Rating: PG
Spoilers: In This White House, And It's Surely To Their Credit, blink and you'll miss one for Galileo, and any ep that refers to Mallory or Jenny is fair game.
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) Anywhere else please ask first.
Summary: The song is From Hello by Kenny Chesney, which is based on Tom Cruise's line near the end of Jerry McGuire. Thanks (or blame) for this particular plot bunny go to Chris V, who a long time ago mentioned to me in the course of an email that she didn't think Leo would ever get bored with Ainsley, that he'd never know what she was going to say next - which worked its way in here somewhere! (See, I do start these things, and six months later, finish them! Really!)

I have these meetings every morning. And most afternoons. Most evenings too. Come to think of it, I have these people, this same group of people gathered in my office all together three times a day easily, and they can be in and out in smaller groups or on their own throughout the day as well. I know them as well as I've ever known any group of people, and I can truthfully say I've never seen them like this.

Josh is usually the livewire, the one who cracks jokes, sometimes even funny ones, about anything and everything, the one who sees every little loophole in an argument, knows where I'm going with a strategy and is thinking of the solutions before I've even outlined the problems. Sam is the idealist, the one who wants to make everything better, and spends his time trying to figure out how to move heaven and earth to make it happen. CJ, as Press Secretary, sees things through the eyes of the media. She's the one who decides what spin we're going to put on things, sees the problems that the press might give us and knows best how to diffuse them. And Toby? Well, he's some combination of all three, and he's our silent man, the one who listens quietly, and sometimes you might be fooled and think he wasn't listening at all until he comes out with some insightful remark or cutting put-down that sums everything else up.

Meetings with my Senior Staff are never dull. They crackle with electricity, with life, with momentum. And even on the worst days, even when I'm so frustrated that I can hardly see straight, these four people and their ideas, their enthusiasm, never fail to get me going.

I've never seen them this quiet before.

Actually, quiet is something of an understatement. They're staring at me as if I've grown another head, or announced my intention to fly to Guam using my two arms and a cocktail umbrella as equipment. Mouths are agape, CJ's hands are moving in lieu of words and Toby is in severe danger of rubbing a hole in his forehead.

Predictably enough, it's Josh who speaks first. "You're getting married?"

I lean back in my chair, looking up at the four of them. "Yes. I am getting married."

"To a woman?"

I bite back a chuckle as three heads swivel to glare at Sam, and I swear to God, I can see CJ's hand itching to smack him from here. "Yes. To a woman."

They exchange looks, and it looks very much to me as if they're doing some weird telepathic communication thing, daring each other to ask me the next question. CJ's gaze moves to the door at the side of my office, and I know what her next question is going to be. "Does the President know?" she asks.

"Yes, he knows." I told him last night. He took it quite well, once the whiskey took effect that is. He doesn't know how much I wanted to join him in a drink - telling him this news wasn't easy for me, happy as I am about it. And he ranted and raved and shouted and screamed, and when he was done, he hugged me and told me that he was happy for me. But they don't need to know about that. "And he wished us well."

Another significant glance passes between them, and it's Toby who clears his throat and speaks first. "Well then…I'm sure that the rest of the Senior Staff will join me in extending our good wishes to you and your bride."

A round of agreements and congratulations follow, which I deflect with a nod. Because I know that that was merely the opening salvo, and that we're not nearly done yet. Because none of them have asked The Question yet.

"So…who is the lucky woman?"

Until now.

And once again, it was Josh who hit paydirt. I expected CJ to follow up with The Question, but she's otherwise occupied. I can already see the wheels turning in her head, wondering how she can announce this to the press. She's probably already got half a dozen scenarios planned and I'm going to blow them all to hell now.

"Actually, it's someone that you all know."

"Jenny?" Josh guesses.

I don't laugh at that notion. It's a logical enough guess, but once was enough for that, thank you very much. "No, it's not Jenny. It's Ainsley." My words fall into a sea of silence and open mouths. "Ainsley Hayes," I add, just in case there was any misunderstanding.

Which there evidently wasn't, because I'm pretty sure that dogs all over the District are howling following CJ's shriek of "Leo!" I haven't heard her scream that loudly at me since I first told her that I was going to hire Ainsley.

"Are you serious?" Toby wants to know.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"She's a Republican!" Josh sputters.

"She works in the White House, you hired her for God's sake!" Sam reminds me.

"She's young enough to be your daughter," CJ grinds out.

I wait a second, then turn my gaze to Toby. "Don't you have anything to add?"

One hand is on his hip, the other is rubbing his head. "No, they pretty much covered it all. Although might I just add that I agree with them all and you know how crazy that makes me?"

"Noted."

They're waiting for me to say something, but at this point, there's nothing more that I can say. CJ takes a deep breath, pinches the bridge of her nose. "You. Are going to marry Ainsley Hayes."

"Yes."

"How?" Sam asks.

"When?" Toby wonders.

"Why?" Josh continues.

"What the hell are you thinking?" CJ finishes this round of questions.

"How? In a church. When? We haven't decided yet. As for why, and what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that I love her. And that she loves me. And that we want to spend our lives together. Is that so strange a thing?"

They look appropriately shamed. "How long has this been going on?" Toby asks quietly, looking down at the floor.

"We've been seeing each other for just over a year." My own voice is just as quiet. "And everything that you've said is nothing that we haven't discussed. We know what we're doing, and we know what we want. And we would very much like your support on this."

They look to me and nod. "You've got it," Josh tells me, and the others nod.

"Good." I pause for a second. "Then unless there's anything else…"

They scatter, no doubt to discuss this further, and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

"How long has this been going on?" Toby asked me. And I told him just over a year. That's a lie. We've been together for just over a year. But it's been going on for far longer than that.

I can still see her, standing in this very office, chattering away a mile a minute because she was so nervous. It's ironic that that was the very meeting that I'd tried hard to talk the President out of, told him that he'd be over the urge by lunchtime. But he was determined that we should hire this woman who had pummelled Sam on Capitol Beat so I did as he asked. Margaret called to arrange the meeting on Tuesday, and it was Thursday when I met with her. That meant that she'd had two days to work herself up into a lather about why she got called here, and boy, did it ever show.

I even remember the first two words that she said to me. "Mr McGarry", that's what they were. And when I couldn't finish a sentence with her in the room, I knew that this wasn't going to be any ordinary meeting. When I commented on her interesting conversational style, she told me that it was a nervous condition. I knew all about those, and told her so. When she asked me how mine manifested itself, I told her that I drank a lot of Scotch. And she knew that. She'd written an op-ed piece about me, called me quite a few names. But her nerves made her forget that, and she told me that she got sick if she drank too much. My response was that I got drunk when I drank too much.

And I think it was then.

During that odd, odd conversation, I really think that that was when it happened, when it began to happen. Because I knew that this was no ordinary meeting, no ordinary job interview. And I was seized by the certain knowledge that I could talk to this woman for hours, and that I would never get bored with it. That there'd always be something new and interesting to hear from her. I don't know why I thought that, but I did. And life has proven me right.

She argued with me. The very first time I met her, her very first time in the White House. She knew that the President was in the room next door, she'd been all but shaking in her chair when she first came in. But she still came in here, all guns blazing, ready to rail at the White House, in the person of me, for summoning her here to reprimand her for exercising her right to free speech. And when she knew what she was really here for, she still did it. She stood up - literally- and argued with me, told me all the reasons why she couldn't work in this White House. And they were the arguments that I'd been making to myself all week. But I didn't tell her that. I told her that the President was asking her to serve, and that everything else was crap. And I told her to come back and give me her decision.

Her smile - I didn't see that until her first day at work here, when I showed her down to her office. It was a dump. It still is a dump, now it's just a dump with nice decorations. But she was grateful to me for taking the time to show her around, she was sure that I had more important things to do. But I wanted to spend time with her, wanted to talk to her some more. And I was right - she was interesting.

Made me want to find out more about her.

So I did.

After Jenny, I swore that I'd never let myself get hurt like that again. I didn't want to date, didn't want to risk any attachments. I had my job, I had my daughter, I had my friends. Why would I want anything else, especially when I was still in love with my wife? For a long time, I thought that if Jenny changed her mind, wanted to take me back, that I'd go. And in the meantime, romantic entanglements weren't for me. Despite Russian ambassadors hitting on me, Mallory and Abbey doing their best to fix me up, Jed telling me that I couldn't be alone all my life, I didn't want to hear it.

I still haven't figured out just how it is that she got by that. It certainly wasn't anything overt that she did. She never tried to snare me, any more than I tried to catch her. We just started spending time together. And then we spent more time together. And when we finally did kiss, when we finally did realise how we felt about it other, it wasn't some big revelation. There were no fireworks, no trumpets, no bells ringing, just a sense of "Oh - so that's what it is."

By the time I realised I'd broken my own rules, let someone into my life, into my heart, it was too late. Her books were on my shelves, her CDs mixed with mine beside the stereo, her favourite foods in my refrigerator. Her clothes in my closet. Her hand smacking off the alarm in the mornings, complaining about the god-awful hour of the morning. And more than that - I saw things through her eyes as well as my own. I didn't just think about how things would affect me, I thought about how they'd affect her, how they'd affect us.

I only realised how serious things were when I was alone one night. She'd gone out with the girls from the office - it was one of their birthdays, Ginger I think. And they'd had a girl's night out to celebrate, and Ainsley had told me that she'd go back to her place later, because it was going to be a late one. And that's how I came to be lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how it was that I couldn't sleep without her there beside me. I'd drifted off, was dozing fitfully when the phone rang, and the luminous numbers on the clock told me that it was three o'clock in the morning. There was only one person who would be calling me at that hour, and sure enough, it was a very drunk Ainsley on the other end. How did I know that she would be a weepy drunk? And she told me that she was lonely, that she couldn't sleep without me there. And I told her that I felt the same, which set her off on some long discourse about how sweet I was, and how she was going to drive over to me. Well, I managed to talk her out of that one, promising that I'd see her the next night, telling her to drink some water and try to sleep. She told me that she would and then she hung up. Strangely enough, I fell into a deep sleep after that.

She understands me. I think she's understood me from the very beginning, right from the time she was able to figure out that I hadn't told Lionel Tribbey about her working for him. She knew everything that there was to know about me, knew that I was a recovering addict, knew about my marriage, my divorce, my fraught relationship with my daughter. She knew about all the crap before we started this, and she went into it with a smile on her face. She's there for me, if I need to talk, if I need to vent, and if she disagrees with me on politics, or I with her, we have an agreement that we agree to disagree. We both love our jobs and we believe in what we believe in, and we both like a good debate, but the minute that it starts going beyond that, we know to back off. Politics may be a big part of our lives, but it's not more important than us.

Flying under the radar this past year hasn't been easy for us. But when I asked her to marry me, I wasn't thinking about anyone else, or their reactions. And I know from the look in her eyes that she wasn't thinking about that either. Because we don't care about what other people think. We're going to spend the rest of our lives together, and damn the consequences.

Let them think that I'm a dirty old man. Let them say what they want about her. Let them say that we'll never last, let them say that this is just lust, let them takes bets on when we'll call it all off.

Because I know that she loves me.

And that I've loved her from hello.

And that as long as we have each other, everything else is crap.