And Swear By Stars Above You

Thursday, April 18, 2002, 11:15 a.m., The West Wing, Communications
Bullpen

"It was on the left corner of your desk first thing this morning."
Ginger said evenly, cradling the phone between her left shoulder and
ear, while taking notes on a legal pad.

"By first thing this morning I mean before 5:30," she continued,
rolling her eyes at Margaret, who was delivering copies of the most
recent security memo.

Margaret sat down gingerly in the visitor's chair by Bonnie's desk,
waiting for her colleague to complete her phone call. Smiling at
Bonnie she whispered, "Let me guess, that's Toby on the other end of
the line."

Bonnie nodded and gazed sympathetically at Ginger. "Better her than
me. Himself has been on a tear the size of Montana all morning. Now
he's managed to get to the Hill without the revised Education
Benchmarking Study,"

"That can't be goo…" Margaret's comment was interrupted by the sound
of Ginger reaching the legal limit of her patience with her immediate
supervisor.

"Toby it was on the corner of your desk, I promise. I told you it
was there when you walked in. If you were too sleep, caffeine, or
common sense deprived to listen to me and walked off without it
that's not my fault." Turning and looking over her shoulder she
communicated to Bonnie in some form of shorthand that only the two of
them knew. Bonnie scurried into Toby's office and returned waving
the missing document. "Toby Bonnie just pulled it off your desk.
I'll call a courier and get it over there as soon as possible."

"Tell him I'll run it over there." Bonnie said, reaching for her
jacket. "The last thing we need is Himself more pissed off because
the courier ran late. Where is he?"

"Toby, stuff a sock in it and listen to me for a minute. Bonnie is
going to bring the Study to the Hill. Where are you at?" Making a
note on a separate slip of paper, Ginger passed it to Bonnie and
grinned apologetically.

Bonnie read the note, tucked it in her pocket, plucked her sunglasses
from the top of her desk and ran out the door, the study clutched
firmly in her right hand. Ginger concluded her conversation with
Toby and dropped the phone receiver into its cradle. Resembling
nothing so much as a Raggedy Ann doll, the young assistant flopped
back in her chair and sighed loudly. "What in the name of hell and
half of Georgia did I do to deserve Toby on his worst days?"

"Who crapped in his cereal?" Margaret asked, patting the younger
woman on the shoulder.

"Not a clue. He spent the first half hour in his office grumbling to
himself about the inherent evils of the female sex."

"Sounds like our Communications Director has girlfriend problems."
Margaret replied, fighting back a laugh.

"No one around here has time for a dating relationship. More likely
our Communications Director needs to get some." Ginger said quietly,
biting her lower lip in an effort to keep from laughing out loud.

"Thank you for that excess information and disturbing mental image."
Margaret stood up and gathered the remaining documents. "If I have
nightmares tonight, I'm calling you at 3 a.m. to share."

"Don't feel you have to be that generous." Ginger turned back to her
computer monitor. Looking up at Margaret she continued. "How are
you feeling today?"

"Honestly?" Ginger nodded. "I've been better. I've got some form
of muscle strain under my left arm and my radiation site started
itching about an hour ago."

"You need an ice pack?"

"I'm going to finish delivering these and then go lie down in CJ's
office. Can I forward the phones over here?"

"Of course. One or the other of us will be stuck babysitting Growly
Boy the remainder of the day."

Margaret walked out of the Bullpen, waving at Ginger as she headed
down the hall toward the Press Room.



Thursday, April 18, 2002, 1:03 p.m., The West Wing, CJ Cregg's Office

"I concur with Ginger." Carol said, selecting a carrot stick from a
small, oblong plastic container and passing it to Margaret. "Toby's
just frustrated, sexually that is."

CJ's head popped up from behind her laptop, where she was checking
her email. "Somebody write my assistant a reality check." CJ
cracked as she closed her email program and lowered the top of her
computer. Leaning forward, she continued, "Carol, we are *all*
sexually deprived, it's one of the hazards of our jobs. We're here
almost every morning by seven at the latest and if we get home before
midnight it's a miracle. Every last woman and man on staff knew what
they were sacrificing when they signed on for this tour de
insanity . . . their personal life." Taking off her glasses and
rubbing the bridge of her nose with her left thumb and index finger,
CJ grinned at her colleagues. " Hell I wouldn't know what sex was if
it turned up on my doorstep with flowers and candy. Five'll get you
ten that Toby's mood stems from the fact that his shorts are in a
twist over Ann Stark or some other garden variety Republican ninny."

"Fair point." Carol responded, nodding at her boss.

Margaret turned the upper portion of her body, from where she'd been
reclining on her back, gazing at the ceiling. "However, that does
not excuse Toby's behavior." Dropping the used ice pack into a
nearby plastic bowl, she rolled her eyes as Carol grabbed the yellow
cardboard box of cornstarch from her hand. "Still don't trust me?"
the tall red head grumbled as Carol dried off her chest and began
applying the powdery substance to the underside of her left breast.

"Not as far as I could kick you." Carol replied with a smug
grin. "Your radiation site is getting more red and swollen."

"It does itch and burn worse than before." Margaret agreed, laying
her head back on the sofa pillow and looking over her colleague's
right shoulder at CJ. "If this gets worse every month, I'll need a
strait jacket by the end of May to keep me from scratching at the
radiation site."

"Have you talked to Corrine about this?" CJ asked.

"No, but I have an appointment with her tomorrow morning after my
radiation treatment. I'll be sure and ask about it then."

"You need someone to go with you to the doctor?"

"I'm sure I'll be alright. The current plan is for Eddie to bring
Leo into the office and then come back and pick me up. Besides, you
wouldn't want to miss the morning gaggle." Margaret sat up slowly
and reached for the t-shirt that she'd draped over the back of the
nearest chair. Slipping it over her head, she stood up and tucked
it into the waistband of her skirt. "I'd better get back to my end
of the Wing before Leo puts out an APB. His schedule is packed this
afternoon and he'll forget half of his appointments if I'm not there
to shepherd him through it." Margaret picked up her cardigan and
placed it around her shoulders. "Later," she called, opening the
office door, striding through the reception area and into the
hallway, her characteristic model-perfect posture camouflaging the
now constant irritation and fatigue.

"How does she do it?" Carol asked.

"Do what?"

"Go through treatments, come in here and work like a stevedore for
the rest of the day, put up with Leo's demands and more than
occasional crabby moods, and remain more or less as upbeat as she's
always been."

CJ leaned back against her desk and expelled a puff of air that made
her bangs flutter above her forehead. "Truth be told, that drive and
positive demeanor we see is Margaret's defense mechanism. The night
I took care of her after her biopsy she told me that even if she had
to get another mastectomy and go through chemo she wasn't going to
quit working. She's afraid if she stops, she'll get depressed and
give into the disease."

"Makes sense." Carol agreed, walking toward her desk. "You need
anything before your two o'clock briefing?"

"A couple of Tylenol, a pound of Godiva, and the cure for breast
cancer." CJ replied, sitting back down at her desk and reaching for
a stack of wire reports.



Thursday, April 18, 2002, 3:15 p.m., The West Wing, Chief of Staff's
Office

"Leo you have to a meeting with the Secretary of State, at State, in
fifteen." Margaret said, walking from her office to his, the
necessary briefing book and files clutched in her right hand.

"After that?" Leo asked, standing up and pulling on his black suit
coat.

"A meeting with the President and the Secretary of the Interior to
talk about new emission standards for manufacturers at 4:30.
Followed by a campaign strategy meeting with Senior Staff and the
thr . . . campaign staff at 4:45. Margaret sighed as she almost let
fly with the staff's pet name for the campaign trio "the three little
pigs". "At 6:00 there's a reception for the White House Fellows
followed by a dinner meeting with the President and Hector Campos."

"When did *that* show up on the radar screen?"

"Campos?" Margaret asked. Leo nodded in response. "While you were
in Senior Staff this morning. Campos is in town meeting with the
California legislative delegation and wants to review his concerns on
the early childhood section of the Education Benchmarking Study."

"Which means he's still not satisfied." Leo replied, his brows knit
in equal parts concentration and frustration. "Damnit! What *more*
does that man want from us? Call Sam and tell him I want him there
as well. My Spanish is rudimentary at best and the President's is
next to nonexistent. We need someone in the room to translate and,
if necessary, fire back when Campos gets on a roll, which he's almost
guaranteed to do."

"Got it." Margaret finished making notes on her ever-present steno
pad and began ushering Leo out the door. "Eddie's waiting at the
West Entrance, Leo. Better get a move on or you'll be late."

Margaret stood at the main entrance to Leo's office, watching as he
dodged staff and interns alike in his progress toward the entrance.
Looking at her watch, she decided to head over to the Communications
Bullpen in hopes of catching Sam and relaying Leo's message regarding
dinner with their California savior, as Margaret had come to
privately refer to him.

Working in the White House is nothing if not a series of changes and
interruptions. Before she could step away from her desk, Margaret
fielded three phone calls, including one from the Secretary of
State's assistant, wondering where the White House Chief of Staff
was, which lead to Margaret calling Eddie only to discover they were
stuck in traffic. After placating the people at State, Margaret
helped Larry locate a couple of files on smokestack emissions in the
industrial northeast. Satisfied that things had settled to a dull
roar for the time being, Margaret forwarded her phone over to the
Communications Bullpen and walked across the hall.

"Sam, may I pester you for a moment?" Margaret queried, poking her
head around the edge of the Communication Deputy's doorway.

Sam looked up from the law book he was perusing, a broad grin
replacing the look of intense concentration he'd been wearing when
Margaret first tapped on his door. "Margaret! Come in, have a seat
and pester away! I've been looking at air pollution statutes till
they've all run together in my mind." Placing the heavy law tome he
held on the credenza behind his desk, he continued, "We haven't seen
much of one another in the last couple of days. How have you been
feeling? Would you like a bottle of juice or something to eat?"

Seating herself in one of the chairs in front of his desk, Margaret
smiled at her friend as he leaned against the bookcases that lined
one wall of his office. "Down boy! I'm feeling pretty good,
although the radiation site hurts a bit. Tell you what, I hate to
drink alone, so if you'll join me I'll be a good patient and drink a
bottle of juice."

"Great." Sam replied. "Orange, apple, or white grape?"

"Grape, please."

Sam nodded and ducked out of his office, returning a moment later
with two bottles of white grape juice. Setting one on the desk, he
unscrewed the cap of the other bottle and handed it to Margaret.
Opening his own beverage, Sam folded himself into his desk
chair. "What can I do for you?"

"Not so much me as Leo."

"Let me take a guess. He wants me at the dinner table tonight to
help translate for and rein in Campos."

"Give the man a cookie." Margaret replied, smiling widely.

"I thought I might get called in on this one when I saw the
President's revised schedule a couple of hours ago. Anything in
particular Leo wants accomplished?"

"Translation is his biggest worry; Leo's Spanish is better than the
President's which as we both know isn't saying much. We all know how
Campos lapses into Spanish when he gets wound up." Sam chuckled and
nodded in agreement. "You might want to go over the early childhood
provisions in the study. We think there's something else he wants in
exchange for delivering California."

"I don't know what that could be. We've practically given him each
of his demands on a silver platter."

"That would be my response, but apparently our esteemed benefactor
does not see it that way. Dinner's at seven in the Residence."
Margaret smiled at Bonnie as she entered the Deputy Communication
Director's office, a small stack of files in her hands.

"Sam, you've got a 3:45 with Josh." Bonnie reminded her boss as she
placed the files in his in-box.

"Thanks Bonnie, I appreciate it." Sam responded, watching as one of
his assistants walked back to her desk.

"Better not keep Josh waiting, he's not the most patient person on
staff." Margaret said, standing up and dropping her now empty
beverage container into the wastebasket at the side of the desk.

"Tell Leo I'll see him at seven. Thanks for stopping by."

"Thank you, Sam." Margaret exited his office and noticed the door to
the Communications Director's office was slightly ajar. Leaning over
Ginger's desk, she asked, "Is Toby busy or does he have a couple of
minutes? More importantly, do I risk my life by entering his office?"

"He's working on the umpteenth draft of the umpteenth stump speech.
He's been pretty quiet since he got back from the Hill, I think
you're safe."

"I'm going in there," Margaret said with a wink. "If I'm not back in
fifteen minutes, call the Park Police."

Ginger fought not to laugh out loud. "Will do."

"Also, do me a favor. Ignore any screaming or yelling you might
hear."

"You think Toby's going to yell at you?"

"Exactly the opposite." Margaret replied walking across the bullpen
and knocking softly on the oak door, leaving Ginger staring open
mouthed after her.

"What?" Toby called from within.

Margaret pushed open the door and stepped inside, closing the door
slowly behind her and leaning against it. She watched as Toby tapped
on his laptop, his eyes moving from a sheaf of pages from a yellow
legal pad to the screen. Everyone knew he preferred to write
longhand first and transcribe to a computer later, as opposed to his
deputy who did most of his work, from first draft to last,
electronically.

Toby looked up and realized who his company was. Rubbing his
forehead, he leaned back in his chair. "Hey, Margaret. What can I
do for you?"

Now that the moment was at hand, Margaret silently debated the merits
of what she'd come to say.

"Do you actually want something, or did you come in here to hold up
that door?" Toby commented, his sarcastic demeanor firmly in place.

Physically straightening her spine, Margaret pushed herself away from
the door and stepped around a pile of policy manuals, eventually
standing directly over Toby's desk, both hands placed firmly on the
wood surface. Looking down at her friend and colleague Margaret drew
upon her seemingly inexhaustible sense of right and wrong and
launched into her spiel. "Do you have to work at being such a
pompous jackass, or does it just come naturally to you?"

"What the hell?" Toby began to sputter.

"For once in your life sit there, keep your mouth closed, and listen
to what someone at a lower GS level than you has to say." Margaret
continued to lean over the desk, shaking her finger in the
Communication Director's face.

Stunned by this 180-degree turn in Margaret's normally professional
demeanor, Toby folded his hands in his lap and nodded at her.

Maintaining an even tone of voice, Margaret continued, "I was in the
Bullpen this morning when you called Ginger about the Early Education
Benchmarking Study. You yelled at her Toby, I could hear you all the
way through the receiver and I was sitting next to Bonnie's desk at
the time. More than that, you implied it was her fault you'd gotten
out of the office without the Study. She left the damn thing exactly
where you told her. I know because I was standing next to her when
you issued that little directive yesterday afternoon. I don't know
where the hell you think you get off but Ginger, Bonnie, and any
other staffer are not your personal verbal punching bags. This is
the White House Toby, not a roadhouse. You should never yell at
anyone, much less someone who works for you. Do you have any idea
how incredibly fortunate you are that those two educated, dedicated,
talented women continue to put up with your bullshit and bad behavior
and work for you? Perhaps it's escaped your attention, but every one
of the Senior Assistants does an incredible amount of work in the
course of the day. We're frequently the first ones in and the last
ones out. More often than not we're the first call and the last line
of defense for our bosses. It's a shame local universities don't
offer a Ph.D. in ass covering because we'd all be deserving of
doctorates. We're good at what we do and we're glad to do it. Be
that as it may, assistants are not repositories for our bosses
mistakes, misconceptions, and ill humors."

Margaret straightened up and folded her arms across her
chest. "Think about that, the next time you feel compelled to take
your pissy humor out on an assistant. And yes, Leo does yell. Nine
times out of ten he's yelling for me, not at me and that's because he
refuses to use the intercom. Furthermore, when he's stepped over the
line, which is rare, he's well aware of it and apologizes in some
form. Finally, and this is the kicker Toby, he never treats me,
Charlie, or any other staffer as less than we are."

Toby continued to sit silently behind his desk as Margaret began to
show herself out. Reaching the door, she spun on her heel and faced
him one last time. "For your information, and to make sure you tell
the tale correctly, that was not a radiation mood swing, *that* was a
smack down." Margaret exited the office, closing the door behind her.



Thursday, April 18, 2002, 6:48 p.m., The West Wing, Chief of Staff's
Office

Leo and Margaret sat at the conference table in his office, two
copies of the Education Benchmarking Study, legal pads, ink pens, and
white porcelain mugs of coffee spread out in front of them. Leo
removed his glasses and passed his hands across his eyes. "I cannot,
for the life of me, conceive of what else we can roll into this," Leo
tapped the document in front of him "that will pacify Campos and
guarantee his support."

"We've been through the early childhood section twice in the last
twenty minutes." Margaret answered, checking her watch. "Whatever
it is, it's not obvious to either of us and Sam says he hasn't come
up with any answers either."

"Swell, the President's going to love going into this meeting
unprepared."

"We're not unprepared." Sam answered, entering Leo's office from the
open hall door. "We know this Study backwards and could recite it
verbatim in our sleep. We know what needs to happen to get it to the
legislative phase, and we know what parts of it will fly and what
parts are going to die on the committee room floor. Let Campos tell
us what he wants instead of playing twenty questions. Don't worry
Leo, when Campos ups the ante, we'll be ready for him."

Margaret glanced at her watch again and stood up. "It's time for you
to get to the Residence."

Leo stood up as well, slipping his arms into his suit jacket as
Margaret held it out for him. Grabbing his notes and portfolio, he
shifted them from hand to hand as the tall red head persisted in
straightening the cuffs of his white shirt. "I hate like hell to ask
this Margaret . . ."

"I'll stay until everything's taken care of and the situation with
Campos has been finalized." Margaret interrupted, knowing well what
Leo had on his mind. "I napped earlier and can rest on your sofa if
I need to."

"Thanks." Leo replied, walking into the hall behind Sam. "Be sure
to eat something, huh?"

"Promise." Margaret called as the two men walked away from her.



Thursday, April 18, 2002, 8:29 p.m., The West Wing, Chief of Staff's
Office

Seated on her boss' sofa, her shoes on the floor. Margaret rested
her back against the far end of the sofa, a stack of memos and
correspondence balanced on her lap. Margaret sorted through the
stack, making notes on those documents that required revision or
follow-up. The sound of footsteps coming down the hall caused her to
look up just as Leo walked into the office, frustration evident in
his body language and physical expression.

"I take it things are not going well up there?" Margaret asked.

"That's one way of looking at it." Leo answered, pacing the floor,
his hands clenched into fists. "Can you translate something for me?"

"From Spanish to English?" Leo nodded. "Certainly."

"I'm probably going to mispronounce this, but it sounded like he
said `asno obstinado egotista."

Margaret's eyes widened at Leo's repetition of the phrase. "Please
tell me it was Campos who said that and not Sam."

"Yeah, what does it mean?"

"Did he say that to you, Sam or, and please tell me this is not the
case, the President."

"He said it to Sam in the middle of a rather heated discussion. For
the last time, what the hell did Campos say?"

"He called Sam a stubborn egotistical ass." Margaret replied, half-
afraid the translation was going to send Leo on a tear she'd be doing
damage control over for a month.

Shaking his head, Leo dropped into a chair and shook his
head. "Campos clearly thinks we're trying to screw him out of his
fair share of incentives."

"Is he looking for some sort of personal kickback?" Margaret asked,
shocked at the notion the discussions taking place upstairs might
have been lowered to that level.

"No, or at least I don't get that impression and I've worked with
Campos off and on for years. He's never been in this for personal
gain." Leo looked off in the distance as he considered the
situation. "Which means there's something he wants for his
community."

"Most of his requests have centered on newly emigrated persons, both
legal and illegal." Margaret said, mentally recalling the existing
provisions in the study. "Is there something we've ignored?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Leo responded, standing up and beginning to
pace again.

Sam walked into the office at that moment and perched on the arm of
the sofa opposite where Margaret was sitting and pulled at his
necktie. "Campos and the President have gone out on the Truman
Balcony so they could smoke. I decided to come down here and cool
off before round two."

"Margaret and I are trying to figure out what Campos is fishing for."

Sam mentally ticked off the existing concessions on his fingers. A
moment later he spoke up, "We've provided extra money for
transporting the children of migrant workers to school, increased
funding for school breakfast and lunch programs, a program to recruit
bilingual Latinos as ESL teachers, to say nothing of the earlier
concessions that had nothing to do with early childhood education."

Margaret continued to recline on the sofa, the fact she was biting on
her lower lip an indication of how deeply in thought she was.
Suddenly she leaned forward and tapped Sam on the thigh. "What have
we done regarding immunizations?"

"Immunizations?" Leo asked, not understanding where his assistant
was coming from.

"Yes Leo, immunizations. Specifically the shots every child must
have to be eligible to attend school."

Sam left his perch on the edge of the sofa and settled into the chair
next to Leo. "Tell me what you're thinking." He leaned forward in
his seat, elbows propped on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his
chin.

Margaret swung her feet off the sofa cushion, fully facing the two
men. "Again, every child has to have a set of vaccinations in order
to be eligible to attend school. These include measles, mumps, and
rubella. Several states currently require middle school students to
have hepatitis B vaccinations. If you're an immigrant, you likely
don't have the insurance or financial resources to ensure your
children get the necessary immunizations. If the White House could
provide the backing for a school immunization program for all
eligible immigrant children, not just Latin Americans, we come out on
the side of public health, the welfare of children improves, and most
importantly Hector Campos is a hero to his people."

"Money." Leo said, raising the obvious objection.

"The US Public Health Service currently has access to a storehouse of
vaccination serums. We can put the muscle on a couple of medical
supply companies to donate the syringes, cotton balls and other
supplies, if need be. For all the good it does, this program is dirt
cheap."

"After the first year?" Leo continued.

"Title three." Margaret announced. "The immunization program will
have been implemented at health departments and, in some cases,
university clinics during the first year. The White House will work
with the Heath and Human Services Administration, specifically the
Bureau of Maternal Child Health, to create a grant program that will
fund an immunization program targeted at immigrant children."

"How are we going to pay for the grant program?" Leo asked, looking
at Sam.

"Hell Leo, the money can be found. That's what we pay those
financial wizards over at OMB for." Turning to Margaret, Sam smiled
broadly. "Margaret, this just might work with Campos. You're a
genius!" Sam stood up and stepped around the coffee table, pulling
Margaret to her feet and hugging her lightly. "Genius!" he
repeated, pressing a playful kiss to the tip of her nose.

"Hardly, Sam." Margaret said, unwrapping her arms from around his
shoulders. "I just know health policy relatively well and it was the
one thing I could think of that wasn't already on the table."

"Let's go back upstairs and see if we can get Campos to swing at this
pitch." Leo said, nodding at the Deputy Communications Director, who
was redoing the Windsor knot in his tie.

Before walking out of the office, Leo smiled at Margaret and put his
arm around her shoulders. "Nice work, Margaret. I think you may
have saved our asses." Leo left the room, hurrying to catch up with
Sam.

"That's why I'm here." Margaret replied to herself with a small grin.



Friday, April 19, 2002, 12:17a.m., The West Wing, Oval Office.

President Bartlet stood shoulder to shoulder with his Chief of Staff,
both men leaning against the Resolute desk, reviewing the most recent
draft of the early childhood education provisions in the Benchmarking
Study. Bartlet removed his glasses and looked at his best
friend. "We've got Campos on our side now?"

"Guaranteed, sir."

"Good, because I don't want any of us to have to go to the mat with
him again. There are other battles to fight in the reelection
campaign."

"Duly noted, sir. I'm sorry you got pulled into this one."

"Don't apologize Leo. Part of placating Campos was making him
believe that he personally has the ear of the President." Walking
around the desk and dropping into his chair, Bartlet began stacking
files. "Sam was smart to come up with the immunization program, or
was that your idea?"

"Actually sir, it was neither of us."

"Toby came up with that one?" Bartlet asked, a disbelieving look on
his face.

"No sir, Margaret is the responsible party."

"Margaret, your assistant Margaret?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn, that woman's good. Maybe I'll promote her to a junior policy
position."

"Due respect Mr. President, you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"
Leo asked, a slightly panicked expression caught behind his eyes.

"Nah, I just like yanking your chain every now and again. Keeps you
on your toes." Bartlet chuckled, standing up again. "I'm going to
the Residence for the night. See you tomorrow, Leo."

"Good night, Mr. President." Leo walked across the office and
through the connecting door to his office.

Margaret was nowhere around and Leo decided she'd gone home.
Settling into his chair, he began reviewing the stack of paperwork
that had accumulated in his in-box throughout the day. Midway
through the process he heard the sound of raised voices and laughter
coming from across the hall. It wasn't often the staff got the
opportunity to relax as a group and Leo didn't want to disturb their
fun. He knew he was considered the office killjoy, his presence had
stopped more than one impromptu party in its tracks. He smiled to
himself and turned his attention back to the file folder in front of
him.

Moments later he heard a voice that sounded remarkably like
Margaret's cry out, "Give me one good reason *why* I should make it
up to you!" The exclamation was followed by a giggle that Leo was
almost certain belonged to his assistant. Standing up, he walked
into Margaret's office, which was dark except for light emanating
from a small lamp on the credenza. Standing in the shadows between
the file cabinets and the hall door, Leo had a perfect place to
observe the goings on without being seen.

The senior staff and their assistants, plus Ed, Larry, and Charlie
were gathered in the center of the Communications bullpen. Toby
appeared to be teasing Margaret, walking her to the middle of the
group.

"Please, Margaret, it's been such a long time." Toby wheedled,
actually grinning at the tall red head.

"Yeah, Margaret." Donna chimed in. "You haven't done it since the
campaign." Others in the room joined in expressing their desire to
see Margaret do "it". Leo wondered exactly what "it" was.

"Sorry guys, you're out of luck, I don't have it with me." Margaret
replied.

"I've got one in my office." Josh replied, running back to his area
to retrieve the required object.

Leo continued to watch, fascinated as people cleared an area in the
middle of the room, moving chairs and trashcans out of the way.
Placing one chair in the middle of the room, Toby sat down in it and
grinned at CJ as she laughed, shook her head and made a comment about
the Sisterhood.

Moments later, Josh was back with a compact disc in his hands.
Turning it over to Bonnie, he stood next to Margaret, offering her an
arm as she leaned against him and toed out of her shoes. The
cardigan sweater followed as everyone in the room was confronted with
the sight of Margaret's radiation artwork, highly visible through the
light yellow t-shirt.

"Oh come on people, you act like you've never seen a woman's chest
before." Margaret chided, shaking her head slightly. It's just
magic marker, nothing to worry about. If' you're going to get
wierded out, I'm not doing this."

"Doing *what*?" Leo asked himself again.

"We'll be good, promise." Sam said as Bonnie slipped the compact
disc into a small boom box.

"Ready?" Bonnie asked. Margaret nodded her head and Bonnie turned
the stereo on, adjusting the volume.

The room grew silent as a slow, blues like beat emanated from the
small speakers, the sound of guitar and drums filling the air.

Leo let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as Margaret
moved into the middle of the room and started singing a song he was
certain he'd never heard before. He was almost positive he'd never
heard her sing at any time in the decade plus she'd worked for him.
Stepping forward, but still not out of his hiding place, Leo's eyes
widened as Margaret continued to sing.

"And I'm the only one
who'll walk across the fire for you.
And I'm the only one
who'll drown in my desire for you.
Its only fear that makes you run,
the demons that you're hiding from.
When all your promises are gone
I'm the only one.

Stopping in front of Toby, Margaret leaned forward. Bracing her
hands on his shoulders, she straddled his knees sitting down slowly
across his legs, her long skirt riding up past her knees. Toby
laughed and placed his arms around her waist as Margaret wrapped hers
loosely around his neck.

Leo stood rooted to the spot, staring at Margaret's impossibly long
legs, his eyes bugging slightly. Leo's jaw dropped as Margaret
leaned back slightly and Toby's grin turned into a leer.

The music ended and the crowd, which had been silent throughout the
performance, began clapping and whistling. Margaret and Toby stood
up together and bowed, acknowledging the praise of their friends.

Not wanting to be caught red handed, to say nothing of red faced; Leo
quickly ducked back into his office. Dropping into his chair he
began gathering the remaining files and piling them into his
briefcase. `I need a drink. No, I need a cold shower.' Leo
thought, surprising himself as the notion passed through his mind.

Three minutes later, he heard Margaret enter the outer office. She
knocked on the door between the two rooms, her read hair lit from
behind, casting highlights that resembled an aura, or a halo.

"Did you need anything else Leo?"

"No, we're done for the night. Campos is satisfied."

"That's what Sam said."

"You know you saved us, right?" Leo questioned.

"Just doing my job."

"Nah, you went above and beyond tonight." Leo said. `In more ways
than one,' he added to himself.

"Shall I call down for Eddie?"

"Yeah. Get your stuff together and we'll head out of here.
Corrine's going to have my head for keeping you here so late."

"No she won't. I've gone by the book since this protocol started,
she'll probably be shocked that it took me this long to stray from
her orders." Margaret replied, walking back into her office.

Friday, April 19, 2002, 5:35 a.m., Margaret's Apartment

"Crap." Margaret muttered, scanning the top of her bathroom
vanity. "Where the hell is the lotion?" Realization dawned on the
tall red head's face as she remembered that she'd taken it into the
bedroom last night. Pulling the door open, Margaret turned right
and walked toward the back of the apartment.

"Good morning, Margaret."

The sound of an all-too familiar voice made Margaret stop mid stride,
her right hand grappling for the top of the lemon yellow bath sheet
that was securely wrapped around her thin frame. Slowly swiveling her
head, so as not to dislodge the smaller towel that her freshly
shampooed hair was wrapped in, Margaret looked over her right
shoulder. Near the front window, his view obscured by the early
edition of the Post, sat her boss.

"Good morning Leo." Margaret replied, scurrying for the
bedroom. "Everything all right?"

"Huh?" Leo asked. Rapidly understanding the meaning of her
question, he continued, "Everything's fine. I tried calling earlier,
when you didn't answer I got concerned and let myself in. Hope you
don't mind."

"That's fine." Margaret peeked around the doorway and noticed Leo
was still engrossed in the newspaper. Not wanting to tempt fate, she
walked quickly back to the bathroom.

"You want me to toast a bagel for you?" Leo called as she began to
shut the bathroom door behind her.

"Yes, please, although I'm not sure I can eat anything. I haven't
had an appetite since yesterday afternoon."

"Did you drink Ensure last night?"

"Yes."

"Did you throw it back up?"

"No."

"Good." Leo replied, folding the newspaper and setting it on the end
table before standing up and making his way toward the
kitchen. "Don't forget, you have an appointment with Corrine this
morning after your treatment."

Rolling her eyes, Margaret exhaled a short burst of air, slammed the
lotion on the vanity, struggled into her robe, and walked into the
living room. "Considering the fact that I keep track of your
schedule, the White House social calendar, and the assorted comings
and goings of the Senior Staff, I think I'm capable of remembering my
medical appointments. Back off, Leo!" The end of her diatribe was
accompanied by the unwelcome appearance of tears. Mentally cursing
her fluctuating hormones, Margaret bit her lip in an attempt to stop
their progress.

Leo stood in the kitchen, his mouth agape, as his normally poised
assistant had a small-scale meltdown. Disregarding the bagel that
had just popped up in the toaster, Leo leaned against the counter and
looked at his assistant. Truth be told, she looked more pale than
she had earlier in the week. Clad in only a bathrobe, her weight
loss was evident as well. "I'm sorry Margaret, I wasn't trying to
mother hen you any more than usual."

Leo's apologetic tone only served to cause more tears to collect at
the corner of her eyes. Biting her lip was not working any more and
she had no desire to appear weak and weepy in front of her boss
again. Twice was two times too many. Turning away and walking
toward the bathroom she called over he shoulder. "No apology
necessary, I'm just hormonal as hell and taking it out on you. I'm
the one who's sorry."

Leo walked into the living room and followed her down the
hall. "Remember what I said: in for a dime, in for a dollar. Your
mood swings aren't going to scare me off. If I can put up with Abbey
in full-blown jackass mode and CJ when she's on a Sisterhood tear, I
think I can swing at whatever you pitch."

Margaret managed a thin smile and shook her head. "Thanks. I'll be
ready in a few minutes." Margaret once again retreated behind the
bathroom door.

Leo returned to the kitchen and finished preparing and packing his
assistant's breakfast.



Friday, April 19, 2002, 7:48 a.m., GWU Breast Care Center

Leo paced the hallway, waiting for Margaret to finish her radiation
treatment. He finished another in a seemingly endless series of
laps, and looked up to find one of Margaret's medical team observing
his progress.

"Vary your route a little, huh? You're wearing a rut in that side of
the linoleum."

"Morning, Brian." Leo replied, walking toward the younger man. "I
don't think I paced this much when I was waiting for my daughter to
make her entrance into the world."

"Margaret should be out in a few moments. She just finished her
treatment." Brian leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands into
the pockets of his white lab coat.

"Is it my imagination, or did this treatment take longer than
usual?" Leo asked.

"The treatment itself did not last longer, but we had some trouble
getting started."

Leo's head pivoted, as he looked the younger man in the eye. "What
sort of trouble?"

"Margaret became ill after we got her on the table." Brian
replied. "We had to get her cleaned up and start over."

"She's been complaining of loss of appetite and feeling queasy for
the last couple of days. I don't think she had solid food after
breakfast yesterday."

"She's got an appointment to see Dr. Matthews as soon as she's done
here." Brian replied, placing his left hand on the older man's right
shoulder. "This isn't unusual Leo. A lot of cancer patients suffer
queasiness and occasional vomiting while on radiation."

"We were told that wasn't likely to happen."

"It's not a standard side effect of the protocol. However, it's an
understandable side effect of the emotional trauma associated with
the diagnosis."

"Yeah." Leo replied.

Both men looked across the hall as one of the treatment room doors
swung open and Margaret emerged, looking more wan, but smiling
slightly at the sight of Leo and Brian.

"I gather Brian's telling you about my stellar performance in there."

"Something like that." Leo replied as he and the young oncologist
flanked Margaret, each with an arm around her back.

"I hate to sound like a wimp, but I don't think I'm going to be able
to handle being in the office today." Margaret said as they reached
the examination room. "I'll call Donna and fill her in on what needs
to be done. Bonnie can manage your schedule and Eddie can bring me
the files on my desk so I can take care of those from home."

"Well, you're partly right. You're not coming into work today. On
the other hand, you're not working from home either. You're pretty
puny, Margaret, you need your rest. One day of enforced inactivity
isn't going to hurt anything."

"Leo, I can't stay home and do nothing all day!" Margaret moaned.

"You won't be doing nothing, you'll be sleeping." Brian announced,
helping Margaret onto the exam table as he reached for the blood
pressure cuff on the wall.

"I will not sleep all day."

"Twenty bucks says you sleep till at least 3 this afternoon." Brian
said, adjusting his stethoscope and beginning to inflate the cuff.

The three were silent as Margaret's blood pressure was taken and
recorded in her chart.

"You need some help getting dressed? I can call a nurse." Leo said,
walking toward the door, the younger man on his heels.

"I'm good." Margaret said, reaching for her clothes.

Ten minutes later, as the pair was exiting the Cancer Center,
Margaret's attention was diverted by the sound of a child calling her
name. Placing her hand on Leo's forearm, Margaret stopped and turned
around, smiling at Anna and her mother.

"Good morning Anna." Margaret said, waving at the youngster in her
mother's arms. "Tessa, you might not want to bring her any closer.
I got sick this morning and, while they think it was just nerves, I
don't want to run the risk of passing a bug on to Anna."

"You got sick?" Anna asked, her head dropping slowly onto her
mother's left shoulder.

"Oh yeah, puked all over the radiation table." Margaret replied with
a wry grin, oblivious to the fact that her boss was rolling his eyes
and making a disgusted face at Anna's mom.

"Yuck!" Anna replied, giggling.

"You said it. Do you have radiation this morning?"

"Just finished." Tessa replied. "We're on our way home."

"Margaret's on her way to the doctor's office and then she's going
home too." Leo said as they began walking toward the curb, where
Eddie waited with the car. "Maybe Margaret and Anna should spend the
day together, I think Margaret's going to need company." Leo grinned
at Tessa.

"I don't think Anna would be good company. By this afternoon she'll
be incredibly cranky." Tessa replied as Eddie helped Margaret into
the back seat of the sedan.

Leaning forward, Leo spoke quietly. "That's okay, so will
Margaret." Leo smiled at the mother and daughter, and got into the
car.



Friday, April 19, 2002, 8:20 a.m., Oncology Services Offices

Margaret lay on the table, clad in yet another cotton exam gown.
Across the room, Eddie sat next on a molded plastic chair, flipping
through a back issue of US News and World Report.

"Eddie, I'm really all right. You don't have to sit with me until
Corrine gets here." Margaret said, glancing at the younger man.

"Mr. McGarry said I was to stay with you, and since I'm not in the
habit of incurring his wrath, that's what I'm doing." Eddie grinned
at his friend.

"I don't suppose you could be bribed to slack off just a little bit?"

"Not on your life."

"Worth a shot." Margaret replied, raising her head as the exam room
door opened

Corrine walked in, her eyes on Margaret's chart. Looking up from the
most recent notes, she smiled at the newcomer. "Damn, Margaret you
work fast. Another new boyfriend?"

"I'm irresistible." Margaret cracked, as Eddie blushed furiously
from the neck of his starched white shirt to the top of his
head. "Corrine, this is Eddie, he's Leo's driver. Eddie this is
Corrine Matthews, my oncologist."

Eddie stood up and extended his right hand. "Pleased to meet you,
Dr. Matthews."

"Likewise, Eddie. Where's the boss this morning?"

"Early meetings." Eddie turned and opened the door to the
hallway. "I'll wait outside."

Corrine began examining Margaret, her hands gently palpating the
younger woman's abdomen. "I had a call from Dr. Lewis a little while
ago."

"No doubt about my escapades in the radiation room." Margaret sighed.

"He seems to think your vomiting was related to nerves more than a
bug or side effect of the medicine. Have you been stressed?"

Margaret laughed mirthlessly. "Well let's see, I'm undergoing
radiation for a breast metastasis, I work at the White House, and oh
yeah, the President's running for reelection."

"Sounds like stress to me. Don't suppose you'd want to take a leave
of absence until August?"

"C'mon Corrine, we've had this conversation before. I work because
it's one of the things that makes me feel like I've got some control
over this stupid disease. If I stay home, I'm on the fast track to
clinical depression."

"You don't know that." Corrine replied, gently examining her
patient's radiation site.

Margaret fidgeted under the doctor's skilled hands. "Yes I do.
Inactivity makes me buggy. Besides, Leo and the rest of the staff
need me. And I need them," she finished quietly.

.
"Well then, let's see what we can do about keeping you healthy enough
to work your way through your protocol. Have you been following all
those silly little orders I gave you, getting a nap each day, leaving
the office by seven, eating several small meals?"

"You know I'm having trouble with eating, my appetite just seems to
have vanished in the last week. Other than that I am taking a nap
each day, for at least an hour, and with the exception of last night,
I've been out of the office by 7 each evening and I'm not going in on
the weekends."

"I'd be happier if you were eating more and I don't want working late
to become a regular event until well after this protocol has ended.
Regardless, you've modified your work schedule and that's important.
You don't have a fever, your glands aren't swollen and I don't hear
any abnormal bowel sounds so your bout with vomiting this morning was
probably due to stress and tension as opposed to a virus. I want to
you stay home today and through the weekend. Try to eat, or at least
drink Ensure. Again, and I cannot reinforce this enough, push the
protein if you feel up to it." Corrine made some final notes on the
chart and set it on the nearby desk.

"Anything else?" Margaret asked.

"Margaret, I know you're well aware of the drill, so I'll spare you
the full lecture and cut to the chase. You need to make a concerted
effort at getting plenty of rest and eating. If not your immune
system is going to take off for Tijuana and you're going to get a
vacation in the hospital."

"I'll do my best."

"I know you will." Corrine replied, helping her patient sit
up. "Have Lucy schedule you for a week from today and call me if you
have any problems in the meantime."

"Will do." Margaret replied, standing up and walking behind the
screen to change clothes.



Friday, April 19, 2002, 3:39 p.m., The West Wing, Chief of Staff's
Office

"Here are the updated campaign contribution lists." Bonnie said,
walking into Leo's office and depositing them on top of a small stack
of folders.

"Thanks Bonnie." Leo raised his eyes from the report he was studying.

"You have a meeting with the President and the Joint Chiefs in ten
and then you're expected back in the Roosevelt Room. CJ's wants five
minutes before you go into the Oval." Bonnie consulted the copy of
the Chief of Staff's schedule that Margaret had told her to print out.

"Bruno, Doug, Josh, and Toby playing nice in there?" Leo nodded
toward the conference room across the hall.

"I wouldn't call it playing nice, but there's no bloodshed yet.
Coffee?"

"Yeah, and send CJ in."

"Hey Leo." CJ said, crossing his office and dropping into one of the
visitor's chairs, her long legs extended in front of her. "Carol
said something about Margaret getting sick during her treatment this
morning?"

"Yep, and apparently Dr. Matthews has placed her under house arrest
until Monday."

"Is this a side effects of the treatments?" CJ inquired.

"Part of it is and part is the result of Margaret being Margaret and
stressing herself out over treatments, work, and who knows what else."

"Anything we can do?"

"Not unless you want your head ripped off." Leo sighed.

"Is that the voice of experience I hear?"

"Yeah. I reminded her she had a doctor's appointment this morning
and she had my head on a platter in record time."
"Must be the hormones." CJ replied with a laugh. "She blistered
Toby's ears yesterday."

Leo stopped perusing the briefing book and stared at the Press
Secretary. "I didn't hear about that."

"According to Sam, who saw it through the window, it was quite
something. Toby never had a chance."

Leo stood up and slipped into his navy suit jacket. "I didn't get to
see your 2 o'clock, how'd it go?"

"Mercifully quickly. A few questions on the continuing Israel-
Palestine conflict, more about the Education Benchmarking Study.
Rumor is that the Early Childhood bill comes up for discussion in
committee next week, so that's going to be the big topic at the 5
o'clock. Barring unforeseen catastrophes, I'll call a full lid then."

"Sounds good."

CJ stood up as well and walked toward the main door. "I'm going to
call Margaret after my last briefing. See if she wants some company
tonight."

"Good idea. I'm gonna be here with the idiot patrol until late,
otherwise I'd do it."

"No reason you should have to take every shift."

"Yeah but I feel responsible. She's my assistant, her parents are
dead, her brother lives hours away . . ."

Walking through the door and into the hall, CJ called over her
shoulder. "Nice try, Leopold, but I'm not buying. I know why you do
it."

"You don't know the half of it." Leo muttered to himself, walking
through the connecting passageway and into the Oval Office.



Friday, April 19, 2002, 7:57 p.m., Margaret's Apartment

Margaret was roused from a fitful doze by the sound of the front door
buzzer. Staggering from the couch, an afghan clutched to her bare
chest, the tall red head reached the control panel by the front door
and depressed the appropriate button. "Yes?"

"It's CJ, Margaret."

"Come on up." Margaret pushed another button that opened the
security door and released the deadbolt and lock on the front door.
She had just pulled it open when CJ reached the landing.

"Looks like I woke you up." CJ said, hurrying down the short
hallway, her arms laden with briefcase, overnight tote, and an
assortment of bags.

"That's all right. I've been asleep almost constantly since Eddie
brought me home this morning."

"Making up for all the rest you've lost worrying about everything but
taking care of yourself." CJ replied, putting her briefcase and tote
bag by the desk and walking into the kitchen.

"I'd argue with you about that but I'm too damned tired." Margaret
followed CJ into the kitchen, dragging the afghan along, it's fringe
trailing in her wake.

Depositing various and sundry sacks on the counter, CJ looked up from
perusing their contents to give her friend and colleague a critical
once over. "That afghan's a nice look for you."

"Well, since, I don't have a top on, I thought it was better than the
alternative."

CJ laughed loudly, leaning back against the sink for
support. "Margaret, you've been napping topless on my office couch
for the last six weeks. I think I can handle you running around
without a shirt on in the privacy of your own home."

"Well then." Margaret said, folding the afghan and returning it to
the sofa. "I'm going to get an ice pack and a glass of water. You
want anything?"

"Do you have any red wine?" CJ asked, opening the refrigerator and
placing groceries on the shelves.

"It's in the second lower cabinet to your left. Corkscrew in the
drawer above it. You know where the glasses are." Margaret accepted
the ice pack CJ handed her and reached for the bottled water on the
top shelf of the refrigerator, stunned by the amount of food on the
shelves. "Did you leave any food for the rest of metro DC?" she
wondered, walking back into the living room.

"I figured you hadn't felt much like shopping and were probably out
of almost everything. And I was right." CJ closed the refrigerator
and bent down, retrieving a bottle of Merlot from the cabinet
Margaret had indicated.

Moments later, CJ finished putting away her purchases and returned to
the living room. Sitting on the rocking chair next to the sofa, she
kicked off her high heels and took a sip of wine. "Whew, that's an
improvement!"

"For me it's my bra that's always the first thing to go at the end of
a day." Margaret observed.

"That's usually what comes next. In fact, I think I'll get into my
grubbies."

"By all means."

CJ returned in short order wearing a pair of maroon silk boxer shorts
and a Habitat for Humanity sweatshirt. Leaning over the back of the
sofa, she reached for the ice pack Margaret was removing from the
radiation site.

"Thanks." Margaret said, depositing the plastic bag in CJ's left
hand.

"What do you feel like eating for dinner? And don't tell me nothing
because you need to eat. I'm not getting chewed by Corrine and/or
Leo because I let you get by on Ensure. Not on my watch."

"What are my options?"

"If you want take out, the possibilities are endless. However, I'm
sure those meals have questionable, if any, nutritional value. How
about a cheese omelet, some Canadian bacon, and toast?"

"Perfect." Margaret replied. "Can I do anything to help?"

"Tell me where your pots and pans are."

"Skillets are in the drawer under the stove."

CJ went into the kitchen and set about preparing the simple meal.
Twenty minutes later everything was ready. She piled two plates with
food, poured two tall glasses of milk and set everything on a tray.

"Dinner is served." CJ called, carrying the food into the living
area. "Where shall we eat?"

"Why don't we just sit in here? There's the table by the window or
we can flake out in front of the television."

"Let's see what's on television." CJ answered, setting the tray in
the middle of the low, wide pine coffee table.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to get a sweatshirt, otherwise it's
guaranteed I'll spill dinner down my chest."

CJ shot Margaret a wicked grin. "We could get you a bib."

"Very clever, CJ." Margaret said as she walked down the hallway.

Margaret returned wearing one an old, misshapen Annapolis
sweatshirt. The two women sat on the floor across the coffee table
from one another and ate dinner while watching Larry King Live on
CNN.

"I think that was the best meal I've had in the last month. Thanks
CJ."

"No thanks necessary. You want dessert now or later?"

"There's dessert?"

"Ice cream."

"Ah a woman after my own heart. But let's wait a bit, I'm stuffed."

"You and me both, I'll just get these into the dishwasher." CJ stood
up and gathered the plates and glasses.

Margaret entered the kitchen a few moments later, several pills in
her right palm. "Time for the evening meds," she announced, reaching
for a juice glass and turning on the taps.

"Wow, you have to take all that?" CJ said, looking over the younger
woman's shoulder at the assortment of tablet and capsules.

"Three times a day, to say nothing of the vitamins and supplements I
take each morning. The pharmaceutical industry loves me." Margaret
answered, tipping the pills into her mouth and following it with
several swallows of water.

"I bet Lilly and Merck send you Christmas cards." CJ joked as the
two women walked into the living room.

"No, but they should." Margaret replied with a giggle. Standing
next to the sofa, Margaret removed her shirt, laying it over the arm
of the rocking chair "Sorry about this CJ, but the radiation site is
on fire tonight."

"I told you not to worry about it and I mean it." CJ glanced down at
the garment her friend had just removed. "I meant to ask you about
that shirt earlier. Did your dad or brother go to the Naval Academy?"

"No, but one of my brother's childhood friends did. He brought that
home to me for Christmas one year. Frank was five years older, the
epitome of cool, and gorgeous to boot. I put that shirt on Christmas
morning and didn't take it off until my mother threatened to throw it
into the washer with me still in it."

"Sounds like you had quite the crush on Frank."

"Every adolescent girl in the neighborhood did. He was an only child
and I think he sort of adopted Phil and I as his surrogate siblings.
He and my brother were inseparable throughout high school and I was
your typical tag-a-long, pain-in-the-neck kid sister.

"Aww, and here I thought I was going to get a sordid tale about your
first love." CJ said.

"I loved him like I loved Phil, and worshipped the ground he walked
on because he treated me like an adult while the rest of my brother's
friends treated my like the gangly pre-teen nuisance that I was."

"What happened to him?"

"Career Navy, now an admiral, lives in Baltimore with his wife and
five children. I think the eldest will be entering college this
fall. I see them a couple of times a year, usually at the holidays
and sometime during the summer."

"Sounds like a nice guy."

"He is." Margaret replied. "So tell me all about your first love."

"Bobby Winston, my high school sweetheart. Blonde hair, perfect baby
blue eyes, and he was taller than me which automatically made him the
ideal man." CJ answered, a smile on her face.

"Was it love?"

"Lord yes! Or at least I thought it was. We started dating
sophomore year, drove our parents mad with worry that we were going
to do something foolish and wind up *having* to get married.
Amazingly enough, we held out on sex until after we'd graduated."

"What happened?" Margaret asked, thoroughly drawn into the story of
CJ's first serious boyfriend.

"We were both accepted at Berkeley. By the time we were juniors I'd
become something he could not accept."

"What?"

"A card-carrying member of the Sisterhood." CJ said with a mirthless
chuckle. "Bobby was from an old-money Republican family. I was the
perfect girlfriend until I developed my own political personality and
decided that I'd rather protest than pour tea." We broke up pretty
quickly, once he figured out I was never going to remove the word
feminist from my vocabulary."

"That had to hurt." Margaret said.

"Yeah, it did. Mostly from the standpoint that I really thought he
was `the one'. But you live and learn." CJ stood up and walked
toward the built-in shelves on the far wall. "How about some music?"

"Sure, put on anything that sounds good to you."

CJ stood with her back to Margaret, perusing the collection of
compact discs that lined the shelves above the small stereo
unit. "So tell me about your first love."

"Trust me, CJ, that's not a story you want to hear!"

"Sure it is. I've told my tale of romantic woe, now it's your turn."

"Do I have to?" Margaret groaned.

"Either that or face me telling the story about you tossing your
cookies on the radiation table from the podium on Monday."

"You wouldn't!"

"I would!" CJ countered, loading the last disc into the turntable
and activating the stereo. After adjusting the volume, she returned
to her seat and grinned at Margaret. "The press loves a good human
interest story."

"When you put it like that . . ."

"Spill, woman." CJ ordered.

"Okay, but remember I told you this wasn't a story you wanted to
hear. Actually I'm surprised Carol hasn't told you."

"My assistant can be notoriously closed-mouth when it suits her, or
when she's promised to keep a secret. Even when it means withholding
juicy gossip from her boss."

Margaret smiled and nodded. "Back in January, on the night of the
State of the Union, the Senior Assistants had dinner while everyone
was at the Capitol. The topic of conversation was our love lives or
the lack thereof. We all, under the condition of sworn secrecy,
divulged the objects of our affections."

"Sorry I missed that one."

"Yeah. Well, when it came my turn I had to admit that, thanks to
growing up a tomboy and a social misfit, it took me forever to fall
in love for the first time."

"How long?"

Margaret bit her lower lip and mumbled. "Thirty six years."

CJ laughed, "You need to repeat that, I thought you said thirty six
years."

Margaret turned her head and looked her friend dead in the eye. "You
heard right. Thirty six years; and I manage to fall in love with the
most unattainable man on the planet."

"Who?"

"One Leo McGarry." Margaret said, flushing deep red.

"Really? I don't mean to sound disbelieving and I know we tease you
about your relationship with him, but I never guessed you felt like
*that*!"

"Funny thing is, I didn't realize I loved him until about a year ago."

CJ thought back. "That would have been about the time the MS scandal
broke."

"That, together with Mrs. Landingham's death and the start of the
reelection campaign. It was a wicked couple of months."

"Tell me about it." CJ thought back to her press room fiasco.

"Yeah." Margaret sighed.

"Well don't stop there! Tell me how you realized that you love Leo.."

"We were in the middle of our umpteenth all nighter during the weeks
leading up to the reelection announcement." Leo had been playing
referee between the Senior Staff and Bruno and his minions all day,
just like he is tonight, and was none too pleased with the way things
were going. About three a.m. he came storming through my office,
tossed a couple of file folders and a stack of papers on my desk as
he went tearing past, and growled, `That's it, I quit!'"

"And that's what made you fall for him?"

The tall red head smiled. "No, that happened when I got home later
that morning. What got me to that point was when I went into his
office to see if he'd gotten over his temper tantrum, he was working
on some file or another. But it was the way he was doing it. He had
his jacket, tie and shoes off, and was stretched out on his stomach
in the middle of the office floor, with his elbows propped up on a
sofa pillow. I never said anything, I think I was too shocked. I'd
worked for him ten years and had never seen him relaxed. He looked
up and told me that, when he was a kid, he used to do his homework
lying on the living room floor. Then he asked me to double check
some facts for him so I went and got another set of files, took off
my shoes and jacket and joined him on the floor. We worked like that
for a couple of hours. During that time, he made a most eloquent
apology about how sorry he was that he hadn't been the one to tell me
about Mrs. Landingham, and that he should have been more up front
with me about the President's MS. He also talked, at length, about
his friendship with the President and Dr. Bartlet and about how by
extension, Mrs. Landingham became a friend. Leo McGarry relaxed,
apologetic, and reflective; it was surreal. However, when I finally
went home later that morning and began to think about our earlier
conversation, I realized I'd seen behind the walls that Leo's been
building since he was a child. I knew that, over the years, I'd
grown to admire and appreciate the politician but I'd also grown to
love the person. That shocked me."

"Why?" CJ asked, moving from the rocker to sit on the floor at
Margaret's head and hold her hand.

"Lots of reasons. First and foremost, Leo's my boss. We've never
been anything more than boss and assistant. Also, as I said, this is
the first time I've ever been in love, and it's with a man 17 years
my senior, a recovering alcoholic and drug addict, who I strongly
suspect is still in love with his wife. I'm a 37-year-old cancer
patient who has never been properly kissed, much less made love to,
with my own full set of emotional baggage. Not exactly a match made
in heaven. And, here's the kicker, I'm certain he has no feelings
for me."

CJ sat quietly for several moments, absorbing all of the information
Margaret had imparted. Leaning forward, she rested her forearms on
the sofa cushion, her head resting next to her friend's
kneecaps. "Given all those issues, his addictions, your cancer, and
the working relationship, you love him." It was a statement, not a
question.

"Yes, I love him. He's a career politician and a workaholic, not
exactly the best combination. He can be abrasive, short-tempered,
and ornery; he does not suffer fools gladly. However, he's an
honorable man with the courage of his convictions. He's been a pain
in the ass more than once, but he's also been a pleasure to work
for. We cannot and will not ever be lovers but we may yet make it as
friends." Margaret passed her left hand across her eyes, in an
attempt to remove the tears that were threatening to spill over her
lower eyelids.

CJ smiled, and shook her head. "You've got it bad."

"Ya think?"

"Yeah, I think. And I think someday, when the time is right, you
ought to tell Leo how you feel."

"Claudia Jean Cregg, that's . . . that's . . . that's preposterous!"
Margaret stammered.

"Is it?"

"Give me one good reason why I should tell Leo that I love him."

"That's easy. Because I suspect he feels the same way about you."

Margaret raised up on her right elbow and placed her left hand
against CJ's forehead. "Hmm, no fever, and yet you're delusional."

"I am not." CJ countered, ducking out of Margaret's reach. "In case
you haven't noticed, our esteemed Chief of Staff has been hovering
around you a lot more lately. He always wants to know where you are,
worries about whether or not you're eating, to say nothing of the
fact that he's taking you to your treatments."

"He's worried about whether or not I'm going to be around to do his
bidding. Leo doesn't want to be forced to break in a new assistant
in the middle of a presidential campaign. As for the business of
taking me to my radiation appointments, Leo feels compelled to help
out, because he's the one I've entrusted with all the information.
He knows my oncologist and the rest of the medical team, he's got all
the instructions for my protocol . . ." Margaret's voice faded away,
unwilling to explain about the envelope with her will and funeral
arrangements.

"All of that is undoubtedly true, but I believe it goes deeper than
that. I think, over the past eleven years, you weren't the only one
who slowly fell in love."

"Uh huh. The only thing I'm certain of is this is an issue we're not
going to resolve tonight and as of this moment I have no plans to let
Leo McGarry know that I think he's the grandest thing since
bipartisanship."

"Ooookay." CJ replied, her tone belying the fact that she might let
the topic drop for now but the subject was far from closed. Standing
up again, she smiled down at Margaret. "Ready for some ice cream?"

"Absolutely." Margaret replied, levering herself into a sitting
position.



Saturday, April 20, 2002, 12:33 a.m., The West Wing, Roosevelt Room

Leo closed his binder with a loud snap. "That's it people. I'm
calling a halt to this forced march. We're all tired, edgy, and
accomplishing nothing. We'll reconvene at eight tomorrow morning.
Get some sleep, all of you." The Chief of Staff pushed his chair
away from the table and stood up, gathering his materials.

Walking across the hall, he turned as Bruno came up behind him. "Leo
I want to talk to you about the contributions . . ."

"In the morning Bruno. It will keep until then." Leo let himself
into his office, closing the door behind him, leaving the Campaign
Director fuming in the hall.

Fifteen minutes later, someone knocked at the hall door. "It's
open." Leo called, without diverting his attention from the computer
screen.

"Hey Leo." Charlie said, crossing the floor, a thick manila envelope
in his hands.

"Charlie, haven't seen much of you all day. The President in the
Residence?"

"About half an hour ago."

"Have a seat, what can I do for you?"

Charlie dropped into the visitor's chair to the right of the desk and
passed the envelope to Leo. "I thought you might like to have this."

Leo leaned back in his chair, propping the envelope on his desk.
Undoing the clasp, Leo peeled the flap back, turning the envelope
upside down, gently depositing the contents onto the black and gray
blotter. Leo turned the heavy frame over and stared at the image
within. "The State Dinner?"

"Yes." Charlie replied, waiting for his reaction.

"That's a good picture." Leo commented neutrally. I'll make sure
Margaret gets it.

"Margaret has a copy, that one is for you." Charlie said, fighting a
grin.

"Oh, okay, thanks." Leo continued to look at the picture.

"You two made quite the pair." Charlie said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the Chief of staff finally looked up
at the younger man.

"Just that you and Margaret looked good. On the dance floor.
Together." Charlie said, trying to get Leo to see what even the
President noticed about that particular photograph.. "Margaret
looked especially fine that night. Even Toby told her she was
pretty."

"I told her she looked beautiful." Leo offered, but immediately
began recanting his statement. "What I meant was, she looked nice,
that was a nice dress, and she had on a necklace that her brother
designed . . ."

"There's nothing wrong with admitting that Margaret looked good Leo.
Margaret's a naturally beautiful woman; she doesn't need fancy
clothes or jewelry."

Leo cocked his head and grinned at the President's body
man. "Charlie, do you have a thing for Margaret?"

Charlie laughed and shook his head. "No sir. I'm just stating the
obvious, Margaret is a lovely person, in all ways."

"Is there a point to this conversation, or did you just want to share
your feelings for my assistant?"

The younger man shook his head in mild frustration. "Leo, what do
you see when you look at that photograph?"

"Margaret and me, at the State Dinner for the British Prime Minister
and his wife, dancing to `They Can't Take That Away From Me'."

"A song you asked the band to play, so you could dance with Margaret
to one of her favorite songs," Charlie supplied.

"So?"

"You went to a little bit of effort there, Leo. Finding out what
music she liked, tipping the piano player, I'm just saying."

"What exactly are you saying Charlie?"

"Let me tell you what I see when I look at that picture. I see two
intelligent, caring people who live the phrase `I serve at the
pleasure of the President.' I see a man and a woman who have spent
more than a decade working together in service to their country. I
see two people I respect and admire, but who I frankly think are
clueless." Leo's eyes narrowed as Charlie continued. "I see Leo
McGarry and Margaret Rigby, two people who are so convinced they
don't deserve the brass ring, they can't see what's in front of them."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me what it is I'm missing out
on?" Leo questioned as Charlie stood up.

"It's right there in that picture Leo, and it's what you're both
missing. When I look at that picture I see two people who love each
other very much."

Leo shook his head and looked at the younger man. "How the hell can
you get all that out of a photograph?"

"How can you not?"

"It's a picture Charlie."

"And a picture's worth a thousand words, or so they say." Charlie
replied. "Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"Love doesn't follow all the rules. If it did, I never would have
found Zoey."

Leo looked down at the picture again. "If you're right, and I'm not
saying you are, there's no way I could ever tell her. I'm an aging
alcoholic and addict with a failed marriage and enough other mistakes
to fill the vault at the Federal Reserve Bank. Margaret deserves
better."

"See, that's the other thing about love, it's very forgiving. Good
night Leo." Charlie replied, walking into the hallway and toward his
office.

Leo remained at his desk, gazing at the photograph of he and Margaret.



Saturday, April 20, 2002, 5:18 p.m., Margaret's Apartment

Obeying her oncologist's orders was difficult, but Margaret had
promised herself she was going to spend the weekend catching up on
her rest. She was sound asleep, burrowed under the duvet, when the
telephone jarred her from pleasant dreams.

"Hello?" Margaret said, picking up the receiver of the bedside
phone. Margaret got a dial tone in her right ear while her cell
phone continued to trill. Replacing the handset, she reached over
and grabbed the smaller phone. "Margaret Rigby."

"How you feeling?" Leo asked, sitting at his desk, fishing through a
stack of files.

"Better. How are things there?"

"Not bad. We managed to get through the contributor list without
killing each other."

"Very good."

"Do you know where the revised campaign stop list for June is?"

Margaret racked her sleep-fogged brain, recalling where she'd left it
on Thursday evening. "Red file folder, bottom file tray, left corner
of your desk."

"Got it." Leo said a moment later, as he pulled the folder in front
of him. "If I stop and get dinner, could you eat?"

"CJ spent this morning doing her Julia Child impersonation in my
kitchen. There's meatloaf and mashed potatoes, or there's a huge pot
of vegetable soup. If you want to stop by, we can heat something up."

"Okay. You sure I won't be intruding?"

"Leo I've been asleep most of the day. I'll be glad to have some
company." Margaret yawned.

"Sounds like you're not quite awake." Leo commented.

"I'm not, in fact I'm going to hang up now and go back to sleep. Let
yourself in and wake me when you get here."

"I don't want to interrupt your sleep."

"Too late, you've already done that. Wake me when you get here."
Margaret dropped her head onto the pillow again.

"I'll be there within the hour." Leo said, ending the call and
turning his attention to the campaign stop file.



Saturday, April 20, 2002, 8:13 p.m., Margaret's Apartment

Leo and Margaret sat side by side on the sofa, both of them resting
their heads on the blue twill cushion; their sock feet propped up on
the coffee table.

"That was the best vegetable soup I've ever had." Leo
commented. "Remind me to tell CJ how good it was."

"You could call her." Margaret replied.

"Nah, it'll keep until Monday."

Both were silent for a few moments, staring at the ceiling, lost in
their respective thoughts. Margaret ended the silence, turning her
head slightly to the right, so she could see him more clearly than
with her peripheral vision. "Leo, I wanted to tell you . . . I
wanted to say . . . I wanted you to know how much I appreciate
everything you've done for me while I've been getting my treatments."

"It's nothing."

"Au contraire." Margaret replied. "It's quite something. Actually
it's a lot of things, and all of them mean a great deal to me."

"My pleasure, Margaret. I'm glad you've allowed me to be here for
you."

"That works both ways, I'm thankful you've allowed me to lean on you."

"It's what friends do for each other." Leo replied, recalling a long-
past conversation with his deputy.

"You're a good friend." Margaret said, dropping her head onto his
left shoulder and slowly closing her eyes.

Leo reached over and brushed her bangs away from her eyes. "So are
you." Looking over his right shoulder, Leo scanned the photographs
on the bookshelves. Next to the picture taken on Okracoke Island was
a framed photograph of a man and a woman. He in white tie and her in
a red ball gown, dancing at a State Dinner.

Fin.

Should I reveal the exactly how I feel?
Should I confess I love you?
Should I recite beneath the pale moonlight
And swear by stars above you?

Could I repeat the sweetest story told?
Could I entreat?
Would it be too bold?

Should I reveal exactly how I feel?
Should I confess I love you?

Should I reveal exactly how I feel?
Should I recite beneath the pale moonlight
And swear by stars above you?

Could I repeat the sweetest story told?
Could I entreat?
Would it be too bold?

Should I reveal exactly how I feel?
Should I confess I love you?
I love you.
I love you.
Should I reveal that I love you?