Rating: PG
Pairing: Toby/Donna
Spoilers: Up to Posse Comitatus to be safe
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: From little acorns….

As a speechwriter, I abhor clichés. It's long been one of the sticking points between Sam and me when we're working on a speech together; not to mention a long standing bone of contention between me and a certain President who likes to polish up his speeches on his feet. They love aphorisms; they drive me crazy. And no, the modifier is not dangling there; you can take it to mean either aphorisms, or the President and Sam.

It's ironic therefore that right now, there is one thought, one sentence going through my mind, and it is this.

From little acorns, big oaks grow.

Clichés become clichés for a reason you know.

Our little acorn was a simple telephone call.

Who knew it would lead to this?

>*<*>*<

It was a normal night like any other. I certainly didn't know when I answered my phone, cursing whoever had the temerity to call me when the Yankees were staging a comeback at the bottom of the ninth, that this was going to be the phone call that changed my life. I'd been doing so well to get out of the West Wing so that I could watch this game in the comfort of my own home without the Idiot Twins yammering in my ear or CJ trying to understand the rules of baseball, and I did not relish the possibility of having to go back in to work at this time of the night.

However, I work in the West Wing of the White House, and my own petty desires must take second place to the national interest, so if my phone rings at all hours of the day or night, in the bottom of the ninth when the Yankees are mounting a comeback, I answer it. I may growl into the phone, but I do answer it.

That particular night, I didn't hear any voice that I was expecting. It wasn't even a voice I recognised, and there was quite a lot of noise in the background. Nonetheless, I did not hang up, for they knew my name, even though I'm ex-directory. I listened to what they said, and then I asked them to repeat themselves, because I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing.

When I did believe it, I hung up after telling them that I was on my way.

I drove to the place I'd been told about, and when I got there, I couldn't believe my eyes. I've lived in D.C for a long time, and I've been to a lot of bars, but this was, in no uncertain terms, a dive. I wouldn't have set foot here with a phalanx of Secret Service agents surrounding me, were it not for the fact that she was there.

The place was heaving, and I gleaned quickly from the television screens that the Yankees had failed in their miracle comeback attempt, something else which didn't improve my mood any. I was wondering how I'd find her amongst all these people when I saw a familiar crown of blonde hair sitting at the bar, a tall gangly man standing beside her, leering down at her. She was staring up at him dreamily, and his hand was on her back and moving down, and I knew right then and there that I was going to kill one of them, and I didn't much mind who.

I approached them carefully, just in case my eyes were failing me, trying my hardest not to jostle any of the dancing couples, which was harder than it looked. "Donna?" I asked when I stood behind her, just to be sure that it was her, and she turned to face me, nearly falling off the stool in the process.

"Toby!" she squealed, eyes wide, smile beaming. Her friend beside her didn't look as pleased to see me, and I glared at him, the glare that has been known to send interns running, gratified when I saw him swallow hard. "Toby, this is Mick."

"Rick," the guy corrected, making Donna frown.

"I thought you were Mick."

"No…" Rick laughed uncertainly, his smile fading when he saw the look on my face.

"I think he's leaving," I said firmly, and Rick nodded, but Donna frowned, looking up at me.

"No, that wasn't it either…" Her lower lip stuck out as she was faced with Rick's rapidly retreating back. "He's gone? He didn't even say goodbye! That's not nice."

Her lower lip was by then trembling perilously, and I hastened to distract her, sitting down beside her. "Donna, how many drinks have you had?" I had to lean close to her in order to be heard over the music that was playing, and I struggled not to recoil when she likewise leaned closer to me. As if her actions thus far hadn't clued me in, she smelled like a distillery, and I came to the unmistakable conclusion that our sensible Donnatella Moss was well and truly stociously drunk.

"I dunno," she told me, picking up her nearly empty glass and peering into it, twirling it around and around. "I kinda lost count. But people were buyin' me drinks…Mick did, and Roger…and there was another guy that I don't remember…but then Johnny-" She paused there, pointing to the bartender. "He told me that I'd had too many and he wouldn't serve me any more." This time, tears were in her eyes. "He was mean."

Seeing her pointing at him, the bartender came down towards us. "Hey bucko, you're not the first one I've warned away from her. She's got someone comin' for her, you hear? You leave the girl alone."

I held up my hands. "I got a call to come pick her up? I'm Toby Ziegler."

"Don't you know him?" Donna asked, resting her elbows on the bar, her chin on her fists. "Toby's very famous you know."

Johnny nodded, his tone betraying his scepticism. "Yeah." Then he turned to me. "Sorry 'bout that. She was getting some attention from some of my less than reputable regulars, you know? I didn't want anything happening to her."

"I appreciate that."

"Johnny told me I should let him call someone for me," Donna confided, leaning against me. "I told him that I was ok to drive home, but he wouldn't let me." Her voice took on a singsong quality as she concluded, "Party pooper!"

"I think you've had enough Donna," I told her, reaching into my pocket, pulling out a twenty and handing it to Johnny. "Thanks for calling…have one on me, ok?"

"Sure thing." With that, he was off to tend to his other customers, leaving me to tend to Donna. How did I know she'd end up being a weepy drunk? "How long have you been here Donna?"

"Not long," she told me, her head not moving from where it was nestled against my shoulder. "I came in after work…" Depending on when Josh let her out, that could have been as little as an hour or as many as three. Either way, she was in no condition to find her own way home, and I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that there was a decent bartender on duty that night. "Will you have a drink with me?"

I looked down at her, and she'd managed to move her head up, although it was still against my shoulder, and her eyes were looking mournfully up at me. "I think you've had quite enough," I told her, and even I could hear the amusement in my voice.

She didn't miss it either, because she straightened herself, albeit with some difficulty, and crossed her arms against her chest. "You're no fun," she pouted. "And I'll be the best judge of when I've had enough."

"Donna…" I began, or tried to, but she cut me off.

"It's not as if I'm the one with the sensitive system." She stopped then, abruptly, her chin beginning to wobble. "Josh has a sensitive system," she announced finally.

I remember looking up to the ceiling, thinking that I'd finally come to the crux of the matter; that Josh had done something untoward, and she was out here drowning her sorrows because of it. "What did he do?" I asked, and this time, a solitary tear crept down her cheek. My fingers twitched with the urge to brush it away, but I stopped myself just in time.

"I'm not supposed to tell. He's going to tell everyone at Senior Staff tomorrow," she sighed. "He told me because he said I'm special…but I'm not."

I blinked a couple of times, trying to make sense of that. "What did he tell you?" I asked, seizing on that part of her answer.

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes and leaning closer to me. "I'm not supposed to tell," she whispered, or what I imagine was supposed to be a whisper. "It's a secret."

"You can tell me," I replied, wanting to know what was at the bottom of her mood. "I promise I won't tell."

"I can trust you, can't I?" Still her eyes were narrowed in suspicion, and I found myself nodding. "I know I can," she decided. "You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you're a good man Toby Ziegler." She leaned forward, I think to clap me on the shoulder, but she missed by some way, and fell forward instead. I caught her, my arms going around her automatically, and her head ended up pressed against my chest. When I recovered from the sensory overload of what she felt like in my arms, I realised that she was singing to herself. "You have humility, nobility and a sense of honour that is very rare indeed…."

"Donna?" I asked, pushing her up a little so that I could see her better.

Her eyes met mine, and her hand reached up to touch my cheek. "You're a good man Toby. Josh is a good man too."

"Yes, yes he is."

"He's getting married."

I almost thought I'd imagined those words, but the sad look on her face told me that it was the truth.

"To Amy." She managed a half-hearted shrug, sitting up again. "Not that there's anything wrong with that…I mean, I like Amy. Kind of. Except for when she starts going on and on about feminism and women's rights…don't you find that boring?"

I let her continue, noting all the reasons why she liked and disliked Amy; it wasn't really making a whole lot of sense. What was making sense was why Donna was so upset. We'd all been waiting for a long time for Josh and Donna to wake up to one another, to realise that they were crazy about each other and had been for years. We all thought it was going to happen, right up to the time that Josh started to date Amy. At first, we expected him to self-destruct, to sabotage it like he usually did, but things were different this time. Amy was different.

And now they were getting married.

"Don't you think?" Donna's voice brought me back to reality, and I had no idea to what I was supposed to be agreeing, so I thought my best bet was to change the subject.

"We should get you home."

"But it's early," she protested, as I put one hand on her elbow and all but lifted her off the stool. It took a moment to get her steady on her feet, and even then, she was only able to move with one arm thrown around my waist. Even so, we hadn't gone more than a couple of steps when she stopped, head whipping around to the jukebox. "I love this song!" she enthused. "Dance with me?"

I didn't have much say in the matter, since she threw her free arm around my neck, pressing herself against me. Automatically, my arms went around her waist, and she moved us slowly to the music. I wasn't familiar with the song, some ballad about two people dancing together, with everyone looking at them. When it got to the chorus, something about kissing, Donna pulled back slightly and looked up at me, the expression on her face unmistakable.

Even though every impulse in my body was screaming at me to close the gap between our lips, to press her tight against me and never let her go, I forced myself to take a step back. "We should get you home."

I didn't miss the way that her face fell, and when we were driving back to her place, I didn't miss the soft sniffles that came from the passenger seat. By the time I parked the car, she'd managed to compose herself, almost leaping out, probably expecting me to drive away. I got out though, locking the car, following her up the steps of her apartment. She looked at me curiously, but still didn't say anything, allowing me to come right up to her front door, standing back to let me enter the apartment first.

"You going to be ok?" I asked her, my hands in my pockets.

"I'm fine," she told me, her voice cold. "You can go home now."

She turned to look at me then, and even though her voice was cold, her face was unsure, eyes wide and hurt, blonde hair falling against her cheeks. I looked at her, just looked at her, for a long moment. "Donna…" Words failed me at that point, and I shook my head.

"Or you could stay," she whispered, voice matching face now, taking a step towards me, then another. I didn't say anything until she was right in front of me, her hands pressing against my chest, the look on her face the same one that had been there when we were dancing in the bar.

"Donna…" I whispered again, and she shook her head.

"Stay," was her only response before she pressed her lips to mine.

I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't been thinking about that kiss; hadn't wanted to do that for a long time. Which is why, for a moment, I pressed her close to me, running my fingers through her hair. Her mouth opened under mine, and I heard a low moan and tasted the familiar tang of whiskey, and it was that, more than anything else, that caused me to push her away.

I could see shock mingled with hurt on her face, but the hurt quickly took over and spilled down her cheeks. "Go," she choked out.

"Donna, it's not what you think," I tried, but she was beyond listening to me.

"Of course it's what I think. You don't want me. Josh doesn’t want me. Nobody wants me."

"That's not true," I tried to tell her, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Yes it is!" she cried. "I go home alone every night Toby. And even when I do have a date, find a guy, it's never the guy; it never lasts… is there something wrong with me? Am I fundamentally unlovable?"

In later days, I would be impressed that in her inebriated state, she managed to get "fundamentally unlovable" out without any problems, but for now I shook my head, going to her and gripping her by the forearms firmly, doing the only thing I could think of to stop her talking like that.

This kiss was gentler that the first, almost chaste, were it not for the fact that I swear I heard fireworks going off. When I broke away, she was breathing hard, staring at me with eyes clouded by desire, and I reached up to cup her chin. "You are not fundamentally unlovable," I told her. "You are intelligent, and you are beautiful, and I am incredibly attracted to you. Josh Lyman is a fool for not seeing what was right in front of him all this time, and believe me, if you were sober, I would not be walking out of your door tonight."

"Really?" she breathed.

"Really," I confirmed with a chuckle, hardly able to believe that I was telling her all this, knowing there was at least half a chance that she wouldn't remember this the next morning. "I'm not going to take advantage of you now…no matter how much I want to. Just remember…" I leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. "There are more men in D.C than Joshua Lyman."

I turned when I got to the door, and the sight of her standing there, staring after me, her hand on her lips and tears in her eyes, was the last thing I saw as I closed the door behind me.

>*<*>*<

That night was the start of things; not that I knew it at the time. In fact, at the time, I thought that I'd pretty much ruined things between us. After all, I'd just informed Donnatella Moss that my intentions towards her were something more than strictly platonic, at the same time as she was bawling her eyes out over Josh Lyman. It was hardly the most auspicious of beginnings, was it?

But like I said, little acorns…

The next day, I didn't see Donna before Senior Staff, but I think I managed to be suitably surprised when Josh made his big announcement. I shook his hand and tried not to see the hint of worry in CJ's eyes, or see her take Donna by the elbow as we passed through the bullpen, telling her quietly to come and see her later on. I did notice that Donna looked distinctly peaky, with dark circles under her eyes, and she was wincing any time someone raised their voice, which meant that she was wincing a lot that morning.

I almost would have said that she'd forgotten the end of the evening were it not for the fact that she couldn't look at me. The one time that I did meet her eyes, she flushed red and looked down, then she avoided me for the rest of the day.

Until the end of the day when everyone else had gone home and the bullpen was deserted. I was working late, making up for the time I'd lost going home to see the baseball game the night before, and there was a knock at the door and I looked up to see her sidling in. "Hi," was her opening gambit, and I smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease, leaning back in my chair.

"Hey," I said, when it was evident she wasn't going to talk first. "How's your head?"

She grinned self-consciously, standing behind my visitor's chair, tapping her fingers against the smooth upholstery. "Josh has been taking great delight in bellowing at volume today," she confided. "And he's been upbraiding me about my sensitive system at every opportunity. I don't think I'm going to live this down for a while."

"I would think not."

She looked down at her hands, swallowing nervously. "You said some things to me last night," she began, her cheeks colouring faintly.

I sighed. So she did remember then. "Yes. I did," I confirmed, and her face lit up in a smile that caused my heart to skip a beat.

"Well then…" She was more confident then, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "How would you like to get some dinner with me?"

I stood, not having to think twice. "I'd love to."

We went to a small restaurant that I knew, not far from the White House, but one where I was sure that we wouldn't be interrupted. We talked about work, about ourselves, about everything, in fact, but the events of the night before. It was as if there was some tacit agreement between us to avoid that subject, and we abided by that, right until I brought her home.

She stepped closer to me on the footpath, pressing her body close to mine, hands going to the lapels of my coat. We'd stood in much the same position in her living room the previous night, and the look on her face had been the same both times. "Will you come up?" she asked quietly.

I wanted to say yes. Just like the previous evening, I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her there for eternity, never mind that night.

But just like the previous evening, I took a step back. "No," I replied.

Her face fell, and once again, I saw shock and hurt there, and my stomach twisted painfully. Still, I knew what I was doing, and I knew why I was doing it. "But…you said… I thought…"

"I did say all those things Donna. And I meant them. I still mean them."

"But I'm not…I mean, I haven't been…"

It was true - she hadn't touched as much as a glass of wine all evening. "I know that," I acknowledged, sitting down heavily on the steps outside her apartment, wondering how in the world I was going to explain myself. She sat down beside me, taking my hand in hers.

"Then why…"

"Because not twenty four hours ago, I sat in a bar with you and watched you crying because Josh is marrying Amy," I told her. "That's why you got drunk out of your mind, isn't it?" She nodded. "I know…I've always known…that you have feelings for Josh." She opened her mouth to say something, and I held up my hand, silencing her. "Don't…don't deny it. Not now. Not like this. Whatever they are, you have feelings for Josh that go beyond where they should go." With a heavy sigh, she nodded. "I know you Donna. You're a good person. And I wasn't lying when I said that I was attracted to you. I am. But I'm not going to do this now. Not while you're still confused over Josh. Not while your emotions are still in turmoil over him. If something is going to start between us, I don't want it to be because you're trying to get over one man in the arms of someone else."

"You think that's what would happen?" Her voice was low, almost like a child's.

"I'm afraid that it might. Without either one of it realising." I rubbed my thumb across her knuckles, wondering if I was really doing this; if I was really pushing away the woman to whom I had been attracted for longer than I cared to remember.

"So what do we do now?"

"Well, you go up to your apartment, and I go home. Tomorrow, you might find a Danish on your desk. Or a muffin. Maybe an email in your inbox." The ends of her mouth turned up in a smile. "I'll come by your desk at some point in the day, ask you out for dinner. Or dessert. We could get pie. And I'll bring you home, and I might kiss your cheek, and we'll go our separate ways." I raised her hand to my lips. "We'll start off as friends. See where that leads."

A shadow of doubt fell across her face. "What happens if it leads us away from this? And just to friendship?"

I shrugged, affecting a nonchalance that I didn't feel. "That's a chance that we have to take."

She stared at me for a long moment, and I could see by her face when she made her decision. "Then that's a chance we have to take."

>*<*>*<

Chance or not, once we agreed to that course of action, there was no going back, although there were times when I had cause to regret it. Times when we were standing at her apartment door, or sitting in her living room, or mine, and the urge to kiss her was so strong that I literally had to move away from her, lest I give into it. Times when I would see her looking at me from across the room and all I would want to do was go to her, take her by the arm and drag her to the nearest flat surface. Times when I would have to endure some other man flirting with her, and I'd want to haul off and slug him, knowing that I couldn't, because officially we were just good friends.

Things continued like that until the day that Josh married Amy. I'd been worried about that day for a long time, worried that it would cause Donna's feelings for Josh to flare up again, worried that it would erode any progress that we might have made. I didn't expect for her to walk into my office with a week to go to the wedding, crossing her arms over her chest and staring me down, informing me that I hadn't told her when I was picking her up yet. I'd frowned, trying to remember our plans for that evening and coming up blank. She'd seen my confusion and taken pity on me, telling me that she was talking about the wedding, and that since I was her date, I had the job of picking her up.

I didn't even know that I was her date, but I didn't contradict her.

She took my breath away that day when she opened the door. Her long hair was left loose, the way that I like it, and she was wearing a long sleeveless red dress that fell straight down to her ankles. It was very simple, very elegant, very Donna, and I was entranced. Although I will admit to being even more entranced when she turned to get her wrap and purse and I saw the deep V shape of the back, with two thin straps criss-crossing being the only thing obscuring a clear view of her skin.

She had never looked more beautiful.

I repeated to myself that Josh Lyman was a fool for letting her get away, but I'd never been so glad that he was a fool.

At the wedding, she sat beside me, and as befits the sacrament that we were present at, we didn't speak throughout the ceremony. However, when Josh and Amy were making their vows, she reached over and took her hand in mine. I turned to her, surprised, but she wasn't looking at me, instead her gaze was fixed on the happy couple, a small smile on her face.

I didn't know quite what to make of that.

I pushed it out of my mind, managing to enjoy the day, even applauding Sam's speech as best man, the speech that he'd refused to allow me to help on. I told him later on that I couldn't have done it better, and he beamed at me. It was then that Donna came up to me, wrapping her arm around my waist, telling me that I had to dance with her.

I protested at first, reminding her that I was not one of life's dancers, and she got this funny little smile on her face, and told me that I had to dance with her just once, and that it was going to be now.

We were on the dancefloor, in a proper waltz hold at first, but she made a small sound of disgust, stepping closer to me. She drew our linked hands in, so that they rested over my heart, and her head dropped on to my shoulder. We moved slowly, and if anyone was looking at us strangely, then neither one of us cared. I was just happy to be there with her like that.

"So," I asked her after a minute. "Why were you so insistent that I dance with you?"

She lifted her head then, looking right at me, and that smile that had been on her face when she saw Josh and Amy take their vows was back again. "Do you recognise the song?" she asked me, and I cocked my head to one side, listening to the lyrics.

You shouldn't kiss me like this
Unless you mean it like that
Or I'll just close my eyes
And I won't know where I'm at
We'll get lost in this dancefloor
Spinning around and around
And around and around
They're all watching us now
They think we're falling in love
They'd never believe we're just friends
You shouldn't kiss me like this
Unless you mean it like that
If you do, baby, kiss me again

It took a moment for it to register with me, and when it did, I couldn't keep the surprise out of my face, or my voice. "It's the song…"

"That we danced to that first night at the bar," she confirmed. "I asked the DJ to play it for us."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because," she said simply. "I wanted to go back to where it all began for us." She tilted her head to the side. "For so long, I spent every day of my life in love with Josh Lyman. Or thinking I was in love with him. He was the first thought in my head every morning, and the last thought I had before I went to sleep at night. And I always thought that we'd end up together." I opened my mouth to say something, but she laid a finger over my lips, stopping me. "You've had your say," she pointed out gently. "It's my turn now." She took a deep breath. "You would think…or I certainly thought, that today, with that day that's in it and all, that I would have thought of him first when I woke up this morning. But I didn't. I woke up this morning, and my first thought was to wonder if you'd like my dress." She laughed suddenly. "And I realised that I've been thinking of you more and more lately. Even when I'm doing other things…or supposed to be doing other things…you're there. I'm wondering when I'll see you next, or what I'll say, or what we'll do that night…" She broke off, shaking her head. "It's you Toby. It's been you for a long time, and I never knew it."

My heart was going like a trip-hammer and my mouth was dry. I could hardly believe what I was hearing, even though it was what I'd wanted for so long. "Are you sure?" I asked her, when I could force words out, and her smile was brighter than I'd ever seen it.

"Yes," she breathed, and we stayed where we were for a long moment, smiling into one another's eyes, swaying to the music. She was the one who broke the silence; I was too busy counting my lucky stars to worry about speaking. "Toby?"

"Yes?" One syllable words were good.

"Would you please kiss me now?"

I didn't reply, at least not in words, nor with an extremely passionate kiss. After all, we were in the middle of a crowded dancefloor. But our lips did meet, and once more, I heard fireworks going off, and this time, I knew that there would be no leaving her alone at the end of the night.

I said when I picked her up at her place that day that she had never looked more beautiful.

I distinctly remember reconsidering my opinion that night as I watched her sleep in my arms.

I retained that opinion until the day I saw her walking down the aisle on her father's arm. Her dress was once more long and simple, white this time, my mother's engagement ring on her left hand. Her smile was the same bright smile that I'd seen on the dancefloor at Josh's wedding, the smile that I'd become so accustomed to seeing, the smile that had the power to reduce me to speechlessness. I couldn't take my eyes off her as she walked towards me, didn't want to take my eyes off her. I wanted to fix that memory in my head, so that when I'm old and grey, I'll still be able to remember how she looked at that precise moment in time, be able to remember everything I thought, everything I felt.

She had never looked more beautiful to me.

I retained that opinion until today.

Once more, I find myself staring at her, unable to take my eyes off her, wanting to fix this memory, this moment in my mind, so that it will be with me for always.

She sits by the window, unaware of my presence. The early evening sunlight is catching her hair, bleaching the soft blonde to a halo of almost white, illuminating her smiling face. Her whole being is concentrated on the bundle at her breast; our daughter, less than a week old, enjoying her first meal in her new home. This was the first room that Donna came to today, the nursery that we'd spent so long decorating, aided and abetted by our friends and colleagues. The walls are a deep shade of yellow, turned deeper yet by the sun that shines in the window, and the border around the middle is navy blue, with the moon and stars embossed on it in gold. The crib is in the corner, a mobile also with moon and stars suspended above it; the baby monitor, the twin of which is in our room, on the chest of drawers beside it. Another chest of drawers is near the window, which is where Donna insisted that we put the rocking chair, so that she could sit there with her and look out at the back yard, insisting that she could tell better stories to the baby if she could see the trees and shrubs and flowers there.

I have never known such happiness.

I see her blink suddenly, and she turns her head, a slow smile spreading across her face as she meets my gaze. "Hey," she says quietly. "How long have you-"

"Not long," I reply, crossing the floor to her, the plush carpet swallowing my footsteps. The only sounds in the room are the baby's suckling and our awed breathing. I will never get tired of looking at her, of observing the miracle that we've created. I stand beside the chair, stretching out a finger to the downy blonde hair on the top of the baby's head, my other hand going to Donna's shoulder. "I love you," I whisper softly, not sure to which one I'm talking, as identical blue eyes stare up at me.

"I love you too," Donna whispers, raising her head, and I take the hint, bending to kiss her quickly. Then our attention is returned to where it has been for much of the last week, on the baby in her arms.

It was a simple phone call, that's all. Who knew that this is where it would lead?

The song that Toby and Donna dance to is Toby Keith's You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This. The song that Donna drunkenly sings to Toby at the bar is You're A Good Man Charlie Brown from the musical of the same name.