of moments later she had
all of the education materials that had been scattered across the
floor in two neat piles on her desk. Glancing at herself in the
entryway mirror, Margaret decided that changing her clothes and
putting on some makeup was in order. It wouldn't do for her boss to
see her looking like a slob.

Faster than she would have thought possible, Margaret changed into a
pair of dark purple wool slacks and a marching long cowl neck
sweater. Applying minimal make-up and brushing her hair, Margaret
decided the one thing she was not willing to compromise was her bare
feet. Winter or summer, she preferred bare feet to shoes, especially
when she was in her own home.

Going back into the kitchen, Margaret pulled a red twill apron from
the back of the door, slipping it over her head, wrapping the ties
around her waist twice and tying it in the front. She had just
finished chopping the basil and was pouring some olive oil in a sauté
pan when the doorbell rang.

Margaret wiped her hands on a dishtowel and walked into the living
room. A quick check of the peephole in the center of her front door
revealed that Leo was waiting on the other side. Margaret threw the
deadbolt and opened the door, a smile in place. "Good evening Leo."

"Hey Margaret. Thanks for inviting me over for dinner."

"Not a problem."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Leo asked.

"Set the table and then stay out of my way." Margaret said, turning
toward the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am." Leo took the plates and flatware she handed him and
followed Margaret's gaze to the dining area, a room he'd not
previously been in. Leo was surprised at the intimate, romantic feel
of the room, a sense that the dark green walls, recessed lighting,
and Battenberg lace table linens only added to.

Leo set the table and returned to the living room, leaning on the
counter that ran between that room and the kitchen. "Your dining
room is quite something."

Margaret turned from where she was tearing lettuce for a salad and
smiled. "It does make a statement."

"Was it like that when you moved in?"

"Actually, no, it was stark white with the world's most hideous
wallpaper border." Margaret replied. I was unable to get the
wallpaper border down, the previous tenant must have used Super
Glue. So I painted the walls a color that I knew would cover it
up. The fleur d' lis were an afterthought.

"I must have missed those."

"At the top of the wall, where the ugly border would be if you could
still see it."

Leo turned around and walked back into the dining room. Sure enough,
at the top of the walls were gold fleur d' lis, spaced about ten
inches apart. Walking back into the living room he called out, "Did
you paint those yourself?"

"Donna did that for me."

"Donna, Donna Moss?"

"Do you know any other Donna's?"

"Not in the White House. I had no idea she was so talented."

"Donna was the one who came up with the idea. She decided the room
needed a little bit of color to `open it up', as she said."

"The child's a regular Martha Stewart."
"She's terribly gifted with a paint brush and if I were you, I'd
refrain from calling her a child. Donna has a green belt in tae kwon
do." Margaret replied, pouring oil and vinegar dressing over the
salad. Handing the bowl and serving utensils to Leo, she
continued, "Put these on the table for me, please."

Within ten minutes, the main course was finished. Margaret handed
the steaming pasta bowl over to Leo and retrieved the wicker basket
of bread from the back of the stove where it was keeping warm.
Margaret poured two glasses of water from the carafe in the middle of
the table and looked to her left, wondering where Leo had gone. She
would have sworn he was right next to her a moment ago.

Realizing that his assistant was looking for him, Leo quietly cleared
his throat. Margaret turned around and looked at her boss, standing
directly behind her. "Leo, what on earth are you doing back there?"

Leo placed his hand on the top of a dining chair. "Contrary to
popular opinion, I was not born in a barn. I was raised to know that
a lady is seated first." The Chief of Staff motioned for Margaret to
sit down.

Thankful that she had left the lighting in the dining room on low,
Margaret slowly sank into her chair, fighting a blush that she was
sure must have reached her hairline.

The next hour passed pleasantly as Leo and Margaret talked of topics
ranging far away from work and her diagnosis. Leo was surprised to
learn that Margaret had as much interest in foreign policy as
domestic issues. For her part, Margaret gained greater insight into
her boss through stories about his relationship with his sisters.

Following the meal, Leo helped Margaret clear the table and watched
as she put the water on for tea. Walking into the kitchen, he
removed the dirty stockpot from her hands. "Why don't I take care of
the washing up?"

"That's not necessary. It won't take a minute." Margaret protested.

"It's the least I can do after such a fantastic meal." Leo
insisted. "You start on those early education numbers and I'll get
this taken care of."

"I really don't like people mucking about in my kitchen . . ."

"I promise not to break any glasses, or hide your pots and pans.
Now, go manipulate some data and stay out of my way." Leo said,
parroting her earlier warning.

Knowing that any further argument was without purpose, Margaret
walked into the living room and pulled the early education file from
the stacks she had created earlier. Loading up the Excel program,
she began highlighting numbers and creating the age breakdowns Leo
requested.

After drying and putting away the last piece of china, Leo poured two
mugs of tea and carried them into the living room. He stood behind
the chair for a moment, watching his assistant keying data into the
spreadsheet. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly she could
work. Her typing speed was one of the things that compelled him to
hire her all those years ago.

"Stop staring a hole in my back, Leo, I'm almost done." Margaret
said.

"I wasn't staring." Leo objected

"Were too."

"Was not."

Margaret laughed. "Okay, now we sound like Josh and Donna when they
start picking at one another." Hitting a few more keys, she turned
around and smiled at her boss. "The spreadsheet's complete. Do you
want to have a look before I save it to disk and close the file?"

"Please, but you'd better save it first. I don't want to be
responsible for pressing the wrong key and sending all your hard work
crashing down."

Margaret saved the file and vacated the desk chair. Moving to the
sofa, she picked up one of the mugs and sipped the Darjeeling tea Leo
had prepared. "Any questions?"

"Nope. It looks great. Thanks for taking care of this on such short
notice." Leo saved the document once more, closed the program, and
removed the diskette from the small port at the front of the
laptop. "I should probably get out of your hair, let you do whatever
it was you had planned before I barged in here."

"Leo, you didn't barge, I invited you. Besides, I don't make plans,
I work at the White House, remember?"

"Yeah, you work for that irascible old coot McGarry don't you?"

Margaret nodded while biting the inside of her lower lip so as not to
laugh.

"How do you stand working for such a tyrant?"

"Glutton for punishment I guess." Margaret said, finally giving
voice to the laughter that was caught at the back of her
throat. "Seriously Leo, there's no need for you to run off. We
probably ought to talk about the more practical aspects of handling
the workload while I'm on radiation."

Leo moved to the opposite end of the sofa and sat down. "I thought
the other Senior Assistants and Charlie had that figured out."

"They do, but you need to know who will be handling what. If for
some reason I'm not in the office, you need to know which assistant
to go to."

"Fair point. Make me a list and I'll keep it in my calendar."

Margaret pulled a red file folder off the coffee table and passed it
to her boss. "Here's everything you need to know." Inside was a
list of the work assignments each assistant had agreed to cover,
together with another sheet with her oncologist, pharmacist, and
brother's contact information. A third sheet contained photocopies
of her insurance cards. A computer diskette carried all of the same
information, including an electronic calendar for the next five
months with her treatments and doctor's appointments noted. The last
item was a large, heavy cream envelope that had his name on the
front. The envelope was sealed and Leo fingered its thickness,
wondering what could be inside.

Watching Leo's examination of the envelope, his assistant knew it was
time to get all the details out in the open. Reaching across the
sofa, she placed her right hand on his left shoulder. "Leo, that
envelope has all the information you'll need if something unexpected
happens and I don't make it."

Leo looked as though someone had slapped him about the face with a
wet mackerel. "Margaret, I don't need this. You're only getting
radiation. Corrine said everything looks very promising. I don't
need this." he repeated, placing the folder on the coffee table.

"Yes, Leo, you do need that envelope. There's a copy of my living
will, a signed power of attorney, and my last will and testament.
You're the executor of my will. I hope you don't mind, but I'm not
sure Phil will be able to handle that responsibility when the time
comes. There's also all the information on my bank accounts and IRA
savings. My lawyer knows how to distribute all of my assets, it's
all clearly explained in the will. Finally, the arrangements for my
funeral are in there. The funeral has been prepaid and planned. The
only thing you have to do is make sure the funeral home listed in
there is called."

"I really don't want to have this conversation with you." Leo said,
afraid if his assistant kept talking about things like wills and
funerals the tears he'd been keeping in check since Tuesday would
overrun his eyes.

"Well, that's just tough, because like it or not we're having this
conversation." Margaret said, pinching the bridge of her nose,
hoping she could keep the tears she'd been harboring since Tuesday
evening at bay for a few more hours.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Leo asked.

"I've arranged to be cremated, and that's something my brother is
probably going to oppose with a blue passion. He holds the notion
that you have to be returned to the earth, I don't and that's all you
need to know about that long-standing disagreement. Like everything
else, it's all spelled out in the will and the funeral arrangements."

Trying hard to move into lawyer-mode, Leo pulled out his glasses and
reached for the folder. Pulling a fountain pen from his shirt
pocket, Leo prepared to take some notes. "Since you're being
cremated, have you specified what you want done with your . . .
your . . . you know, your ashes?"

Margaret paled; she had not planned on him asking this question.
She'd figured he'd go home and pore over the contents of that
envelope and ask questions later. That or he'd tempt fate and ignore
it until it was absolutely necessary, if ever it became necessary.
Standing up and walking across the room toward the entertainment
center, Margaret picked up one of several framed photographs from an
eye level shelf.

Following his assistant with his eyes, Leo noticed Margaret was
staring at a photograph. Not wanting to intrude, he remained on the
couch, allowing her the time and space she needed to discuss this
very personal detail with him. He truly would not be upset if she
chose to evade the question all together. Part of his mind still
refused to accept that this treatment program would leave Margaret
anything but fully restored to health.

Finally certain she could continue the conversation without crumbling
emotionally in front of her boss, Margaret carried the photo back to
the sofa and sat on the arm nearest Leo. Placing the frame in his
hands she whispered one word. "There."

Leo looked down at a picture of what had become the original core
staff of the Bartlet Administration, but was then the Bartlet for
America campaign staff. They were standing on a beach at sunset,
could have been any of a dozen places. Leo searched his memory,
trying to place the location. Looking more closely at the picture,
he recognized that every person in the shot was wet. Not just wet,
as in got too close to the sea spray, but wet, as in drowned rat
wet. Looking up at his assistant, Leo shook his head. "Okracoke
Island".

"Um hmm." Margaret said, struggling not to cry.

Leo thought back to that day. They'd been on the road for about
three weeks straight and tempers were short and getting exponentially
shorter by the mile. They'd reached North Carolina at the end of a
particularly grueling day of travel on that rickety, overheated,
campaign bus from hell. Governor Bartlet had been scheduled to speak
at a rally on Okracoke Island early the next morning. Margaret and
Ginger, in their infinite wisdom, had booked them into rooms on the
Island the night before.

By the time they had hauled their gear onto the ferry and made the
trip to the Island, it was a wonder blood had not been shed.
Everyone checked into the hotel and Bartlet called a staff meeting in
an hour's time, on the hotel's terrace. "Might as well prepare for a
mutiny." Margaret had said to Leo on their shared elevator ride to
their hotel rooms. "People are just that angry at him, and at one
another." Thankful his assistant was much more attuned the
undercurrents of the campaign staff, Leo took off to his best
friend's hotel room. Although Leo had attempted to warn Bartlet about
his staff's vile humor, he wasn't certain the Governor had listened
to a word he'd said.

An hour later, everyone sat on the hotel terrace, arms folded across
their chests, scowls pasted like evil Kabuki masks upon their faces.
No one even pretended to notice the ocean a mere 100 feet from their
location. Leo would have laughed had he not been afraid that, within
five minutes, the only people still on the campaign staff would be
himself and Margaret, and he wasn't certain about her.

Bartlet came through the French doors and looked around at the scene
before him. His best friend had been right, these people were wound
way too tight. Hell, these people were homicidal. The Governor
clapped his hands together, getting the attention of his campaign
staff. "Follow me." Bartlet barked, striding across the terrace and
onto the lawn.

Rather than sit and stare at one another, and because they were
nothing if not well-trained, all of the staffers and volunteers began
to walk single file behind their leader. Each of them must have
wondered what the hell the Governor was playing at now. It certainly
would not be the first time he'd regaled them with some inane bit of
trivia about the local landscape or wildlife.

Reaching the edge of the beach, Bartlet jogged down a small sand
dune, beckoning his rag-tag band of not so merry men and women to
follow. Walking to the edge of the surf, he waited for them to
gather around. Spreading his arms wide, Bartlet commanded, "Look
around you."

The staff let their eyes rove over the scenery for a scant few
seconds before returning their collective gaze to the Governor. Well
aware that desperate times called for desperate measures, Bartlet
assumed his most intimidating posture and tone of voice. "People, I
have only *one* thing to say to each and every one of you . . . Last
one in is a rotten egg!" With that, the Governor had grabbed the
wrist of the person nearest him, who just happened to be CJ, and
pulled her along with him into the surf.

The spontaneity of the moment was the perfect tension breaker.
Before Leo could turn around, Sam and Josh dashed by him, pulling
Donna and Ginger along between them. Toby was acting
uncharacteristically youthful and helping Mrs. Landingham unlace her
sneakers. Carol and Bonnie were toeing out of their sandals and
pulling their hair back. Out in the surf the catcalls and laughter
of the campaign staff mingled with the crashing of the waves.

Leo, looked over at Margaret, who stood with her arms still folded
across her chest, watching the scene unfold. "You going in?" Leo
asked.

"Sure. You?"

"Oh, I don't think so." Leo answered; figuring it would be
undignified for the campaign manager to be playing in the ocean like
a five-year-old.

Next thing Leo knew, his assistant was forcibly lifting him from the
ground. "Margaret, what the hell?"

"You heard the boss, last one in is a rotten egg." Margaret said,
placing one arm underneath his knees and carrying him ever closer to
the surf.

"Margaret, I'm wearing clothes!"

"No shit! So's everyone else!"

Stunned by the fact his assistant knew that type of language, much
less used it, Leo was rendered mute. Only the sound of his staff
chanting "Go Margaret" and the sight of the surf inches below his
feet ended his silence. "Margaret, these are $300 Italian loafers!"

Turning her head, Margaret looked her boss square in the eye.
Calling on every ounce of sarcasm and irritation she felt. Margaret
allowed an evil grin to cross her normally pleasant face. "So?" she
replied, dumping Leo unceremoniously into the surf.

By the time he'd surfaced, sputtering and blowing, Margaret was
nowhere to be seen. Looking around at the group, Leo finally located
her being carried through the surf on the shoulders of Josh only to
be back flipped into deeper water. Toby, Donna, and Mrs. Landingham
were having the be-all, end-all of water fights. Leo laughed as CJ
and Carol swam up behind the Governor and dunked him underwater with
a resounding splash.

The entire group spent the next hour and a half enjoying the water
and one another's company. Tensions, petty arguments, and the fact
they were probably ruining clothing and wristwatches were forgotten.
When they emerged from the water, the owner of the hotel had sent one
of the housekeeping staff down with a wide basket full of towels.

Toby ran up to the young man and handed him the point-and-shoot
camera he'd retrieved from the blazer he'd left on the beach. The
staffer, happy to oblige, had taken the photograph Leo now held,
Twelve members of the Bartlet White House staff, drenched to the
bone, on a beach in North Carolina at the end of what could have been
one of the worst days in modern Presidential campaign history.

Looking back at his assistant, Leo smiled softly. "Why there?"

"Because *that* was one of the best days of my life."

Leo thought long and hard about her response. Choosing his words
carefully, he said, "Margaret we were at one another's throats up
until that point. If I remember correctly I'd yelled at you nonstop
for about 4 days prior to that. You were justified in tossing my
sorry ass into the drink!"

"It's not about the fighting, it's not even about getting the
opportunity to take out some of my frustrations by pitching you into
the ocean. It's about the fact that, on that day, at that hour, I
knew this group of people was going to be responsible for getting a
man elected to the highest office in this nation. I knew we'd forged
a bond no amount of hard work, bad press, or bickering could break.
I knew we'd become a family." Margaret choked back a sob, but not
before Leo heard her and stood up, perching on the arm of the sofa
next to her.

"Don't you start crying Margaret. If you do, I'll have to follow
suit. Not that I have a problem crying in front of you, been there,
done that. But I've been holding it in since Tuesday; if I start
crying now, I'm not sure when I'd be able to stop." Leo turned his
head and noticed that a small rivulet of tears was forging a path
from the corner of her left eye to her chin. "I thought I asked you
not to do that." Leo said, his voice cracking on the last word.

"Sorry." Margaret managed to say before giving into the tears she
could no longer contain.

Leo reached into his pocket and extracted a handkerchief, which he
pressed into his assistant's hand. His arm about her waist, Leo led
her across the living room toward the large Boston rocker in the
corner. Settling himself in the chair, Leo pulled Margaret into his
lap, arranging her legs across his and cradling her head against his
left shoulder. Affording himself the luxury of unchecked emotion,
Leo placed his head on top of Margaret's and allowed his tears to
flow, his sobs matching hers as he cried out of frustration with an
unfair disease and out of the fear that he might be forced to open
that envelope and carry out her last wishes.

Monday Morning, March 18, 2002 – 5:00 a.m. Margaret's Apartment

As the first oblique shards of gray lightened the metropolitan
skyline, Margaret's eyes opened to the sound of the local NPR
affiliate emanating from her clock radio. Leaning forward on her
elbows, the tall red head snapped the alarm off, ran her right hand
over her face, and yawned widely. Sitting on the side of the bed,
she slid her feet into white terrycloth spa slippers, wrapped a white
terrycloth robe around her thin frame, and padded down the hall to
the kitchen, where she set the teakettle to boiling. Margaret
measured loose-leaf Ceylon Breakfast tea into the infuser and dropped
it into her favorite mug.

Walking into the living room, Margaret opened the front door and
leaned down toward the hall carpet to retrieve the Washington Post.
Caught in the middle of another yawn, Margaret groped blindly on the
floor, no newspaper. Standing up, she looked beyond her toes, hoping
to determine whether or not her neighbors had received their morning
papers yet. There, leaning against the opposite wall, legs angled
down the stairwell, was the White House Chief of Staff, reading the
first section of what she presumed was her copy of the Post.

Past the point of caring that she was still in her nightclothes,
complete with bed-head and teeth that felt like the underneath side
of a toadstool, Margaret leaned against the doorframe and shook her
head. "I'm going to assume you have a perfectly valid reason for
sitting in the hall, reading *my* copy of the paper at this unholy
hour."

"You're a crab first thing in the morning, anyone ever tell you
that?" Leo said, not looking up from the editorial page.

"Oh, you've yet to see my crabby side." Margaret replied, smiling in
spite of the irritation she felt. "Dare I ask why you're here?"

Leo closed the newspaper and took his time reorganizing the
sections. Standing up, he handed the paper to Margaret. "Today's
your first radiation treatment."

"Thank you for the news update, Tom Brokaw, I'd totally forgotten
that fact." Margaret replied sarcastically, as she walked back into
the apartment while Leo remained in the hall. Turning to shut the
door, she shook her head. "Did you come over here to make sure I
didn't space my treatment or was there, bad as I hesitate to mention
it, some actual purpose to your lurking about the halls?"

Leo smiled widely. "I'm going to take you to GW for your treatment."

"Sure you are. And Peter Lillienfield is registering as a member of
the Green Party." Margaret placed her hand against the door, intent
upon shutting Leo out, physically and metaphorically.

What she had not counted on was the Chief of Staff's reflexes or his
upper body strength. Leo quickly leaned against the door, pushing it
open and stepping inside his assistant's apartment. "Nice try,
Margaret,"

"You're really not going to leave well-enough alone?"

"Hadn't planned on it."

"Would it make any difference if I told you that I don't *want*
anyone to go with me?"

"No."

"How about if I said that I don't want *you* going with me?"

"Again, nice try. I know that no fewer than three people offered to
go with you this morning and that you turned every one of them down."

Margaret moaned and walked toward the kitchen. "Seeing as how I
don't have time to spend the morning arguing, combined with the fact
that you're the most obstinate character this side of Capitol Hill, I
am going to make myself a cup of tea and lock myself in the
bathroom. When I come out I promise to be in better humor, or at
least tolerable."

"You *are* planning on eating breakfast, aren't you?" Leo questioned
his assistant as she walked passed him again, tea mug firmly in
hand. "Corrine said you're to start having at least 6 small meals a
day."

Without halting her progress toward the bathroom, Margaret called
out. "It's not enough you feel the need to mollycoddle me through my
first treatment, now you've taken on the mantle of my nutritional
guru?" Entering the bathroom, she slammed the door and turned on the
shower.

Shaking his head, Leo wandered into his assistant's kitchen and
pulled open the refrigerator, surveying the contents. He'd
considered bringing her breakfast with him but wasn't sure a muffin
loaded with preservatives was what she ought to be having. Locating
a loaf of nine-grain bread, he placed two slices in the toaster.
Examination of the vegetable bin yielded a bag of red seedless
grapes. Breaking off a stem, he rinsed them in cold water and left
them on a piece of paper towel to dry. The toaster discharged its
contents and he left the lightly browned bread where it was, unsure
if Margaret put butter or jelly on her toast. Going back to the
refrigerator, Leo checked the contents of the top shelf: three large
bottles of water, a half-gallon of skim milk, Diet Coke, and a magnum
of incredibly expensive champagne. "No juice, what is wrong with
that woman?" Leo groused, making a mental note to have someone from
the Mess put some in the West Wing kitchen area.

By ten past six, Margaret emerged from the back of the apartment,
dressed in olive wool slacks and long jacket. Leo was pleased to see
she had at least followed one of her oncologist's dictates and was
wearing a light yellow t-shirt, as opposed to the usual silk blouse.
A small canvas tote bag dangled from her right hand. "Let's see if I
can't manage to get it right this time. Good morning, Leo."

Looking up form the newspaper he was still perusing, Leo smiled at
his assistant. "Good morning Margaret." Realizing he needed to
apologize for showing up unannounced, he continued, "If my taking you
to GW is going to make you uncomfortable, I'll leave. It's just that
Toby said his sister's first radiation was no picnic and I don't want
you to have to do this alone. If you'd rather, I'll be happy to call
Donna or CJ. Hell, I'll even call Toby and tell *him* to meet you
there."

"It's fine Leo. If I'm going to have anyone go with me, I'd rather
it be you . . .since you know all about the protocol and things."
Margaret finished in a rush, not wanting him to get any indication of
her underlying feelings.

"It's settled then." Leo said standing up and placing the newspaper
on the coffee table. "You're probably going to be angry with me, but
I made you some breakfast. Nothing much, just a couple of slices of
toast and I washed off some grapes. Do you want anything on your
toast?"

Margaret tried not to laugh at the earnest look on her boss' face.
He was trying so hard to be helpful. It wouldn't kill her to be
decent and not take his head off. "To be honest Leo, I'm so nervous
that I'm not certain I could keep anything on my stomach. Tell you
what, let's put the toast and grapes in a couple of plastic bags and
we can take them with us. By the time we get to the White House I'll
probably be starving." Margaret walked into the kitchen, located a
couple of small storage bags and placed the food inside. Tossing the
bags into the top of her tote, she walked back into the living room
and picked up her purse and briefcase. "Ready to go?"

Leo and Margaret left the apartment and walked down the stairs to the
front stoop. Eddie, Leo's driver, stepped out of the sedan and
opened the back door. "Good morning, Margaret." Eddie greeted her
with a wide smile.

"Good morning Eddie. How are you?" Margaret asked, as the young man
helped her into the car.

"Great, thanks for asking. Are you ready for your first treatment?"

"As ready as I'm going to be." Margaret replied as Leo entered the
car and sat by the opposite door.

"GW Cancer Center, please Eddie." Leo requested. Eddie nodded and
engaged the left turn signal, slowly pulling out into the early
morning traffic.



Monday Morning, March 18, 2002 – 6:42a.m. GWU Breast Care Center

Leo and Margaret entered the Breast Care Center and walked up to the
receptionist's station. The same young woman who had been there when
Margaret arrived for her simulation appointment was seated behind the
desk. Margaret smiled and reached for the sign-in sheet, writing
down her name and the time.

After a short wait, a nurse with long blonde hair pulled into a thick
French braid came into the outer room. "Margaret Rigby?" she
called, looking around the waiting area.

Margaret stood and looked down at Leo, eyes wide with
apprehension. "Tell me again this is going to be all right?"

Leo smiled and nodded his head. "Everything's going to be just
fine. You want me to go back with you?"

"Please?" Margaret nodded her head vigorously.

"Sure thing." Leo stood and put his hand at the small of Margaret's
back, guiding her forward toward the waiting nurse.

"Are you Ms. Rigby's husband or boyfriend?" The young woman asked,
consulting Margaret's chart.

"No, he's her boss *and* her primary support system." Dr. Matthew's
voice echoed from a short distance down the hall. "He's to be
allowed to stay with Margaret at all times. The obvious exception
being the treatment room." Corrine walked up to Margaret and Leo,
her long lab coat forming a pink cloud behind her.

"Good morning, Corrine." Leo said, stepping forward to shake her
hand.

"Leo, good to see you again. Margaret how are you holding up?"

"I feel the strong urge to either vomit or faint."

"That's normal. Let's go on back and you can meet your radiation
team." Corrine and the nurse flanked Leo and Margaret as they made
their way toward the treatment area.

Having reached the end of the hall, the nurse ushered them into a
small examination room, handed Margaret's chart to another nurse,
patted Margaret on the arm and returned to the front of the suite.
The second nurse opened the chart, placed it on a small desk and
smiled at the trio. "Margaret, my name is Esther and I'll be one of
the nurses taking care of you."

"Pleased to meet you." Margaret said. "This is my boss, Leo McGarry
and I'm sure you know Dr. Matthews."

Esther shook Leo's hand as well. "A pleasure Mr. McGarry." Looking
down at the chart she continued, "I see where you've been with us
before."

Margaret nodded. "Several years ago, but that was for chemotherapy."

"Well, word travels fast around here and I think some of your old
nurses are going to be stopping by this week to say hello." Closing
the chart she walked across the room and retrieved the ubiquitous
pink wrap around robe and plastic bag. You know the drill, strip
down to your underwear and put the robe on so it wraps in the front.
Let me see, according to your chart you have a pierced navel,
correct?"

"Yes." Margaret replied. "I removed the ring this morning."

"Then you're one step ahead of me. Make sure you remove your
earrings and any other jewelry you're wearing." Esther said as she
stepped out of the room, Leo and Corrine following behind her.

Corrine and Leo leaned against the opposite wall, their eyes on the
exam room door. "Good of you to bring her in, Leo." Corrine said
with a slight smile.

"Well, she kept refusing help from everyone else and our
Communications Director, who went through this with his sister, said
she really shouldn't be alone . . ."

"How did you get past her Superwoman streak?"

"Camped out in front of her apartment door starting at 4 this
morning." Leo deadpanned.

"Nice move."

"I've always said you have to get up early in the morning to pull one
over on Margaret." Leo laughed.

The exam room door opened and Margaret poked her head around the
edge. "You can come back in now."

Leo and Corrine stood inside the door as Margaret settled herself on
a gurney, trying in vain to get the robe to cover her knees.

"I've seen the photographs, but let me get an actual look at how they
marked your breast." Corrine said, moving closer to the gurney.

"I'm going to step out here for a moment." Leo said, practically
running from the room and closing the door behind him.

Margaret and her oncologist laughed. "Bare breasts scare the hell
out of him." Margaret said, laughing harder still.

"And he's going to be the one responsible for taking care of you?"
Corrine rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well, he's the Chief of Staff. Anytime there's a medical
issue where it's a remote possibility all or part of my chest will be
visible, he'll staff it out to one of the assistants or CJ."

Corrine opened the front of the robe and looked at Margaret's left
breast. "Hope you like the color purple," she said, examining the
lines.

"Well, they didn't offer me a choice of colors or I would have gone
with a nice light green. Goes with everything, you know."

Corrine raised her hand and pretended to slap Margaret's arm. "Bad
joke, Margeret."

"Cut me some slack. I'm too nervous to be clever."

"Shall we let Leo come back in.?"

Margaret finished tying the robe closed at the waist. "All covered
up, you can open the door."

"Leo I'm done staring at Margaret's chest. You can come back in."
Corrine smiled as the Chief of Staff had the good grace to blush.

Three minutes later there was a knock on the doorframe and two
doctors, one male and one female, entered the room. The young woman
spoke first. "Good morning, Margaret. My name is Sasha Reynolds and
this is Brian Lewis, a second year resident here at GWU. We'll be
your radiation oncologists for the next few months. I'm sorry I
wasn't able to be here for your simulation, we had an emergency.

Margaret nodded her head. "That's quite all right. I'd like for you
to meet Leo McGarry, the person most responsible for making sure I
follow all your orders."

"Mr. McGarry, you're my new best friend." Dr. Reynolds said with a
wide smile. "Dr. Matthews tells me Margaret can be a bit strong
willed."

"I said she was damned pigheaded." Corrine laughed. "Margaret, you
are in excellent hands; I'm going on to the office. I'll see you
next week." The oncologist left the exam room. Catching Leo's eye
as she started down the hall, she pantomimed someone holding a phone,
an indicator he should call if there were any problems. Leo nodded
his understanding and turned his attention back to the two young
doctors.

"Margaret, if you're ready, we'll take you down the hall to the
treatment room." Dr. Lewis said, putting her chart under his right
arm and offering her a hand down from the gurney. Margaret reached
into the tote bag she'd carried with her and extracted a portable CD
player and a small set of headphones.

"Should I wait here?" Leo asked.

Dr. Lewis smiled at the older man. "You may, or you can walk down to
the treatment room with us. There are some chairs in the hall where
you can wait. I'm sure the tech won't mind if you come into the
observation area and watch while we set things up."

"Margaret?" Leo asked, leaving the remainder of the question
unspoken.

"Do you mind walking down with me? You don't have to stay and
watch . . . I just . . ." Two large tears leaked from the inside
corner of the tall red head's right eye.

Acting like this was nothing more than one of their innumerable walks
through the halls of the West Wing, Leo took his place next to his
assistant and started down the hall Dr. Reynolds indicated. "So,
Bruno thinks the President should start campaigning in the South
beginning next week . . ."

"Sam and Toby must be having seven kinds of a fit with the message."

"Yeah, because you know how poorly the whole MS thing is playing down
there."

"Thank you, Governor Ritchie." Margaret said, rolling her eyes.

"This is our stop Margaret." Dr. Reynolds said, putting a hand on
her arm.

Putting on a face far more optimistic than she felt, she looked at
her boss and smiled bravely. "See you in a bit."

Leo nodded and smiled as well. "Absolutely. Remember, everything's
going to be just fine."

Margaret nodded her head once and followed the two physicians into
the radiation treatment room. Leo walked back the way they had come,
hands stuffed into his pockets, his head down. The Chief of Staff
was not, by nature, a patient man and waiting was something he never
suffered gladly. He considered going outside to make a couple of
phone calls but could not bring himself to leave the Cancer Center,
afraid Margaret might become ill and need him and he would not be
there.

Dr. Lewis stepped out of the treatment room and watched the Chief of
Staff kick at the molded vinyl baseboard along the hallway. He'd
watched his father do the exact same thing when his mother was
undergoing chemotherapy years ago. It was a large part of the reason
he'd trained to become an oncologist. Stepping down the hall, he got
the older man's attention. "Mr. McGarry?"

"It's Leo, please Dr. Lewis." Leo replied.

"Okay, but you have to call me Brian." Leo nodded in
agreement. "Why don't you come with me? We'll let you have a look
from the observation room."

"I really don't want to . . ."

"Mr. Mc . . . Leo . . . there's no pain involved. The procedure is
just like getting a high powered, longer-than-usual, x-ray."

"It's not about that. It's just . . . Margaret and I don't
have . . . uh . . . I'm her boss." Leo finished lamely.

Fortunately, Brian understood what Leo was unable to verbalize. "Oh,
that's no problem. Let me step in and see how far along they are.
If it's all right, I'll come back and get you." The younger man
stepped back into the treatment room.

Less than 30 seconds later he was back. "They're still getting her
situated on the table. If you want to take a quick look, let's go
over here."

Brian ushered the Chief of Staff into a small booth that held a board
of controls and computer screens for the machines inside the room.
Looking through a plate glass window, Leo could make out the top of
Margaret's head. Esther, the nurse from earlier, was standing to one
side, holding her hand and talking to her. Dr. Reynolds and another
person in pink scrubs were working with Margaret, getting her
centered on the table. Leo watched as Dr. Reynolds reached over to
untie Margaret's robe.

Turning quickly from the window, he smiled at the doctor who stood
behind him. "Thanks Brian, I appreciate it."

"Any time Leo. You know if you ever have any questions, about any of
this, and you want a man's perspective, feel free to ask me. My mom
had breast cancer about 15 years ago."

"How'd she do?" Leo asked

"She just passed her ten year remission mark." Brian smiled widely.

"That's terrific, you must be thrilled."

"Mom's a fighter," the younger man continued. "And so, I'd hazard a
guess, is Margaret."

"You have no idea." Leo said with a short chuckle.

"I'd better get back to work. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Sure thing, Brian." Leo sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs
and watched other patients and family members moving about the
radiology suite.

A short while later he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, Leo
saw his assistant next to him. Jumping up, he reached out and patted
her hand. "How are you?"

"A little stiff and a lot hungry!" Margaret said with a grin. "Let
me get changed and we can get out of here."

Returning to the examination room, Leo waited in the hall again as
Margaret changed back into her work clothes. Dr. Reynolds came past
and stopped before going into another exam room. "She did well, Mr.
McGarry. A little fearful, but that's normal."

"I'll tell you the same thing I told your colleague, call me Leo.
After all, we're going to be seeing a lot of one another. Is there
anything we need to watch for?"

"And you can call me Sasha. This was her first treatment, so the
biggest thing to keep an eye on is her appetite and her energy
level. She's going to feel like nothing happened today, and then
about mid afternoon she's likely to get tired. If you can convince
her that a nap's in order, that would be a plus."

"She's been given the lecture about getting her rest from a variety
of sources." Leo replied.

"Reinforcement is a good thing." Sasha smiled and walked on to her
next patient.

Finally, Margaret exited the exam room, looking more like the strong,
capable assistant Leo knew her to be. The Chief of Staff ushered her
out of the Breast Care Center and downstairs to the waiting car.



Monday Morning, March 18, 2002 – 8:30a.m. The West Wing – Chief of
Staff's Office

Leo and Margaret entered his office from the hall. Wanting to help,
but not wanting to appear too much like a mother hen, Leo debated how
hard he should push the issue of food. Thankfully, he never had to
say a word.

"I think I'll try eating that toast now." Margaret said, turning
toward her office.

"Do you want some tea, or juice?" Leo asked, looking at the phone
messages Bonnie had placed on his blotter.

"I can get it. Besides, you have Senior Staff in five and I'm sure
there are a group of women waiting to make sure I'm not glowing like
a piece of radioactive waste." I'll be fine. Margaret turned and
left Leo to his own devices.



Monday Morning, March 18, 2002 – 8:40a.m. The West Wing – Oval Office

The Senior Staff were already seated on the couches talking quietly
with the President when Leo entered from the connecting hallway
between his office and the Oval. "Good morning Mr. President, sorry
I'm late."

"Leo, you're not late, they're all early for a change." Bartlet
said. "We were just getting the benefit of Toby's first hand
knowledge of breast cancer treatments."

"How is Margaret, Leo?" the Communications Director asked, worry
creasing his brow more than normal.

"To look at her, you'd never know she'd been through the wringer this
morning. She says she feels fine, but the radiation oncologist told
me that we can expect her energy level to sink as the day goes on."

Toby nodded his head in agreement. "That's to be expected. She
might as well get used to taking naps from the beginning."

CJ spoke up from her seat on the opposite sofa. "Was she frightened?"

"She really was. I finally started talking about the campaign, in an
attempt to get her mind off the treatment."

"Did it work?" Josh asked.

"Of course it worked." Sam answered for Leo. "This place and
everything that goes on here is the center of her universe, just like
it is for the rest of us."

Leo nodded his head. "I appreciate your concern over Margaret's
health. The only piece of advice I am going to give is that you try
not to hover. She needs to maintain some sense of control over her
protocol and I found out this morning that trying to make decisions
or offering to do too much for her is a mistake. That being said,
anything you can do to keep her on an even keel in terms of eating
and rest will be a big help."

"You've got it Leo. I know Donna and the rest of the support staff
have things pretty well together. We can back them up." The Deputy
Chief of Staff said.

"Thanks Josh, now what say we get some actual work done?" Leo opened
his portfolio and uncapped his ink pen.

Meanwhile, in the Operations Bullpen, Margaret was sitting next to
Donna, with Bonnie, Carol, and Ginger gathered around her.

"Did it hurt?" Ginger asked.

"Not a bit. The worst part was lying on that hard table for so long.
But I had my Discman and headphones, so that helped pass the time."

"I bet you haven't eaten yet." Donna said, thinking of all the food
they'd stocked the kitchen with in an attempt to keep Margaret on
what they secretly referred to as a "feeding schedule."

"As a matter of fact, I have, two pieces of dry toast, some grapes,
and a bottle of orange juice."

"Was that enough?" Carol looked worried that her friend was not
getting the proper nutrition.

"It was plenty. Remember, the doctors want me eating several small
meals. Well, we'd better get back to work. The country doesn't run
itself." Margaret said with a rueful grin.

"Stop by and see Charlie before you go to your office." Bonnie
cautioned. "He's been pacing a hole in the carpet since before
sunup."

Margaret walked out of the Bullpen, and across the hall. Charlie was
nowhere to be found. Taking an ink pen and message pad from the top
of his desk, she scrawled a quick note:

Charlie –

I'm fine. Stop pacing, you're worrying the girls!

M.

Leaving the note next to the phone, where she was sure it would be
seen, Margaret walked back toward her office, stopping at the kitchen
for a bottle of water.

Back at her desk, Margaret pulled up the Excel file and began
printing out copies of the early education statistics she'd run for
Leo last Saturday night.



Monday Afternoon, March 18, 2002 – 1:17p.m. The West Wing – Chief of
Staff's Office

Printing out the last copies of a revised welfare policy summary,
Margaret realized she was feeling the fatigue that Corrine and the
other oncologists had predicted. Picking up the phone, she dialed
the Communications Bullpen. "Ginger, it's Margaret."

"Hi, how are you feeling?"

"Not bad, but I'm going to have to take my nap now." Margaret
giggled, "I haven't taken regular naps since I was a toddler.
Anyway, is it all right if I forward our phones to you for an hour or
so?"

"Sure, Bonnie or I will be here all afternoon. Is Leo back from the
Hill yet?"

"I don't think he and Josh are due back until after 2:30. I should
be awake by then."

"Call us if you need anything."

"Thanks, Ginger." Margaret disconnected the call and immediately
accessed another line, pushing in a series of numbers to send all of
the calls for her phone and Leo's to the main Communications line.

After locking her desk, Margaret went into Leo's office and closed
both doors. Pulling an afghan and pillow from his closet, she toed
out of her shoes and slipped her jacket off, laying it over the back
of the nearest chair. Margaret eased herself onto the sofa, resting
her head on the pillow and pulling the afghan up to her shoulders.
Within moments, she was sound asleep.


Monday Afternoon, March 18, 2002 – 3:04p.m. The West Wing – Chief of
Staff's Office

Margaret slowly opened her eyes, struggling for a moment to identify
her surroundings. Focusing on the set of built in shelves on the far
wall, she realized she was in Leo's office and remembered calling
Ginger to have her catch the phones.

Easing herself up into a sitting position, Margaret propped her right
arm on the arm of the sofa and stared blindly ahead. She couldn't
quite believe how hard she'd slept. She rarely napped in the middle
of the day unless she was sick. `Wait a moment,' she thought. `I am
sick.'

Banishing the last mental cobwebs from her brain, Margaret turned to
her left to look out the windows behind Leo's desk. Her view was,
however, blocked by Leo, sitting in one of the side chairs with a
briefing book on his knees.

"You should have woken me up." Margaret managed to get out, her
mouth feeling like it was full of sand.

"I just got back from the Hill about ten minutes ago. How do you
feel?"

"Better thanks, but I think there's a half gallon of the Sahara in
the back of my throat. I'm going to go brush my teeth and gargle."

"Fine. When you get back, I have notes from this afternoon's
meetings that need to be typed up." Leo said, handing her a file and
going back to his reading.

Margaret exited his office, taking the file with her. Leo waited
until he was certain she was gone before he crossed to his desk and
picked up the phone receiver. Punching in a 4-digit extension, he
waited for an answer.

"Ziegler."

"Toby it's Leo. I've got a question about Margaret's radiation
treatments."

"Shoot."

Leo lowered his voice, lest his assistant come back in the office and
catch him checking up on her condition. "She just woke up from a nap
and was complaining of a scratchy throat. Said she felt like she had
sand in the back of her throat, and that's about how she sounded."

"That's not unusual. It's important for her to stay hydrated. I
know you don't want to hover over her. Let me see if Bonnie can talk
her into eating and drinking something."

"Thanks, she'll probably take it better from one of the assistants
than from us." Leo agreed. "She just went to the restroom to brush
her teeth and gargle."

"I'll talk to Bonnie right now." Toby hung up the phone and went
into the Bullpen to talk to one of his assistants.



Tuesday Morning, March 19, 2002 – 6:50a.m. GWU Breast Care Center

Leo and Margaret walked down the hall toward the radiation treatment
rooms, Dr. Lewis on their heels. Leo looked at his assistant and
said, "Bruno called last night after you went home."

"That could only mean more work for Ginger and Bonnie." Margaret
raised her eyebrows.

"Actually he wanted to know how your first radiation treatment went."

Margaret never broke stride. "I find that a little hard to believe."

"Well, it's true. He also had campaign business to discuss, but the
first item on his agenda was you. I think he's got a crush on you."
Leo said, grinning at his assistant.

Stopping in front of the treatment room. Margaret looked Leo
straight in the eye. "Having a crush, as you put it, would imply
that Bruno has some minute amount of humanity within him. I am
certain that if you have these nice people run a CT Scan on our
campaign director, you will find the absence of both heart and
brain." Margaret pushed the heavy metal door open and walked into
the treatment room, leaving Leo and Brian standing in the hall
staring at one another.

"Guess she told *you*!" Brian laughed, following his patient.

Leo laughed, happy to have gotten Margaret's mind off the radiation
treatment, however briefly.



Wednesday Afternoon, March 20, 2002 – 2:00p.m. The West Wing – Chief
of Staff's Office

Leo and Admiral Fitzwallace climbed the stairs from the Situation
Room. "I'm telling you Fitz, I'm not sure what the Qumari Defense
Minister is up to, but it doesn't smell right."

"We're on it Leo. The Agency has people in country keeping an eye on
him and our best Intelligence staff are working on it from here. If
he ever makes a concrete plan, we'll be on him like fleas on a dog."

Leo opened the door to his office and stepped back for the head of
the Joint Chiefs to enter first. "That's what I wanted to . . ."
Looking past the Admiral, he noticed Margaret sound asleep on his
sofa. Reaching out quickly, he pulled his colleague out of the
doorway and back into the hall. "Let's go into the Roosevelt Room."
Leo said, leading the way.

"What the hell was that all about?" Fitzwallace asked.
"Margaret's undergoing some medical treatments and is supposed to
rest each afternoon. She's asleep in my office." Leo said, opening
the door to the conference room.

"Nancy McNally mentioned something about Margaret having breast
cancer. I honestly didn't equate that to *your* Margaret. Is she
going to be all right?"

"Her oncologist says the prognosis is good, so that's what I'm
choosing to believe." Leo said.

"Did they catch it early?" the Admiral asked.

"Not early enough. This is her second occurrence. She had a
mastectomy and chemo almost nine years ago. Happened while I was in
rehab, a fact I was ignorant of until after she'd had a questionable
mammogram and a lumpectomy in February. She found out it was cancer
the morning of our State Dinner for the British Prime Minister. And
I'm running on at the mouth here, I apologize."

"Hell, Leo, no apology necessary. I'm just sorry she's got to go
through this. Margaret's a great woman; seems the bad stuff always
happens to the best people. How are you holding up under all of
this?"

"I'm good"

"Yeah." Fitz responded in a tone that said he didn't believe a word
of it, but was willing to let it drop.



Thursday Afternoon, March 21, 2002 – 1:28p.m. The West Wing – Press
Secretary's Office

Margaret walked up to Carol's desk, a bottle of water and a sandwich
in her hand. "Hi Carol, is CJ in?"

"Yeah, she's waiting on you, go on in." Carol replied.

Margaret tapped on the door and pushed it open. "Hey CJ."

CJ stood up and walked around her desk. "Margaret, in all honesty,
you don't look so great."

"To be honest, my left breast is itching and burning like crazy, and
I feel slightly queasy, but that's probably just hunger talking."

"I'm going to lower the blinds so you can take your shirt off. Will
that help?"

"That's why I came down here. I hate to be rude, but if this bothers
you, you might want to leave the room now, because this shirt is
coming off." Margaret grimaced as CJ lowered the blinds and closed
them to the afternoon light.

"Oh, come on, Margaret. We've changed clothes in front of one
another before. You could walk around nude and it wouldn't faze
me." CJ laughed.

"Point taken." Margaret said, removing her blazer and pulling the
navy v-neck T-shirt over her head. "Go ahead and look CJ, it's not
like you won't be seeing it for the next several months."

CJ leaned against the front of her desk and examined Margaret's chest
as the younger woman sat down on the loveseat. She'd seen Margaret's
mastectomy scar several times since discovering that her friend and
colleague had breast cancer. She'd even held her hand through the
lumpectomy for the current diagnosis. What she was unprepared for
was the dark purple lines crossing the left side of her chest and the
red, irritated patches on the upper half of the breast itself.
Sighing deeply, she tried to avoid the hovering tone Leo had warned
them not to adopt. "Margaret that has to be painful."

"You said it. I want to scratch it so bad that it's taking
everything I have not to do so." Margaret was sitting on her hands,
biting her lower lip.

"Carol said you can put a cold cloth on it for a few minutes. Do you
want to try that?"

"I'll try anything." Margaret said through clenched teeth.

CJ picked up her phone and dialed her assistant's extension. "Carol,
could you go get a couple of cold cloths for Margaret? And on your
way back, stop in the kitchen and get some of that pudding Josh
brought in. Oh, and fair warning, Margaret's in here topless.
Thanks."

Carol was back in record time, cold cloths, a bowl full of ice cubes,
three cups of chocolate pudding, and three spoons. "Okay ladies,
cold cloths and chocolate, the cures for all ills." Carol said,
clicking the door shut behind her. "Margaret, lay down and I'll put
one of these on your breast."

"That's not necessary Carol, I can do it." Margaret blushed in spite
of herself.

"Oh, I don't think so. You're so agitated, I can't trust you not to
scratch the radiation site. Just lay back and try to relax."

"Carol . . ." the older woman groaned.

"Margaret, you don't have a single thing I don't have. Now chill out
and lay back!" Carol smiled as CJ lightly pushed Margaret's
shoulders back onto the love seat. Carol folded one of the cloths
and draped it across Margaret's breast. Placing the other cloth in
the bowl of ice, she put two ice cubes in the plastic bag and rested
them on top of the cloth.

CJ handed each woman a cup of pudding and a spoon. "This doesn't get
you out of eating that sandwich Margaret, it just means you get to
eat dessert first today."

"Yes, ma'am. Far be it from me to disobey the leader of the
Sisterhood."

"Damn straight." CJ said with a chuckle.

Ten minutes later, Carol removed the bag, which now held cold water,
and the cloth. "CJ do you still have a towel in here?"

CJ handed her a towel and a small yellow box., smiling as Margaret
stared at the wording on the front of the package. "Yes, Margaret,
it's cornstarch. Donna bought umpteen boxes of the stuff. The
Sisterhood comes equipped for any emergency."

"You're all too good to me." Margaret said, her eyes filling with
tears.

"Well, as we've been saying all along, it's nothing you wouldn't do
for any of us. Besides, if, heaven forbid, one of us ever gets
breast cancer, we'll have made all our mistakes practicing on you!"
Carol said, laughing lightly, as she sat on the floor, dried off her
friend's chest, and put a small amount of cornstarch on the
underneath and sides of Margaret's breast. Carol finished the job
and handed the towel and cornstarch box back to the Press
Secretary. "I'll be right outside if you need anything else."

"Thanks again, Carol." Margaret said, covering her mouth as she
started to yawn.

"Get some sleep Margaret." CJ suggested, sitting back down at her
desk and opening the cover of her laptop.

An hour later, Leo walked into his office, expecting to find his
assistant asleep on his sofa. Finding no trace of her in either his
office or hers, Leo headed for the Communications Bullpen.

The Chief of Staff stopped at Sam's office and tapped on the
door. "Sam have you seen Margaret recently?"

"Ginger called me about half and hour and told me that if I saw you I
was to inform you that Margaret's radiation site started itching and
burning. She's resting in CJ's office."

"Okay, thanks." Leo said, walking back to his office.



Friday Morning, March 22, 2002 – 7: 38a.m. GWU Breast Care Center

Leo and Margaret walked toward the elevator following her fifth
radiation treatment. Leo pushed the button and looked up at his
assistant. "One week down, now you've got three weeks off."

"Thank goodness, because I don't see how this itching and burning
could get much worse." Margaret said, shifting her shoulders.

"You've been following the doctor's orders, right?" Leo asked,
concerned there was something Margaret should, or should not be doing.

"What are you talking about?" Margaret asked, feeling slightly
irritated with her boss for being evasive.

"Corrine said that you shouldn't wear a bra during the protocol. You
haven't been, right?"

"No Leo, I haven't had a bra on since last weekend. Anything else?"

"I'm sending you home after I get back from my noon State Department
meeting. Eddie will be at the East Entrance to pick you up."

Margaret nodded. "You'll notice that I'm not arguing with you. I
probably won't be any good to you after that point."

"I want you to go home, take a cold shower or do whatever helps.
I'll get my desk cleared off at a reasonable hour and come by with
dinner."

"That would be very nice."

"Does anything sound particularly good?"

"Champagne and caviar sounds good, but not practical." Margaret
tried to smile. "I don't have a preference, you can surprise me."

The elevator reached the first floor, and Leo watched as Eddie helped
Margaret into the car.



Friday Night, March 22, 2002 – 8:08p.m. Margaret's Apartment

Leo paused in the hall outside Margaret's apartment, fumbling for the
key she'd given him shortly after the Inauguration. When he'd moved
from the hotel to the house, he'd done the same thing. It was common
practice among the White House staff to trade house and apartment
keys. That way someone could water your plants if you were out of
town, or pick up your formalwear if the need arose.

Sliding the key into the lock and turning the knob. Leo stepped into
the apartment and looked around. The only light came from the lamp
on the desk and the nightlight in the hall. Toeing out of his black
leather loafers, he walked softly across the living room and into the
kitchen. Fumbling for a moment, he found the light switch for the
hood of the stove and turned it on, bathing the room in a faint
bronze glow. Leo set his briefcase and the overnight bag he'd asked
Eddie to run home and get for him on the floor next to the sink.
Placing two large paper sacks on the counter he removed cartons of
chicken and potato soup, along with a loaf of French bread and a
small pan of tiramisu.

Walking back into the living room, he noticed a sheet of paper
underneath a paperweight on the center of the desk. Leo picked up
the note and held it closer to the light.

Leo –

It's about 5:00 and I am going to sleep for a while.
Wake me up when you get in.

M.

Leo smiled, there was no way he was going to interrupt her sleep.
Looking around the apartment, he located the floor lamp nearest the
windows and turned that to its lowest setting. Sitting in the chair
and propping his feet on the ottoman, he began to flip through the
most recent issue of "Foreign Policy Studies", which he'd noticed on
the desk next to the note.

After half an hour, Leo walked into the kitchen and picked up his
overnight bag. Going into the bathroom, he quickly changed out of
his suit and into a pair of Notre Dame sweat pants and a Bartlet for
America sweatshirt. He pulled a pair of thick white crew socks on
and walked back into the living room, stowing his bag under the desk.

Returning to the chair and ottoman, Leo looked out the windows at the
near night skyline. Margaret's portable CD player rested on the wide
windowsill. He picked it up, wondering what sort of music she'd been
listening to during her radiation treatments. Fitting the earphones
over his head, Leo located the appropriate button and engaged the
machine.

Sitting back in the chair, Leo listened to the first bars of what he
recognized as a Bach cello concerto. Fast-forwarding through the
next track as well, he listened to the third and fourth songs,
nodding his head in time to the music. After several minutes, he
located the repeat button on the player and listened to one song
three times before removing the headphones and returning the machine
to the windowsill.

Moments later, he heard what sounded suspiciously like Margaret
crying. Walking to the back of the apartment, he blinked several
times, allowing his eyes to get used to the dark. Margaret's bedroom
door was open, and he stood at the entrance, focusing on his
assistant. Margaret was fidgeting on the far side of the bed, as
though she was either unable to get comfortable or having a nightmare.

Stepping further into the room, Leo walked around the bed and kneeled
on the floor next to the headboard. Tentatively, he reached out and
put his hand on Margaret's forehead. There was no indication of a
fever, which caused him to sigh quietly in relief.

Margaret continued to whimper and grasp at the covers. Leo leaned
forward and began rubbing Margaret's left arm through the covers,
talking to her quietly. "Margaret, it's okay, you're having a bad
dream. Everything's fine, you're safe at home. Everything's fine."
Leo continued rubbing her arm and murmuring to her as she calmed down.

Seconds later, Margaret opened her eyes and looked straight into
those of her boss. "Leo, it hurts." Margaret wiped her eyes, as
tears began to fall.

Leo swallowed hard, knowing he was going to be forced to act like a
responsible person, when all he wanted to do was run the other
way. "Is it your breast?" Margaret nodded. "Do you want a cold
cloth or some ice?"

"A cold cloth please." Margaret whispered, still crying.

Leo reached for the tissue box on the nightstand and handed a few to
her. "I'm going into the kitchen, I'll be right back. Do you want
some Tylenol or anything?"

"I took some right before I went to bed."

"According to your note, that was at five. It's almost nine now; you
can have some more in a couple of hours." Leo left the bedroom and
hurried to the linen closet, where he removed a washcloth. Going
into the kitchen, he dropped the cloth in the sink and turned the
cold water on. Following Carol's instructions, he located a plastic
storage bag, put a couple of ice cubes inside, and sealed it. While
wringing the excess water out of the washcloth, Leo noticed a box of
cornstarch sitting on the counter next to the sink. "Perfect," he
muttered, grabbing it and walking back toward Margaret's bedroom,
stopping at the linen closet again for some towels.

By the time Leo returned, Margaret was somewhat calmer, and was
attempting to relax with deep breathing exercises. Leo again walked
to the far side of the bed, setting all of the paraphernalia he'd
brought with him on the nightstand and the floor. "Margaret, can you
scoot over a bit, I need to be able to sit next to you here."

Margaret nodded and pulled the covers to her chin as she shifted
closer to the middle of the bed. "Better?" she asked, opening her
eyes slightly.

"Now I can sit down." Leo said, easing onto the bed, bending his
right leg in front of him. "You might want to close your eyes for a
moment, because I'm about to turn the light on." Margaret clapped
her right hand over her eyes as Leo leaned back and turned on the
bedside lamp. "There, you can open your eyes now."

Margaret opened her eyes and squinted for a moment, before opening
them fully. "If you want to hand me the stuff, I'll try and get this
fixed." Margaret said, trying not to wince.

Leo leaned forward slightly and looked at his assistant. "Margaret,
this is one of those moments when the rubber meets the road. You've
trusted me to be the one who went with you to the oncologist to learn
about your protocol, and the one who took you for your treatments
this week. You've even trusted me to the extent of carrying out your
final wishes, should that be necessary. Well, in for a dime, in for
a dollar. What I'm trying to say is that, if I'm going to help take
care of you, then that means cold cloths, ice packs, and cornstarch."

Margaret's eyes opened wider. "You're willing to do that? You
realize that means . . ."

"It means that both of us are going to have to sacrifice a little bit
of our modesty and for you probably a whole lot of your dignity. And
I'm going to have to stop acting like the sight of the female anatomy
or a mastectomy scar is going to be my undoing."

"Leo, are you drunk?"

"I wish." Leo sighed, which made Margaret laugh. "If I were drunk
this would all be one insanely vivid hallucination or something I'd
not remember in the morning. You know me better than that,
Margaret. I told you this disease would not be what causes me to
fall off the wagon."

"I know Leo. Just trying to take your mind off this mess." Margaret
winced again and shifted in the bed. "You have no idea how badly I
want to scratch this damnable radiation site until it bleeds."

"Corrine said this wasn't going to be pleasant. I'm sorry it's so
uncomfortable. Are you ready for the cold cloth?"

"Are you?"

Leo inhaled deeply and nodded his head. "Yes, ma'am. What's the
best way to do this?"

"Probably for me to get propped up a bit and then put the cold cloth
on. After that's done, the breast needs to be dried and cornstarch
can be put on the underneath and sides of my breast but not on the
actual site."

Leo smiled. "Carol gave me instructions this afternoon. I even took
notes, are you not proud?"

"You took notes, that is impressive." Margaret smiled slightly.

"I brought an extra towel in so that we wouldn't get the sheets wet.
If you can roll over onto your side, I'll put it underneath you."
Margaret slowly turned toward the opposite wall, as Leo stood up and
spread the bath towel near the middle of the bed. "Okay, you can
roll back over now."

Margaret turned onto her back and looked up at Leo who was standing
by the bed, a look of deep concentration on his face. "Something the
matter?"

"Just trying to decide what's the best way to do this." Thinking for
another moment, Leo made up his mind. Leaning against the wall, he
pulled his socks off and set them by the nightstand.

"This requires bare feet?"

"It does indeed." Leo responded, nodding his head. "Okay, do you
want me to pull the covers down or would you rather do it?"

"I'm really fine with this. You decide when you're ready and pull
the covers down. But please don't wait too long because I wasn't
kidding when I told you it really itches and hurts."

Leo bent forward at the waist and pulled the duvet, blanket, and
sheet away from Margaret's chin. Without ever looking away from her
eyes, he pulled the covers down to her waist. "This pretty much
requires that I look to see what I'm doing here. Are you
sure . . .?"

"Leo, drop the Prince Charming routine and look already!" Margaret
groaned.

Leo stood up and looked down at his assistant's bare chest. Where
the right breast should have been, a neat, thin scar stretched from a
point he could not see to near the middle of her chest. The
musculature under the scar was well defined, with the tiniest
depression where the middle of her breast would have been. The left
breast was covered with dark purple lines, courtesy of the GWU
radiological oncology staff. The targeted areas were, as Corrine had
explained, red and very inflamed. Leo had the sudden urge to cry or
throw up. Fighting back tears and bile, he looked at Margaret and
smiled. "Can you raise your head and shoulders up just a bit for me?"

"No problem." Margaret said, easing up on her elbows.

Leo grabbed the cold cloth, plastic bag, towel and cornstarch,
placing them within reach on the nightstand. Sitting sideways on the
bed, he scooted to a point behind Margaret's head. Propping a pillow
between his back and the headboard, he put two more pillows near his
knees. "Lean back Margaret."

Margaret dropped her head onto the pillow and looked up at her
boss. "Well, hello there."

"Hey, you." Leo said with a smile that made Margaret feel as though
her heart had turned a somersault. Leo folded the cloth as Carol had
instructed, and placed it carefully across the radiation sites. On
top of that he placed the bag of ice cubes, which he held in place
with his left hand.

"Tell me what happened at work this afternoon." Margaret asked,
looking into Leo's eyes.

And so Leo shared the stories of a typical Friday afternoon in the
West Wing. CJ's four o'clock briefing, during which she had to smack
Katie down for not yielding the floor to another reporter. The fight
Toby got into with the Communications department photocopier when he
was trying to be an independent man and do his own copying. The
sight of Sam in the Oval Office with Annie Bartlet, teaching her the
basics of the waltz for her first junior high dance, while the
President and First Lady looked on. Annie had insisted that Sam be
the one to teach her because her "Aunt Margaret" had told her that
Sam Seaborn was the best dancer on the White House Staff.

Margaret giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth. "I forgot all
about that!

"Well, it did wonders for Sam's ego. I can't believe you didn't tell
her that *I* was the best dancer on staff." Leo grumbled.

"At the time she asked, I'd danced with Sam many more times than I've
ever danced with you."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Well, it's true."

"Hmmm." Leo considered this bit of information and wondered why it
troubled him.

Leo removed the plastic bag and set it on one of the towels on the
nightstand. Next he removed the cloth, and began drying the breast
with a hand towel he'd draped over his knee. That completed, he
poured a small amount of cornstarch into his cupped left hand and
began rubbing it into the lower half and sides of her breast, while
trying very hard to emotionally detach himself from the proceedings.

For her part, Margaret tried thinking of each set of statistics
associated with the upcoming education bill. The reality was that
Leo's hands on her skin, even when he was just touching her arm or
guiding her down a hall, had a heart-lurching effect on her. It was
no use, Frankenstein could have his hands there and the effect would
be the same. Margaret closed her eyes and waited it out, thankful
when he was finished. "Thank you Leo, I still don't have the
willpower to do that without rubbing or scratching. It takes
everything I've got to shower without scratching the site!"

"You're welcome Margaret. I know how badly my leg and hip itched
after I was shot down in the war. I couldn't change my own dressings
for several weeks, for exactly the same reason."

"You never told me that."

Leo nodded. "It's not something I like thinking or talking about."

"Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome. Are you hungry?"

"A little, what did you bring?"

"Champagne and caviar."

"Ha ha, McGarry, very funny. Now, what's really on the menu?"

"There's chicken or potato soup."

"Sounds good. But I think I'm going to sleep for a little while
first."

Leo looked down to see Margaret's eyes starting to close. "You do
that, I'll get out of here and let you rest."

Margaret's right arm came up and her hand wrapped around his right
wrist. "Stay, please."

Leo smiled; she was really more vulnerable to this disease than she
would ever admit. "You go on to sleep, I'll be right here when you
wake up." Leo watched as Margaret drifted into a deep, still,
slumber. Thinking back on the events of the last two weeks, he
recalled the President's lecture to Margaret about getting her rest.
Remembering the song he'd been listening to on her CD player. Leo
began to softly sing:

See the Pyramids along the Nile.
Watch the sunrise from a tropic isle.
Just remember darling, all the while,
You belong to me.

See the market place in old Algiers.
Send me photographs and souvenirs.
Just remember, when a dream appears,
You belong to me.

I'll be so alone without you.
Maybe you'll be lonesome too, and blue.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane.
See the jungle when it's wet with rain
Just remember, till you're home again,
You belong to me

- Fin

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