The R Word

Category: L/M with almost everyone else putting in an appearance
Rating: P/G for less than polite language
Disclaimer: The West Wing and its characters are the property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, Warner Brothers Television, and NBC. No copyright infringement is intended on the author’s part.
Summary: Margaret spreads the word.
Archive: At my website which is part of Jeanine’s universe: http://helsinkibaby.ahkay.net/Jenni/leomargaret.htm Anyone else just ask..
Feedback: Makes me a happy camper. Keep it coming!
A/N: This continues the "Beginning to See the Light" series. What was going to be three stories has turned into a something more. Which is fine, because I’m having a blast writing it. As always, thanks and biggest hugs to Jeanine who is the best beta a writer could have and Flip, who listens to everything first, gives the grandest suggestions, and then gets the giggles with me at one in the morning over the phone.
A/N #2: Sorry for the delay on this. RL has been giving me fits for the past several months. I’ve already started on the next story; it should be ready in a few weeks. Thanks to everyone who has sent feedback on this series.

CJ Cregg removed her glasses and folded her arms across the top of the podium. Leaning forward she gazed out at her people, the men and women of the White House Press Corps. "Any questions?"

Three rows back, Katie raised her hand. The Press Secretary shook her head slightly. This was a surprise, the weekend gaggles were, as a rule, run of the mill affairs and follow-up questions to the more routine matters were unusual. Still, you never knew. Nodding her head, CJ smiled at the other woman. "Yes, Katie?"

Katie consulted her note pad for a moment then looked toward the front of the room. "CJ can you tell us what Leo McGarry’s assistant was doing at the ambulatory care building at GWU hospital yesterday afternoon?"

CJ’s innate ability to multitask kicked into high gear as part of her brain began processing the question from a personal level wondering if Margaret’s test results were back, while another part of her brain kicked into White House spin mode and answered the reporter’s query. "The White House does not comment on the personal lives of staff. Next question?"

"I’d like a follow up," Katie requested. CJ nodded, cringing inwardly. "My source informed me that Ms. Rigby was seen entering the Oncology Services office at 2:33 p.m. What do you know about her diagnosis?"

"Once more with feeling people, the White House does not comment on the personal lives of staff, except to say, if Ms. Rigby was visiting a physician’s office, it’s safe to say she probably had a doctor’s appointment." CJ picked up her papers from the podium and nodded at Carol who began to walk toward the door. "You’ve been a great audience. Be sure and stick around for the 3 o’clock show."

Hurrying out the door, and heading for her office, she glanced at her assistant. "You know anything about Margaret going to the doctor yesterday?"

"Nope."

"That makes two of us. I think a visit to the Chief of Staff’s office is in order." CJ handed Carol a sheaf of papers, did an abrupt about face and started walking toward Leo’s office.

Margaret sat at her desk, facing away from the door, her eyes focused on the computer screen, fingers moving at a rapid pace as she typed up Leo’s notes on the upcoming committee meetings on the Health and Human Services Budget. She smiled as she worked, thinking about the previous 24 hours. Finding out she was in remission had been the realization of a dream. Sharing the news with Leo had been the icing on the cake; she’d gone to sleep replaying the scene in her mind.

"Good morning Margaret, wanna tell me what you were up to yesterday afternoon, say about 2:30?"

The tall red head spun her chair around and looked up into the currently less than happy, but still very public, face of this administration. "I went to the doctor, why?"

"Because I just got the question from Katie?"

"Katie, reporter Katie?" CJ nodded. "What’s it to her?"

"She, or someone she knows, saw you going into Corrine’s office yesterday afternoon."

"Oh hell."

"I gave the standard disclaimer, but I don’t think that’s gonna hold them for long." CJ replied.

"Confirm it then, because that’s where I was."

"You went to the Oncology Services office yesterday."

"I did."

"For an appointment."

"That’s correct."

"With Corrine."

"Tell the woman what she’s won, Jack!"

CJ put her hands on her hips and gave Margaret what most staffers referred to as "the death stare". "Aaaaannnnnnnnnnnnd?"

Margaret shrugged her shoulders and put her hands out, palm up. "All gone bye bye."

"All gone," CJ repeated, "All . . . gone . . . All gone. It’s all gone? The cancer’s gone?"

"Yep."

"Hot damn!" CJ cried, leaping forward and pulling Margaret out of her chair.

"Careful, CJ, still a little tender around the left breast." Margaret slowly disengaged herself from CJ’s arms.

"This is fantastic news, and why the hell didn’t you tell me, why the hell didn’t you tell any of us, you sent me into the Press Room unprepared, that’s not fair don’t ever do that to me again and when do we start the party?" CJ spoke in a rush, each word tumbling over the last.

"Take a breath, wild woman," Margaret laughed. "Only Charlie and Debbie knew where I was, and that was in case, well just because someone had to know. Besides, you remember, I wasn’t going to give out the results, good or bad, until after I’d talked with Leo."

"And what did the old coot have to say?" CJ asked with a wry grin.

Having heard the commotion in the outer office, Leo leaned against the doorway between his office and Margaret’s. "The old coot is pleased as punch."

"Tell me that wasn’t Leo," CJ moaned.

"Well I could, but I’d be lying through my teeth," Margaret turned to look at her boss.

"Sorry Leo, didn’t see you there." CJ blushed a deep shade of crimson.

"Obviously not."

CJ steered the conversation to safer ground. "Great news, huh?" she asked, hugging Margaret again.

"Best news I’ve had in a long time," Leo allowed with a grin.

"So," CJ pulled away from Margaret and smiled wider, "I’m thinking a massive celebration is in order."

"Please, no." Margaret shook her head.

"Oh come on, Margaret. This calls for a celebration."

"We did that when I finished treatments."

"We can do it again."

"We can do *what* again?" Josh asked, entering Margaret’s office.

"Throw a party for Margaret," CJ replied.

"Why do we want to throw a party for Margaret?" Josh looked around at the small group.

Leo and Margaret shook their heads as CJ leaned forward to deliver a trademark slap to the back of Josh’s head.

"Ouch!" Josh rubbed his head, glaring at CJ.

"I’m in remission, Josh," Margaret supplied.

Josh stood there, an inane grin spreading across his face, not saying a word.

"Josh?" Leo asked.

"Yeah, Leo."

"What, no comments from the peanut gallery?" CJ nudged the Deputy Chief of Staff with her shoulder.

Josh walked across the office and enveloped Margaret in a bear hug. "Some moments are too perfect to ruin with words," he answered CJ’s question in a voice thick with emotion.

"Thanks Josh," Margaret whispered in his ear.

"Who else knows?" CJ asked.

"Just us," Margaret grinned. "And my brother and his family, of course."

"Not even the President?"

"Not even," Leo answered.

"Any idea when or how you want to tell the others?"

"We’ve been so busy this morning, I truly haven’t given it a moment’s thought."

"Problem easily solved," Josh spoke up. Walking across the office, he held onto the doorframe with his right hand and leaned the upper half of his body into the hall. "Donnatella Moss!"

Leo glared at his Deputy. "Now you find your voice?"

"Like you never yell for Margaret," Josh shot back.

At the other end of the hall, Donna rounded the corner and stood, hands on hips, glaring at her boss.

"Donna, c’mere."

Donna shook her head.

"Donna I think you’re gonna want to hear this," Josh grinned at his assistant.

Donna started walking toward the Chief of Staff’s Office. "How many times do I have to tell you Joshua, use your *inside* voice."

Josh walked into the hall and propelled Donna into the office. "Tell her."

"Tell me what?"

"Good news," CJ supplied. Donna looked at CJ expectantly. "Not me, her." CJ jerked her head in Margaret’s direction.

Josh grimaced. "Cover your ears folks, Donna’s gonna get all girly in about . . ."

"You’re in remission!" Donna cried, flinging her arms around Margaret’s neck and kissing her repeatedly on the cheek.

"I’ll tell you the same thing I told CJ, take it easy Donna, I’m still sore on the left side," Margaret grimaced slightly.

"Ah, the squeal heard ‘round the White House," Josh said as a small stampede of humanity converged upon the small reception area.

Margaret was quickly caught up in an assistant group hug as Toby and Sam stood next to Leo, patiently waiting their turn.

"Did I hear someone mention the "R" word?" a voice boomed from the back of the crowd.

The group parted as the Red Sea to allow President Bartlet to enter the room.

"What’s this I hear? Is our Margaret really and truly in remission?" Bartlet asked, standing toe to toe with his best friend’s assistant.

"Correct as always, Mr. President," Margaret replied, smiling softly.

"And *you* couldn’t be bothered to share the good news?" The President turned his head and glared at Leo.

"Due respect Mr. President, I didn’t find out until well after midnight."

"You could have called," Bartlet replied peevishly. Turning back to Margaret he continued. "You’re a strong, strong woman Margaret, and you’ve proven it once again. Now that it’s all done, I don’t mind telling you that you’ve scared the hell out of me and taken 15 years off my life. Don’t ever do that again." The President raised his right arm and shook his index finger in Margaret’s face; the severity of the gesture diminished by the grin on his face.

"I’ll certainly try not to," Margaret answered as the President leaned forward and pulled her into a hug, kissing her on each cheek.

Margaret walked through the Bullpen, stopping in front of Ginger’s desk with a small stack of files. "Merry Christmas," she said, placing them on top of the ever-growing contents of the younger woman’s in-box.

"Happy holidays to you too!" Ginger replied, grinning as she handed Margaret the campaign schedule for next week.

"Just what I wanted, the latest installment in the continuing saga of ‘The Three Little Pigs go to Washington’."

Entering the room with a bottle of water and the files she’d picked up from the OEOB, Bonnie laughed at Margaret’s comment. "I’m seeing a whole series of feature films. ‘The Three Little Pigs go to Washington’, ‘The Three Little Pigs Run a Campaign’, ‘The Three Little Pigs Screw up a Media Blitz’ . . ."

"’The Three Little Pigs Visit a Sausage Factory’," Toby deadpanned, exiting his office.

The three women laughed until their sides ached. In between hiccups Ginger gasped, "Toby you’re awful!"

"Not honest, awful."

"But, a sausage factory?" Ginger asked, stifling yet another hiccup.

Margaret raised her right eyebrow. "Sausage factory hmm? Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of pigs . . . I mean people."

"Smart woman," Toby replied turning to look at Ginger. "Try taking nine sips of water or something, you’re going to break a rib if you keep at it." Turning back to Margaret he continued, "You got a couple of minutes?"

"Sure." The tall red head followed Toby back to his office.

Toby waved his left hand in the universal West Wing gesture for "you’re staff not company, park it somewhere." Margaret settled on the couch and looked and watched as her friend pushed a pair of legal pads away from the corner of his desk and sat in the vacated spot.

"So," Margaret said. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah."

"About?"

Toby didn’t reply, just sat there, on the edge of his cluttered desk, his tie askew, shaking his head, a bemused smile half hid underneath his beard.

"Toby, you still with me?"

"Do you have any idea how emotionally conflicted I am right now?"

"Um, no?"

"I’m thrilled you’re in remission, but do you know how lucky you are?" Toby continued on, not waiting for a response. "This . . . this could have easily come out exactly the opposite. We could be sitting around planning how to spin your mastectomy and absence."

"But we’re not," Margaret replied softly.

"I could be sitting there, right there," Toby pointed at his desk chair. "Trying to factor out exactly how long you had to live. I could be sitting there trying to figure out exactly where in the hell I was going to find the words to write your eulogy. ‘Cause I gotta tell you, Margaret, I don’t think those words exist." Toby plunged his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor.

Margaret sighed as she realized this wasn’t just about her; it was about everything he’d been through when his sister was diagnosed. "Toby, it didn’t come to that. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to find the words."

Toby was silently staring at the floor; the near imperceptible tremor of his shoulders the only indication of his tears.

"Oh Toby, come over here."

Blindly he stepped the three paces to the side of the couch, dropping heavily onto the cushions.

Margaret reached out and enveloped Toby in her arms as his sobs became audible. Rocking him back and forth slightly, she whispered inconsequential platitudes and considered the wonder that was her extended family.

"So the HHS budget?" The President asked, peering over the rims of his glasses.

"Supposed to come out of conference committee late next week." Leo glanced down at the legislative calendar balanced on top of the briefing binder that rested on his knees.

"Do we know anything about the latest mark up?"

"Margaret’s summarizing it now. I’ll give it a read through tonight and have it ready for you by tomorrow morning."

"I don’t think so, Leo," President Bartlet shook his head, smiling slightly.

"Beg your pardon sir?"

"Campaign strategy meeting tonight, Bruno should be here in . . ." Glancing at his watch the President turned toward the sound of someone knocking on the door to the reception area. "Come in."

Charlie entered the room, trying to hide a grin and nodding at Leo. "Mr. President, I just got a call from Bruno. His connecting flight has been delayed; he’ll be here by 7:00.

"Thanks Charlie."

Leo spoke up from his seat on the sofa. "Charlie, please let Senior Staff know that we’ll start the prep meeting at 8 in the Roosevelt Room."

"Yes, sir." Charlie exited the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"You know," the President began.

"I know what, sir?"

"We *could* postpone the strategy meeting until tomorrow."

"We most certainly could not!"

"Oh come off it, Leo. It’s not as though the world’s going to cave in if we don’t listen to Bruno and Josh bust one another’s chops tonight."

"It might."

"Trust me Leo, when I tell you that our campaign strategy has very little impact on the state of affairs in the rest of the universe."

"Y’know, I could probably argue that point with you but I won’t," Leo grinned.

"Because you know that’s an argument you cannot win."

"Because you’re an economics professor with a . . ."

"Big ol’ stick up my butt," the President finished.

"You said it."

"You started it."

"Boys, don’t make me have to separate you," Debbie called, entering the Oval Office with a stack of correspondence.

"Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?" Bartlet asked. "Leo and I could have been in the middle of a high level discussion about matters of national security."

"At five o’clock on a Saturday when it’s been deader than a doornail around here all day? Due respect, Mr. President, but I don’t think so. Besides, I tried knocking, three times. You two were too busy arguing to hear me."

"She has us there," Leo volunteered, shrugging his shoulders.

"Score another one for the Sisterhood," Debbie replied as she left the office.

Leo pulled another document from his binder. "At some point we need to discuss the situation. I met with Fitzwallace and Nancy McNally last night. They’re going to continue blaming Israel, but they know we know."

"Yeah."

"We could meet after our strategy meeting," Leo suggested

"By that time it will be midnight, or later."

"And?"

"What we need to do is put a big red X through the rest of today’s schedule," Bartlet concluded.

Leo stared at his oldest friend as though he’d grown a second head. "Mr. President, I don’t think . . ."

"Leo the trouble with you is that you *do* think, too damned much sometimes! Let’s cancel the rest of the day, I might get up to the Residence in time to have dinner with my wife for a change, the staff could actually leave while the sun’s still on this side of the horizon, and you would be able to take Margaret out to celebrate her remission."

"Sir, that’s not necessary."

"Of course it is. The fact that Margaret’s alive and with us *is* cause for celebration. Don’t tell me you disagree."

"No, Mr. President. I simply think there are more productive ways to spend a Saturday night than . . ."

"Showing your assistant you’re happy for her, showing her that you care perhaps?"

"Margaret is well aware how proud I am of her for making it through the treatments," Leo argued.

"But does she know that you care?"

"Due respect Mr. President, but Margaret could care less what I think, or how I feel for that matter."

"Interesting comment, Leo. How do you feel?"

"About what?" Leo was being evasive on purpose. An in-depth conversation with the Chief Executive, about his personal life, in the Oval Office? No thank you very much. Leo shuddered involuntarily.

"About Margaret! Don’t try and play dumb with me Leo McGarry. I saw through that stunt when we were 15."

"Margaret’s my assistant Mr. President."

"Thanks, I’d totally forgotten that fact," the President grinned. "Now how do you feel about her?"

"She’s a good girl."

"And you . . ." The President was interrupted by another knock at the door. "What is this, Grand Central Station? Come in," he called.

"Mr. President, Sam and Toby want to go over some language for next week’s speech at the economic conference," Charlie remained in the doorway.

"Send them in, Charlie." The President shot his Chief of Staff a warning look. "We’ll revisit this conversation another time."

"I had a feeling you were going to say that." Leo unfolded himself from his position on the sofa and walked quickly toward the doorway that connected the Oval Office with his own.

Donna and Margaret moved about the room, arranging files stuffed with campaign information and the latest polling data around the table.

Donna stopped and surveyed their handiwork as Margaret placed dry erase markers on the ledge of a large write on/wipe off board. "Are we forgetting anything?"

Margaret ran through the list in her mind as she glanced around the room. "The stewards promised to have the food here by eight, other than that we’re done."

"Good enough," Donna replied as the door behind her opened.

Bruno strode into the room, tossing his briefcase into the center of the conference table and running his right hand through his hair. Glancing at the senior assistants, he nodded, "Lucy, Ethel."

"Good evening, Bruno," Margaret answered as though she hadn’t heard his greeting. "The others should be here shortly."

"Yeah, whatever." Bruno began rooting through a stack of folders like he was searching for the directions to buried treasure.

The two women exited the room, turning in the direction of the Operations Bullpen.

"Nimrod," Donna muttered, glancing back at the Roosevelt Room.

"You said it." Margaret walked into the bullpen and began collating the copies she’d run earlier.

The last few staffers straggled out of the campaign meeting, heading back to their offices to check emails, transcribe notes, make to-do lists for the coming week, and hopefully make it home in time to get more than three hours of sleep.

Bruno, Leo, and the President adjourned to the Oval Office, taking seats on the couches and side chairs. President Bartlet removed his glasses and tucked them into the breast pocket of his shirt. "Tell me something Bruno."

"Yes, sir?"

"Exactly how screwed are we in New England?"

"Mr. President. . ." Leo interjected.

"No Leo, let him ask," Bruno waved his right hand in a gesture meant to shush the Chief of Staff. "Mr. President, why don’t you ask me exactly what it is you wish to know?"

The Chief Executive sighed heavily. "Okay, let’s cut to the chase. How’s New Hampshire going to shake out?"

"Ritchie by at least 20% of the popular vote, probably more." Bruno didn’t sugar coat the news, there was no reason to coddle the President along when there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d carry his home state.

"Oh come on!" Bartlet leaned forward in his chair, staring at his Campaign Director.

"Sir if you lose by 20%, quite frankly it’ll be a miracle to me. These people are *not* going to vote to put you back in the White House, local boy or no."

"You don’t understand, I’ve never lost an election in New Hampshire. From school board to President, these people have always been my strongest supporters. I was their governor for . . ."

"And you lied to them about the MS sir. You had MS when you were governor; you concealed it then, you concealed it when you ran for and won the Presidency, and these people aren’t quite ready to declare you the hometown hero again. Ritchie is going to win New Hampshire; if *we’re* going to win this election we have to focus on the states that are still in play." Bruno stared the President down.

"Yeah, okay. What’s next?"

"Margaret!" Leo called as he closed the door that connected his office to the Oval.

Pushing the door open with her shoulder, Margaret strode into the office carrying a full carafe of coffee and her calendar. Stopping beside his desk, the tall read head filled his mug with coffee.

"What’d I do now?" Leo grumbled, noticing that his assistant was rolling her eyes and shaking her head slowly, two actions that usually amounted to his catching hell about one thing or another.

Margaret put the coffee pot and her calendar on the conference table and walked behind Leo’s desk. Stopping behind his chair, she tapped her manicured nails on the high back. "Budge up."

"Huh?" Leo was engrossed in reviewing the phone messages she’d taken while he was in campaign meetings.

Chuffing a short burst of air through her pursed lips, Margaret grimaced. "Lean forward so I can get this wadded up bit of material you call your suit coat out from the back of your chair and hung up properly."

Leo leaned forward slightly and she quickly retrieved the gray pinstriped jacket, holding it by the shoulders and shaking it vigorously in an effort to remove any creases. She leaned over the back of his chair and placed her left hand on his shoulder. "All done, you can sit back now."

Leo leaned back and glanced up at Margaret. "All better?" he grinned slightly.

Margaret walked away from him, the jacket draped over her right arm. Opening the closet at the other end of the office and hanging the article of clothing inside, she answered him. "Honestly Leo, the way you treat your suits. Your drycleaner must think you sleep in your office. No wait, you *do* sleep in your office."

"That’s not fair, I haven’t done spent the night here in at least a month."

"No, you’re just here until all hours." Margaret grabbed the things she’d come in with and exited his office, leaving him to his phone messages and emails.

Leo poked his head around the door between their offices, watching in silence as Margaret worked her way through a stack of correspondence.

"Need something?"

"How’d you do that?"

"Do what?" Margaret continued sorting the stack of letters.

"Know I was standing here."

"Senior Assistant Super Powers," ‘Like the fact I’ve got the scent of your cologne memorized,’ she thought.

"Super powers, huh?" Margaret nodded. "Can you leap tall buildings with a single bound?"

"No but I can kick Bruno’s ass without breaking a sweat." Margaret turned to grin at Leo.

"And after the election, I just might let you do that."

"Promise?"

"Probably not."

"Spoilsport."

"What’s got you wanting to thrash Bruno?"

"He’s breathing free air, need I say more?"

"Pulled your strings again, did he?"

Margaret nodded, stacking the correspondence in a file and placing it at the top of her in-box.

"You really shouldn’t let him get to you like that."

"Take away all my fun, why don’t you?"

"Well if you want to kick Bruno’s ass, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what form of bodily harm you want to inflict upon me," Leo pulled a face of mock horror.

‘Before or after I kiss you senseless?’ Margaret wondered internally. Aloud she answered him, "No bodily harm for you. You’re not on the list."

"That’s a relief. Wait, you have a list?"

"And you don’t?" Margaret replied, her tone half mocking.

Leo glanced at his watch in an effort to change the subject. "We’re done for the day. Did you take the Metro in this morning?"

Margaret nodded. "It’s not that cold out, I can walk home."

"How many times have we had this conversation?" His assistant shrugged her shoulders. "You’re not walking home, in downtown DC, in the wee hours of the morning. Eddie should be waiting, so get your things and let’s go."

Leo returned to his office and picked up his briefcase and the jacket Margaret had so carefully hung up a short time ago. After making sure his computer was powered down and turning off all the lights, Leo walked into the hall to find Margaret waiting for him.

The pair walked silently toward the exit, their footsteps echoing in the otherwise empty corridor.

"Thanks for the lift," Margaret said as the black sedan pulled up in front of her building.

"Don’t mention it."

The door opened and Eddie extended his left hand to help Margaret from the back seat.

Margaret stopped on the curb to slip her purse over her shoulder and was surprised to see Leo get out of the car as well. "Forget where you live?" she asked with a teasing voice.

Leo stepped to the back of the car and leaned against the rear quarter panel. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to come up for a bit."

Margaret glanced from Leo to Eddie, who smiled and nodded his head, encouraging his friend to humor their boss.

"That’s fine."

"Why don’t you go on up, I’ll be there in a moment."

Wondering what Leo was up to, Margaret nonetheless complied with his wishes and climbed the stairs to her front door. Stopping inside the vestibule, she checked her mail and quickly climbed the steps to the second floor. She inserted her key into both locks, leaving the door open slightly as she put her bags by the desk and slipped her feet out of navy leather pumps. She padded into the kitchen and filled the teakettle with cold water. By the time she’d put it on to boil, Leo was knocking on the door. "Come in," she called, slipping out of her suit jacket and hanging it on the peg next to her apron.

Leo walked into the living room carrying a large parcel wrapped in brown paper. He placed the object on the coffee table, smiling as he watched Margaret moving around in the small kitchen. "Making tea?"

"Should be ready in a moment."

"You realize neither one of us will get any sleep tonight?" Leo inquired.

"It’s decaf." Margaret measured tea into the infusing basket she’d placed inside the ceramic teapot.

"Make yourself comfortable," the tall red head called, noticing that Leo was repeatedly walking the breadth of the front room.

"I’m fine, thanks."

Leo continued his pacing as the kettle whistled and Margaret made tea. Placing the teapot, mugs, sugar, and spoons on a tray, she carried it into the living room. "What is that?" She asked, nodding her head at the package that took up most of the coffee table top.

"Something," Leo bent forward and moved the heavy object, leaning it against the far side of the table as she set the tea tray in its place. Settling at one end of the sofa, she poured tea for each of them.

"So," Margaret began, unsure of why Leo was in her apartment at this late hour.

"So, you’ve done it. You’re in remission." Leo sipped his tea and carefully returned the mug to the tray.

Margaret nodded. "I hope you’re not mad that I didn’t take you with me to the oncologist’s office yesterday. Lucy called, you were in the Sit Room with Jordan, I had to get over there right away there wasn’t time to . . ."

Leo put his hand on her arm to halt the flow of words. "Stop fretting Margaret, I’m not angry."

"You’re not?" Leo shook his head. "Okay then."

"As I said last night, I’m extremely proud of you. Cancer’s a hellacious thing, no matter what stage it’s in. The fact that you’ve gone through all this without your parents, and without any of your family close by, I know it has to have been difficult at best."

"The treatments were certainly no picnic," Margaret grimaced. "You saw what I went through. But as for family I had all of you, my extended family, looking after me. That meant a lot."

"I don’t think any of the staff would’ve had it any other way," Leo replied. ‘I know I wouldn’t,’ he thought. "At any rate, you’re in remission and I, well I. . ."

"You what?" Margaret bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at Leo being tongue-tied.

"I wanted to do something nice for you," Leo blurted.

"But you’ve already done any number of nice, very nice things. You’ve gone out of your way to take me to and from treatments and work every day. You’ve brought me dinner, ice packs, cornstarch, and the Sunday New York Times. You’ve held my hand when I cried and my head when I vomited. You’ve been more than willing to put up with my mood swings and my irrational fears. I’m the one who should be doing nice things for you."

Leo shook his head. "You’ve been doing nice things for me for eleven years Margaret."

"That’s my job you’re talking about."

"Not all of it," Leo replied, their shared history stretching between them like a timeline marked in events usual and extraordinary. Mentally moving himself back to the present, Leo reached across and carefully lifted the package, resting it against his legs. "Well, I’ve already gone and done it, so you’re obligated to take it."

"And what if I don’t like it?" Margaret teased.

"Then *I* am up a creek."

"Leo, what exactly have you gone and done?"

"Open it and find out." Leo lifted the package and carefully balanced it on Margaret’s lap.

"It’s heavy, I may need some help here."

Leo held onto one side of the package as Margaret slit the tape with her fingernail. Peeling away the layers she looked down at the back of what most certainly was a picture frame, the label of a Georgetown gallery placed in the lower right corner. "What on earth?"

"You might want to turn those over." Leo felt his stomach knot up, fearing her reaction to the gift.

"Those?" Margaret’s eyes widened.

"There are two of them."

Margaret reached further into the package, ensuring she had both frames in her hands and lifting them from the paper until they were resting upright on her lap.

"Allow me," Leo stood up and placed his hands on top of the black wood frames. Slowly, he pivoted the frames, setting them side-by-side on the sofa as Margaret’s eyes widened.

"How did. . . where did. . . what did. . .how on earth?"

"Margaret Rigby at a loss for words, now there’s a new one," Leo joked. "Oh Margaret, please don’t, I didn’t mean to make you cry."

"I’m crying because I’m happy, and shocked." Margaret took the handkerchief Leo had managed to retrieve from his pant’s pocket.

"Look familiar?" Leo glanced down at the contents of the frames.

"My degrees." Margaret dabbed at her eyes with the white linen square.

Leo laid the frames on the sofa and moved the tea tray to the desk. Next he placed the framed documents on the table so Margaret could get a better look at them.

"How did you find out about this?"

"A few months ago, Toby and I were talking about your treatments and I mentioned that I wanted to do something for you, regardless of whether or not the radiation was successful. Toby told me that you’d shared with him the story of how your old apartment was broken into while you were working at the Labor Department. He told me that your degrees hand been pulled from the wall and ripped up and that was what bothered you most about the robbery. He also said you’d never gotten around to replacing them. I called the Office of the Registrar at GWU, ordered replacements, and had them framed."

"This is, beyond a doubt, the best present I’ve ever gotten." Margaret smiled and leaned her shoulder against Leo’s as they looked at her Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure. Why didn’t I know about your apartment being broken into? Did it happen while you were still in the temp pool?"

"No, I’d actually been working for you for about a year."

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Leo, you were. . ." Margaret left the unfinished sentence hanging.

"Drunk." Leo supplied.

She nodded, pushing her hair behind her ears.

"I’m sorry, seems I was out of it those first few years you worked for me. You were robbed, diagnosed with cancer and who knows what else and I never knew any of it."

"Don’t beat yourself up, it’s ancient history. Besides," Margaret continued, "everything worked out for the best."

"So, you like them?" Leo inquired.

"Best present I’ve ever gotten," she repeated smiling broadly.

"Well then, my work here is done." Leo stood up and began walking toward the door.

Margaret followed, leaning against the desk as they stood by her front door. "Thank you, Leo. You didn’t have to do this, but I’m glad you did."

"So am I. You know where you’re going to hang them?"

"Probably in my spare bedroom."

"You could hang them in your office."

"I think I’d like to keep them here."

Leo leaned against the doorjamb and watched Margaret look back at the frames. He was torn between propriety and the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Margaret turned back to him and he could clearly see the last remnants of scarring from her radiation treatments through her white t-shirt. Propriety and the realization that Margaret was still recovering from treatments kept him from acting on his desires. Smiling softly at his assistant he turned the doorknob, "I’ll see you in the morning."

"Good night Leo, thanks again."

"You’re welcome. Sleep well." Leo stepped into the hallway.

"You too." Margaret closed the door behind him.

As Leo walked down the stairs and exited the building, Eddie stepped out of the sedan and came around to open the door. "Well?" he asked.

"She loved them," Leo smiled.

"I thought she might," Eddie replied. "And the other thing?"

"What other thing?"

"You know, the thing you’ve been going on about for the last 24 hours."

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Yeah, you do but you’re going to play dumb and hold out on me," Eddie pouted.

"Eddie, get me out of here before I march back up there and do something I will probably regret for the rest of my days."

The younger man closed the back door and walked around the car, talking to himself. "One of these days he’s not going to be able to keep it in any more. Then we’ll see those emotional fireworks my parents talk about."

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