A Trip To The Moon On Gossamer Wings

Category: L/M with most everyone else along for the ride.
Rating: P/G for language
Spoilers: Through Season Three. Specific spoilers for In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, The Black Vera Wang, and Posse Comitatus. I think that’s it.
Disclaimer: The West Wing and its characters are property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, Warner Brothers Television, and NBC. No infringement is intended on the author’s part.
Archive: At my site, which can be found on Jeanine’s homepage: http://helsinkibaby.topcities.com/Jenni/leomargaret.htm
Summary: Cake, champagne, music, dancing, and Bruno. What could possibly go wrong?
A/N: The title of this story comes from the song "Just One of Those Things", which was written by Cole Porter and recorded by many. Give me Ella Fitzgerald’s version any day.
This story continues the series, which thus far includes:
The Benefit of my Heart’s Inexperience
Celebrations
Serenely Independent
A Lot to Learn
Once More, With Feeling
No
And Swear By Stars Above You
Thanks, as ever, to Jeanine for the superior beta. She catches all my grammatical boo-boos and doesn’t chastise me (too badly!). Thanks also to my gang of eight, who are adorable and essential. Finally, this story is for Flip, who begs shamelessly. She also made me write the idea for this one down during a late night phone call. So, remember kids, its all her fault!

"No. For the 376^th time, no."

CJ looked up from the briefing book she was perusing and smiled at the woman reclining on her sofa. "It’s your last radiation treatment, Margaret. If that’s not cause for celebration, I don’t know what is."

"Thanks, but I prefer to celebrate by going home and spending the night in bed, making close personal friends with ice packs and cornstarch." Margaret shifted slightly underneath the pack that currently rested on top of her left breast.

"We don’t have to schedule the party for Friday," Donna interjected from her place across the room. "We can do it the following Friday, or even the week after that."

"Need I remind you that we’re less than a month from Convention?" Margaret asked, looking at her friends. "There’s no time for a party."

"We’ll do it after hours," Donna offered. "Way after hours, it will be positively late. And we’ll keep it sim . . ."

"Donnatella!" Josh called, barreling through CJ’s closed door without knocking, Carol hot on his heels.

Donna jumped up and attempted to stand in front of Margaret, as the tall red head reached for the quilt on the back of the sofa, and CJ dropped her head into her hands and moaned.

"I tried to stop him," Carol offered as CJ continued to hide her eyes.

Josh, stood there, eyes bugging, unable to stop staring at his boss’ assistant.

Margaret, her sangfroid intact, looked up at the Deputy Chief of Staff and grinned. "Problem, Josh?"

"Um, you’re er, you don’t, uh . . ."

"Cat got your tongue?" Donna replied, enjoying her boss’s obvious discomfort.

"Margaret, you’re . . ."

"I believe the word you’re looking for is topless, Josh," Margaret giggled, as CJ came around the desk and unfolded the quilt, draping it over her friend’s torso.

"Okay, I’m just going to go back to my desk and, you know, be scarred for life," Josh mumbled, turning for the door.

"Freeze, Lyman!" Margaret called out sharply, halting him in his tracks. "Scarred for life? I don’t think so. Get over here, *now*."

Josh walked the three steps back to the sofa and stood staring at the toes of his cordovan dress shoes.

"Sit," Margaret ordered. Josh dropped into a chair next to CJ’s desk and continued to stare at the floor. "CJ, Donna, give me a couple of minutes with him, please?"

The two women filed out of the office, each wondering how badly Margaret was going to lecture Josh.

Margaret, clutching the quilt to her chest, sat up on the sofa and placed her left hand on Josh’s right knee. "Honestly Josh, sometimes I wonder how you got out of high school, much less Harvard and Yale. What are you going to do if you fall if you fall in love with a woman who has breast cancer? What will you do if, perish the thought, your mother should be diagnosed? You’re all she has left Josh; playing ostrich probably won’t be an option. I know Donna’s explained all this to you; the radiation site burns and aches and ice packs and going topless are the two things that help most. It’s not gross and it’s not disgusting, it’s simply what it is, a mastectomy scar on one side, a little artwork and some swelling on the other."

"Are you talking about those lines?" Josh asked, waving his right hand in the general direction of Margaret’s chest.

"Yes. In order to make sure they’re zapping the correct spot, the technicians at the Breast Care Center draw on my chest with marker to help them center the radiation beams. See?" Margaret dropped the quilt and Josh leaned forward, staring at the purple lines on his friend’s chest, as well as the radiation site.

"That looks painful."

"It is," Margaret agreed, nodding her head. "However, tomorrow is the last treatment and it will get progressively better after that. Any questions?"

Josh laughed. "Not that I can think of. Sorry I was an ass and stared at your breasts."

"Apology accepted. Now hand me my shirt and get out of here."

"When will you know if the radiation worked?" Josh asked, his back turned as Margaret slipped the black t-shirt over her head.

"My oncologist and I are still trying to work that one out, but it will be sometime after the Convention."

"How do they check?"

"Cat-scan, blood work, who knows what else," Margaret replied.

"Tell Leo I need to see him sometime this afternoon about 483," Josh stated, opening the door to CJ’s office.

Margaret made a notation on a file folder. "Sure thing."

Margaret sat at her desk, finishing the latest revision to the travel schedule for the weeks leading up to the Convention. She placed the old copy in a folder emblazoned with the words "TO BE SHREDDED" in red ink.

"Margaret!"

The tall red head jumped slightly at the sound of her boss calling for her. Standing up slowly, she grabbed her note pad and ink pen and walked into his office. "Yes, Leo?"

"Time for you to call it quits for the day."

"I need to meet with the other Senior Assistants about the logistics for the Convention."

"Aren’t Bruno and his people supposed to be handling that?" Leo replied, looking back down at the document in his hands.

Margaret rolled her eyes. "If by handling it you mean Bruno had Connie call me and tell me what needed to be done then yes, they’ve handled it." Rushing to complete her thought before Leo lost his temper, Margaret continued, "Actually it’s probably better that we’re handling this part of it. At least we know it will get done, and done right."

"If you say so," Leo said, still not looking up.

"Do you need anything before I go across the hall?" Margaret asked.

"No, go on. I’ll see you in a bit."

Bonnie stood up and leaned across the desk, taking the stack of documents from Margaret. "What else needs to be done tomorrow morning?"

"I think that’s all of it," Margaret replied.

"You are going to stay home all day tomorrow," Ginger said, her inflection making it a statement rather than a question.

"The plan is for me to come in and work at least half a day," Margaret glanced at the disapproving looks she was getting from her colleagues. "Stop with the death stares already!"

"We can cover for you one more day," Carol said as the other assistants nodded.

"I know, and I appreciate it. Bruno’s coming in tomorrow and Leo’s going to be dealing with him most of the morning. I need to be around to run interference."

"Are you going to wear the necklace?" Donna asked in a teasing tone.

"Hadn’t planned on it."

Ginger grinned, "Margaret, when a man gives you jewelry, the least you can do is wear it when he’s around!"

"I’ve worn it once, I think that’s enough."

Bonnie smiled and said, "Now if someone *else* had given you a necklace with your name on it, you’d never take it off!" The other three women laughed as Margaret blushed.

"That will never happen," the tall red head replied.

"Why not?"

"Because someone *else* already knows my name." Margaret’s head swiveled to the right at the sound of her boss’s voice carrying down the hall. "And he knows how to use it!" Everyone laughed as the meeting broke up and the five Senior Assistants went back to their regular tasks.

"Last treatment," Dr. Sasha Reynolds sang out, as she rounded the corner and found Leo waiting outside the first exam room.

"Morning Sasha," Leo said, smiling at the oncologist.

"Leo, how’s my favorite White House power broker?"

"She’s in there getting changed."

The young doctor shook her head. "You, Leo, I was talking about you."

"I’m good."

Sasha knocked on the heavy door and called out. "Margaret? It’s Sasha."

Margaret opened the door and walked into the hall. "Good morning, Sasha. They ready for me?"

"The question is, are you ready for them?"

"You’ll never know how ready." With a nod to Leo, the two women started down the hall, Leo falling into step beside them.

"Where’s Brian?" Margaret asked as they neared the treatment room.

"Right here!" Brian called, jogging from the elevator toward the trio. "Margaret, how do you feel?"

"With both hands," Margaret deadpanned as her doctors grinned and her boss groaned.

They reached the radiation suites and Brian opened the first door on the left. He and Sasha stood watching Margaret, who was watching Leo. "We’ll meet you inside, Margaret." Brian and Sasha disappeared into the treatment room.

"So, last one," Leo said, looking up at his assistant.

"And I’m as nervous as I was the first time."

"Why?"

"Because now the question becomes, did it work, rather than how does it work?"

"It’s gonna be fine."

"Promise?" Margaret bit her lower lip.

"Whatever happens, it will be fine. I promise," Leo said, reaching out to open the door. "They’re waiting for you."

"Come with me?"

"You want me to go in with you?" Surprise showed on Leo’s face.

"Please?"

"Are you sure about this?"

"Well, you can’t stay in there the whole time. But, you can stay while they get everything set up."

"Will they mind?"

"Let’s find out," Margaret said, propelling Leo ahead of her into the chilly room. "Hey Sasha, Brian, is it all right if Leo stays with me for a few minutes?"

"Absolutely," Sasha said as she grabbed a narrow oblong pillow and put it at one end of the long x-ray table. "Brian, why don’t you and Leo help Margaret onto the table?"

Brian grabbed a small molded plastic stepstool and placed it beside the table. Margaret placed her left hand on his right shoulder, while Leo held her other elbow. Stepping onto the stool, she slowly sat down. Turning around, she swung her legs onto the cold surface, shivering.

"Warm blanket?" Brian asked.

"Yes, please," Margaret responded.

Two minutes later, Brian returned with a blanket fresh from the warmer. "This is the one perk to being a radiation patient," he said, unfolding the flannel cover and placing it over Margaret’s legs.

"Much better," Margaret sighed reaching down to untie her robe.

"Leo, you might want to leave now," Brian said, noticing that Margaret was preparing to open her robe.

"It’s okay, Brian," Leo answered, nodding at the younger man.

The two doctors and a technician worked quickly, setting up the apparatus that would administer the treatment. For his part, Leo stood next to Margaret, talking to her about inconsequential things in an effort to distract her from the now familiar preparations.

"All set," Sasha said. "You ready, Margaret?"

"Yes."

"Leo, we need to get out of here," Sasha said, exiting the room.

"Right behind you," Leo leaned over the table and smiled down at his assistant. "I’ll see you in a few minutes."

Margaret nodded, afraid that if she tried to vocalize her thoughts, words would give way to sobs. The last thing she saw before closing here eyes and praying to sleep though the treatment was Leo touching his fingertips to his lips and his fingers to her forehead.

Eddie pulled up to the West Entrance and looked into the back seat, stifling a grin at the sight of Margaret, her head on Leo’s shoulder, her eyes closed. "Maybe I should just take her home."

"Do it and die, Eddie," Margaret replied without opening her eyes.

"We thought you were asleep," Leo remarked, as Margaret finally straightened up and smoothed her hair into place.

"It takes more than a seven minute car ride to completely put me out."

Eddie unfastened his seat belt, opened the door, and walked around the sedan to assist Margaret. Leo walked ahead and waited by the door.

The tall red head allowed Eddie to carry her handbag and briefcase. The Marine guards opened both doors and Leo ushered Margaret into the vestibule. Margaret passed her identification badge through the reader and punched in her code, followed by Leo and Eddie.

Margaret walked into her office to find a large bunch of balloons tied to the desk lamp. Shaking her head, she opened the card taped to the base of the brass fixture and read the note. "Congratulations on your last treatment! We love you - Donna, Bonnie, Carol, Ginger, Nancy, and Charlie."

"Looks like the balloon fairy arrived," Eddie said, placing her bags on the floor behind her desk.

"My coworkers went a little overboard."

"Oh, I don’t think so. You deserve things like balloons and flowers. You made it through cancer treatments. Seems like a good reason to go overboard, if you ask me."

"Thanks Eddie. And thanks for driving me back and forth these past weeks. "

"Glad to do it. Just call down when you’re ready to go home this afternoon." Eddie and Margaret walked down the hall toward the kitchen. "See you later," Eddie called; walking on toward the exit as Margaret stopped to get the coffee carafe and bottle of water.

Bruno walked into Margaret’s office and, as was his wont, sat on the edge of her desk. Looking at the balloons he asked, "Margaret, why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?"

"Because it’s not," Margaret continued typing the correspondence Leo needed to sign when he returned from Senior Staff in the Oval Office.

"But there are balloons attached to your lamp."

"Nice to see your education paying off," Margaret deadpanned, continuing to type.

"Why the balloons?"

"None of your business."

"If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask around and find someone who will."

Knowing that Bruno Gianelli with an unanswered question was more irritating than a mosquito bite in the heat of summer, the tall read head relented, "My last radiation treatment was this morning."

"I still say we could’ve made hay off your illness," Bruno grumbled. "How do you feel?"

"With both hands," Sam and CJ chorused, coming into the outer office.

Margaret smiled at her friends. "Oh the joy of having people to finish my sentences."

"Congratulations, Margaret," Sam grinned widely.

"What’re you hiding behind your back, Sam?"

"For when you’re able to indulge again," Sam replied, extending his right arm and handing Margaret a large bottle of Perrier Jouet champagne.

Margaret stood up and hugged the Deputy Communications Director, planting a kiss on his right cheek.

CJ handed Margaret a small gold foil bag. "You’re going to want to wait to open that."

Her right eyebrow reached for her hairline as she opened a drawer on the left side of her desk and placed the bag behind a set of files. "Whatever you say."

"Enough of the sappy stuff. We have a campaign meeting," Bruno said, standing up and walking across the hall to the Roosevelt Room.

Margaret looked at her colleagues as the three stuck their tongues out at the back view of the Campaign Director.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the poster child for mandatory sterilization," CJ said, tossing her head back and laughing out loud, the tourmaline beads on her necklace catching the light from the overhead fixture.

Sam and Margaret smiled and nodded at one another. CJ had been a long time recovering from the shock and loss of Simon Donovan. It did them no end of good to hear her make a sarcastic comment.

Sam, Toby, and Leo shared a table in the corner, drinking coffee and eating Chinese takeout. Suit jackets were abandoned to the backs of chairs and shirt cuffs had gravitated toward elbows.

"So," Sam said, glancing at the Chief of Staff, "What time did Margaret finally give in and go home?"

Leo shook his head, and stabbed at a piece of broccoli with his fork. "Not sure. I know she was gone by the time we broke for Senior Staff at 5:30."

"I heard CJ say that she was going to go by Margaret’s on her way home," Toby added.

"Margaret will probably sleep through her visit. She seems to be more tired these last couple of weeks."

"According to an article Bonnie gave me, the fatigue should begin to wear off in a couple of weeks," Sam said.

"We just have to keep her from overdoing it during the convention. Any suggestions?" Leo asked.

"Tranquilizer gun or a threat from the President," Toby said.

"A threat from the President will have no effect on her." Leo shook his head.

The three men remained silent for a moment, intent on finishing their dinner.

"Someone sent Margaret an enormous bouquet of roses," Sam offered, knowing full well who was behind the two dozen pink blooms that sat on the credenza in her office.

"That was me," Toby said, focusing on his coffee mug, the better to avoid direct eye contact with the Chief of Staff.

"Toby," Leo said sternly, "I’ll ask you the same question I asked Charlie. Do you have a thing for my assistant?"

The Communications Director looked up at his boss. "No," he answered and smiled softly.

"Toby’s affections reside elsewhere," Sam said, digging an elbow into his colleague’s left arm.

"Somebody needs a nap," Toby groused, staring at his deputy.

"I do not."

"Oh, but you do."

"All right children," Leo interjected. "I’ve got work to do and so do you." Standing up he deposited his empty carton into the nearest trash receptacle, and grabbed his jacket. "Toby, come see me before you leave tonight." Leo exited the Mess, the slightly uneven echo of his black wingtips bouncing off the walls.

Toby paused outside Leo’s office door and shifted the white ceramic coffee mug from right hand to left. Raising his right hand, he knocked at the heavy oak door.

"Come in," Leo called from the other side.

The Communications Director turned the highly polished brass knob, opened the door, and stepped into the office. Pushing the door closed behind him, he crossed the floor, stopping a few feet from Leo’s desk. "You wanted to see me?"

Leo put down the briefing book he was reviewing and leaned back in his desk chair, crossing his left ankle over his right knee. Removing his glasses, he tossed them on top of the black leather binder. "Yeah, I need your help. Have a seat."

"With what?" Toby inquired, wondering what insane extra assignment was about to be dropped in his lap. Settling into one of the side chairs, he gazed at his boss.

"It’s a given that you know my assistant better than I do."

"That’s just because . . ." The sentence died on Toby’s lips. He decided he’d rather not tip his hand and fill Leo in on the nights he had stayed with Margaret after her treatments. Having helped his sister Rachel through her protocol, Toby was used to all the side effects and knew Margaret was going to need more help than she was willing to ask for.

"Because what?"

"I probably know her a little better than you do," Toby agreed, folding his hands in his lap.

"I need your advice."

"About Margaret?" Leo nodded. "I’d suggest asking *her* whatever it is you need to know."

"It’s not that easy."

"Of course it is." Toby began getting irritated with Leo’s beating around the bush, which was unusual at best.

"Here’s the thing, I want to do something for her. Something nice for after she finds out whether or not the radiation worked. Regardless of whether she’s in remission or not."

"Ah," Toby replied, settling back in the chair and extending his legs. "And you’re looking for suggestions."

"Yes."

"There are a couple of things you’ll want to consider," Toby said, reaching into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and extracting the ubiquitous small notebook and pen. "First, if the treatments were successful, you’ve got lots of options as to what you can do for her. However, if the reverse is true and Margaret’s facing a mastectomy and another protocol of radiation or chemotherapy, then you’re going to want to give some thought to what she might enjoy."

Leo nodded his head. "It should be something that will be appropriate either way."

"I’m guessing you want to do something a little more permanent than flowers or champagne."

"Yeah. I was thinking about perfume, but I don’t have any idea what she wears."

"Chanel Number Five," Toby replied with a slight grin.

"How do you know that?" Leo asked, a stare that was half shock and half jealousy aimed at his colleague.

"I’ve been in Margaret’s bedroom, Leo. There’s a big bottle of it on her dressing table." Knowing what was coming next, Toby continued, "The night she had her biopsy I had to carry her from the bedroom to the living room." The Communications Director neglected to mention all the nights he’d sat in the same room, holding Margaret’s hand and talking to her when the pain became too great and she was unable to sleep.

"Okay, so perfume’s an option."

"It is, but again, it’s not the most permanent or personal gift," Toby allowed.

"What suggestions would you offer?"

Toby decided to see if the information CJ was feeding him was correct. He raised his left hand in front of his face and waggled his fingers, pointing with his right hand to the fourth finger. "You can’t go wrong with platinum. And if you wanted to put a diamond in there, that would probably go over well."

Leo did not disappoint. Jumping out of his chair, he leaned across the desk. "Crap Toby! I want to buy the woman a gift, not propose marriage!"

Toby grinned and blushed slightly. "Live a little, Leo. Kill two birds with one stone."

"You’re daft," Leo sighed, sitting down again.

"And you’re in love."

"Have you been talking to Charlie?" Leo asked, pinching the bridge of his nose with his the thumb and index finger of his left hand.

"No, and why do you ask?"

"Charlie came in here a few months ago and basically called me on the exact same thing. Said we were both too dedicated, blind, and I think he insinuated stupid, too see it. Said we love each other."

The grin that had been in place as he teased the Chief of Staff was replaced by a look for concern. "Do you love Margaret?"

"Toby, I’m not exactly anyone’s ideal. I’m old, an addict, a workaholic, divorced . . ."

"Do you love Margaret?" Toby repeated.

"Yes," Leo responded quietly.

"Okay then, this needs to be special." Toby tapped his chin.

"What, you’re not going to give me grief over that?"

"That was the first time you’ve admitted it?" Leo nodded. "Then I’ll be decent about it tonight. Plenty of time to torture you later."

"This is just between us," Leo said.

"Sure it is. Just you and me, and Charlie, and everyone else in the West Wing who figured it out before you."

"Oh holy hell."

"Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell the staff you finally admitted it. Yet." Toby grinned and flipped through a series of pages in his notebook. Closing the book and returning it to his pocket he smiled widely at the Chief of Staff.

"What?" Leo asked.

"I am about to make you a hero to your assistant. I am about to tell you something that no one outside of her family and I know. Leo, this is big, it’s huge, and it is quite possibly the perfect gift."

"What on earth . . ."

"Start writing," Toby suggested. Moving his chair closer to the desk, Toby filled Leo in, from start to finish, on his suggestion. For his part, Leo took copious notes, double-checking every aspect with his friend and colleague.

"Margaret!" Leo called, walking from the hall into his office, a stack of folders and assorted notes under his right arm, a cup of coffee in his left hand.

"Let me take those," Margaret said, walking through the connecting doorway. Reaching down, she carefully pulled the paperwork from under his arm, cradling it against her chest.

"Thanks. We’ve got another Convention prep meeting in fifteen; I need you to go with me."

A little while later, Margaret was working on transcribing Leo’s earlier notes when he appeared at the door. "Let’s go." Margaret saved the document she was working on and picked up the binder with 2002 Convention on the cover. Leo placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her out of the office and down the hall.

"Where are we meeting?" Margaret asked as they walked through the Roosevelt Room.

"Here," Leo responded, as they walked into the Communications Bullpen.

Margaret stepped back, assaulted by a wave of applause and cheers. If there was any doubt as to the real reason for this gathering, a banner stretched across the far wall proclaimed "Congratulations Margaret".

The tall red head reversed two paces, until she was beside her boss. "I’ve been set up," she hissed into his left ear.

"So it would appear," Leo replied evenly.

"You set me up," Margaret whispered, unable to believe Leo had been part of the ruse.

"I’m devious. Sue me." Leo answered, smiling up at his assistant. Placing his hand at her back again, he led Margaret into the crowd.

Margaret spent the first half hour of the party accepting the congratulations of her colleagues and threatening CJ and Donna with bodily harm as soon as she felt well enough to inflict said pain.

The noise came to a sudden halt as Ron and another Service agent appeared in the room. Their appearance was followed by the President and First Lady, with Charlie a few steps behind.

"Margaret!" The President called, walking toward a small knot of staffers. Grasping Margaret’s hands in both of his, he pulled her into a tight hug. "Congratulations!"

Margaret stepped out of the President’s embrace and smiled at him and Dr. Bartlet. "Thank you sir. I appreciate both of you stopping by."

"As if we’d miss this celebration," Abbey said, drawing Margaret into a hug and kissing her on the cheek. "You look fantastic, all things considered."

"Thank you ma’am. I feel good, outside of the residual pain and itching at the site."

"That should be gone in a week or two."

"So they tell me," Margaret said, smiling at Ron Butterfield, who was focusing his attention on Carol as she helped Donna pour champagne and sparkling cider into flutes.

"A toast!" Sam called as CJ rapped on her champagne glass with a fork. The conversational buzz in the room lowered and died out. "Mr. President, would you like to do the honors?" Sam asked, handing the Chief Executive a glass of champagne.

"Thank you Sam. Does everyone have a glass?" Bartlet looked around the room before continuing. "We’re gathered here to celebrate the end of a rough few months." Turning to the woman to his right he continued. "Margaret, none of us know all that you’ve been through, but rest assured we each ached for you in our own way. Today we’re thrilled that your treatments are over and we look forward to celebrating your remission. Friends, raise your glasses and drink to Margaret."

"To Margaret," the assembled company responded.

Looking around for Leo, Margaret stepped to the middle of the room. "Before this party gets wound up again, I’d like to say thanks to each of you for your support. I’d especially like to thank CJ for letting me crash in her office every afternoon and Donna for the lifetime supply of cornstarch. I’d also like to thank Sam, Toby, Carol, Bonnie, and Ginger for making sure that I never missed a meal, even when I wanted to. Finally I’d like to thank Leo, who bore the brunt of my mood swings and lived to tell the tale."

"You’re fired, Margaret!" came Leo’s voice from the back of the crowd.

"Impervious!" Margaret shot back, earning a laugh from the staff. Josh and Donna laughed hardest of all.

Bonnie, Ginger, and Toby began handing out plates of carrot cake. Someone slipped a compact disc into a boom box and the sounds of Natalie Cole filtered into the room.

Margaret leaned against Bonnie’s desk, talking with CJ and Josh about the Early Childhood Education bill. Leo wandered over, a plate of carrot cake in his hand.

"What world problem are we solving?" Leo inquired.

"Talking about the Early Childhood bill," CJ responded. "It’s supposed to come out of Committee and up for a vote in the House just before Convention."

"Do we have the votes?" Leo turned to Josh who had picked up a spare fork and was about to make off with Leo’s dessert. "Mine!" Leo growled, pulling the small plate out of his deputy’s reach.

"Didn’t your mother ever teach you to share?" CJ asked, giggling until hiccups interrupted her respiration.

"Not when it comes to carrot cake," Margaret replied. "Oh pissed hell. No one told me *he* was in the building."

"Please tell me you’re not talking about Marbury," Leo groaned, looking over his shoulder.

"Worse, much worse. It’s Bruno."

The Campaign Director walked across the bullpen, snagging a glass of champagne from the corner of a desk. "Margaret, I understand this party is yet another celebration of the end of your treatment regimen."

"Any excuse to drink champagne, eat cake and dance," CJ said as the younger woman sent her a grateful glance.

Disregarding the Press Secretary, Bruno focused his attention on Margaret. "How are you feeling?"

Margaret glanced over at CJ, who was grinning like the cat who’d stolen the cream. "You want to know how I feel?"

"Strange as it may seem, I am concerned."

"You’re really concerned about how I feel?" Margaret asked.

"Margaret, it’s not a trick question! I want to know how you feel."

Maintaining a neutral expression, Margaret placed her flute of sparkling cider on the desk and grabbed both of Bruno’s hands. Pulling them up, she placed them on her chest and said, "Oh, I don’t know, Bruno. How do I feel to you?"

Toby, who was on his way across the room, stopped in shock and then laughed until the tears ran. CJ was doing some perverse version of a victory dance, laughing and hiccuping again. Leo and Josh wore matched expressions, neither one quite able to believe their eyes.

For his part, Bruno stood there, his hands still on Margaret’s chest, a look of abject horror plastered to his face. Coming to his senses, the Campaign Director grinned at his tormentor and dropped his hands. "Very clever, Margaret."

"Don’t ever pester me about my illness and political hay again," Margaret said, turning on her heel and walking off. Josh and CJ trailed behind her, leaving Bruno with Leo.

As the party wound down, Margaret danced with Toby and then Sam. Pleading exhaustion, she walked over and sat next to Josh, who was perched on top of Ginger’s desk. "Great party," she commented.

"That stunt you pulled on Bruno made my evening," Josh said, grinning at her. "I hate to ask this, but, how *are* you feeling?"

"Better every day."

"That’s good. Listen, this is premature and probably unnecessary, but I wanted you to know that, if the worst case scenario plays out and you have to have, you know, surgery, I’ll return the favor."

"What favor?" Margaret asked as CJ, Toby, Donna and Leo began walking toward them.

"I’ll donate a pint of blood for you just like you did when I was shot. Our blood type isn’t exactly common, you know."

"Josh that’s incredibly sweet of you. I could kiss you for that!" Margaret smiled at the Deputy Chief of Staff.

"Igggg!" Josh declared in mock fear. "Assistant cooties!"

"What the hell are cooties?" Leo asked, having overheard Josh’s last statement.

"And culturally illiterate boy rides again,"CJ proclaimed, rolling her eyes at Margaret.

"Again, I ask, what are cooties?"

"Nothing you want to know about," Donna assured him. "Let’s go Josh, you’ve got three more memos to get done before we call it a night."

All around them, the party was breaking up. Margaret thanked several people and walked back through the Roosevelt Room to her office. She reopened Microsoft Word and took up where she’d left off a couple of hours ago.

"What are you still doing here?" Leo asked, coming through the reception area, another stack of papers in his hand.

"Trying to keep up with the endless pile of paperwork this Convention seems to be generating," Margaret replied, taking the proffered documents and dropping them into her in-box.

"It’s late and you’re still supposed to be home in bed by seven each night. There’s nothing that won’t wait. Call Eddie and tell him we’re ready to go." Leo walked into his office and began packing his briefcase.

A short time later, Leo and Margaret walked down the darkened halls of the West Wing, headed toward the Staff Entrance.

"You know Leo, I think I’m well enough to start driving myself to work."

"You’re less than one week out of radiation. I don’t think the left side of your chest is going to tolerate you pulling on a steering wheel."

"Point taken," Margaret replied, waiting for Eddie to open the car door.

Leo and Margaret walked up the front steps of her building as Eddie waited by the curb.

"Radiation’s over Leo. I am perfectly capable of making it to my apartment," Margaret said as she pulled her keys out of her black leather handbag.

"Far be it from me to doubt your capabilities," Leo replied. "But I was raised to know that a gentleman always walks a lady to her front door." Leo took the keys from Margaret’s hand and inserted the first one into the security door, pulling it open.

"Thanks." Margaret said, as Leo returned her keys. "And thanks for, well, you know, everything. I couldn’t have made it without you."

"Sure you could have."

"Just take the compliment Leo." Margaret looked around her, biting her lower lip, a telltale sign she was unsure about something. "This would be much easier if high heels weren’t involved."

"What would be easier?"

Margaret shifted her briefcase and handbag to the stoop and bent forward, brushing the briefest kiss against Leo’s right cheek. "That. Good night Leo." Margaret retrieved her bags and walked into the building, clicking the door shut behind her.

Leo walked slowly back to the car, his hand absently rubbing his right cheek. Looking up he saw his driver holding the door open, a full grin plastered on his face.

"What’re you looking at?" Leo asked, situating himself in the back seat.

"Not a thing," Eddie replied shutting the door.

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