Rating: PG
Pairing: Toby/Ginger
Spoilers: Lies, Damn Lies and Statistics, general season one.
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: An early morning phone call is never a good sign when you work at the White House…
Author's Note: What started off as a one piece, what if Toby had a wife that everyone knew about has now developed into a fully fledged series…who knew? This is a post-ep to Lies, Damn Lies and Statistics and is set in the Tests of Faith universe. Sunny, this isn't Dark Horses, but it'll have to hold you for now!

I'm a sound sleeper. I've learned to drop into a deep sleep almost straight away, and can stay like that through pretty much anything. I first mastered that particular skill in my college days, when getting through the day on three or four hours of sleep was not uncommon, be it because of studying or partying. When I was doing my Master's at NYU, it was either because of studying or working. Partying took third place then. And when I joined the Bartlet for America campaign, it came in handy when I had to sleep on campaign buses, or in God knows what kind of flea-bitten motels. Once we won the campaign, and got into the White House, I knew that I had four years, or possibly eight, of long days and sleep deprived nights ahead of me.

And I never once complained about that.

Which isn't to say that I like it when the telephone rings at some ungodly hour of the morning, before the alarm clock goes off. In point of fact, I hate it, because that means that there's bad news in the offing, which means the day is going to be even longer than it usually is.

So when the phone rings this morning, I open one eye and glare at it for a second, hoping that it will stop, that it's some kind of mistake. A couple of rings later, it's confirmed to me that that's not going to happen, and with a groan, I reach out and grab the receiver, managing to grumble something approaching a good morning into it, something that I only hope is coherent.

The voice at the other end of the phone is, in contrast to me, wide-awake and lucid. "Ginger, it's me. Is he there?"

I eye the clock on the other bedside locker, the red numbers telling me that it's only just gone five in the morning. We have another three quarters of an hour before our regular wake-up time, and CJ knows that. There's no way this is good. "Hang on," I tell her, rolling over and poking his shoulder. He's lying facing me, and his eyes are half-open, the look on his face giving me the impression that he's as enthusiastic at taking this phone call as I am. "CJ," is all I say as I hold out the phone, and he rolls over on to his back, taking the receiver from my hand.

"Yeah?" he asks, and he listens then, his expression becoming more and more alert the longer he does so. His eyes close and he runs a hand over his face. "Yeah. Yeah. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He hands the receiver back to me and I hang up, turning back to him only to see him still lying there on his back, not looking as if he's going anywhere any time soon. His eyes are closed still and he's muttering under his breath. "What is it?" I ask him.

"There's a problem with Sam's friend," he says.

It takes me a second to process what he means, and then it hits me. "Sam's friend" is code for "Sam's hooker friend," although if Sam were here, he'd undoubtedly edit that to "Sam's call girl friend." He's been seeing her since September, although he swears up and down that they haven't slept together since he found out about her job. I know that Toby warned him that he shouldn't go to the GW Law School graduation yesterday, and although he wasn't happy about it, I also know that Sam did as he was told. He's not stupid. He knows that Onorato knows about his relationship with Laurie, knows that he'd have his spies everywhere just waiting to see if Sam would show up there. So I can't imagine what kind of problem there would be.

"What?"

"Apparently," Toby sighs, sitting up in bed. "Sam went to see the girl to give her a present. Met her at her friend's house. Turns out the friend had sold her story."

"Oh no." My own eyes close.

"Yes. And there was a photographer there, just waiting. CJ knows who has it, she wants me to go in and help with the spin." He stands up as he talks, heading to the bathroom.

Once he disappears, I do exactly what he did, flop back on the bed and cover my eyes with my hands. I don't need Toby to tell me that this isn't good, I know this all on my own. Things were just starting to pick up for us - Leo had unveiled his new "Let Bartlet be Bartlet" initiative, the speech on campaign finance and the two nominees to the FEC had been well received, and the debate on mandatory minimums being racist was picking up steam. I was even getting over my jealousy on the time that Toby had to spend with his ex-wife to get that on track.

And now this had to happen.

And to Sam of all people.

He's the youngest of all the Senior Staff, the one who has least experience at a political level. I remember when he first came on board the campaign, remember Toby calling me from Manchester to talk about the new people that Leo was bringing in, telling me about them, his first impressions of them. The thing that stands out in my mind is that he told me that Sam was young. I laughed at that, reminding him that, young as Sam was, he was still older than I was, and what did that make me? He told me that I might be young, but that Sam acted young. "He thinks with his heart Ginger. Not with his head. I'm not sure if that's the best thing for the administration."

"Administration?" I teased him. "You haven't even won the election yet." And considering that he'd told me in the past that he'd never won an election, that he wasn't sure if he could win this one, I was surprised when he went silent on me. And when he did speak, his voice was quiet and serious.

"No. But I think we can."

That was the first time he ever said that to me.

When I met Sam, I realised that Toby was right, that he was young. And that he acted younger than the rest of them, that's true. But what Toby referred to as "younger" I saw as less jaded, less cynical. He's got a good heart, he means well. He'd do anything for any of his friends. And he wants to save the world. That's why, when he first told Toby about the girl, it didn't take Toby long to work out what was on Sam's mind. "You're going to try and reform her?" was what he asked, and Sam denied it, but Toby knew the truth.

I know that Sam's been seeing her since then, because he's told me so. I remember the day that he told Toby about Laurie, because he told me about her too. He called me into his office, and I knew that there was something bugging him. After all, Sam's pretty transparent and he was walking around all morning, hovering around Toby's office as if he had something to tell him, telling anyone who was asking that he was just stretching his legs. I didn't see him go into Toby's office, but I did see him go out, and he didn't look happy. And Toby looked even unhappier, but I knew that he'd tell me the story later on that night. But by then, I knew all about it, because Sam had told me.

I wasn't concerned when he called me into his office. Although I am Toby's assistant, and Cathy is Sam's, it's not unusual for me to do some research or typing for Sam, especially if he and Toby are sharing work on something. That's what I was expecting when I sat down in the chair across from Sam's desk, but he didn't go to his own side of the desk and sit down. Instead, he leaned back against the desk, bracing his arms on it, and began to speak. "Ginger, there's something that I told Toby today…and he might tell you about it, and I wanted you to hear it from me first…"

His voice trailed off, and I could see that whatever it was, he was pretty nervous about it. Which I didn't really understand. I mean, being nervous around Toby, sure. But Sam and I had been friends since the second we met on the campaign. He's never been afraid to tell me anything. That's why I smiled, trying to set him at ease. "Just tell me Sam. It can't be that bad."

"Yeah. Well, you see Ginger…the thing is…about a week ago? I accidentally slept with a call girl."

I'm not quite sure, to this day, what my reaction was to that. I think that my mouth might have fallen open. I'm almost sure that I blinked several times. I do know that I didn't laugh, which I thought later might have been one reaction; after all, it sounded so ludicrous. Which is why I asked the question that I asked. "You accidentally slept with a hooker?"

"Call girl."

"Sam, how the hell do you accidentally sleep with a call girl?" I leaned back in my seat, staring at him, and he shrugged, as much at a loss as me.

"I was in the bar in the Four Seasons. And we got talking and we hit it off…" His skin flushed a dull red, and I took pity on him and tried to help him out.

"So the two of you went home together."

"Yes." He seized on my words gratefully and began pacing back and forth. "The next day, we switched pagers…I mean, it could have happened to anyone, they both look the exact same. And that's how I found out about her job."

"As a hooker."

"Call girl."

"Sorry, call girl. You know you can't see her again right?" I was pretty sure that that's what Toby would have told him, and when he nodded, I knew that I was right.

"That's what Toby said. I just…I don't see…I didn't break any laws Ginger. I haven't done anything wrong. All I want to do is be friends with her…what's wrong with that?"

"Sam…." My voice was lined with exasperation, and I shook my head. "You know it doesn't work like that."

"Well, it should."

"But it doesn't. Look at Toby and me. We were together for months before he began on the campaign, before I began on the campaign. We were just two ordinary people in love, and then we began working together. Suddenly, he's some dirty old man who's dating a much younger woman. I'm this ditzy bimbo who slept her way into the White House. We get married, and it's a political stunt to make us look legitimate. I still see staffers every day who look at me differently because of who I'm married to…people twist things Sam. They see what they want to see…"

"But you and Toby are still together," he pointed out. "Why shouldn't I keep seeing her?"

"Because Toby and I were together before people started talking Sam. You and this girl weren't. You can't involve the administration in anything like this Sam, you just can't do it."

Sam was still pacing around his office, but he stopped at my words, leaning back against his desk again. His hands went on his hips, and he dropped his head. "You sound so exactly like him right now." When he looked up at me again, his smile was half there, a rueful grin. "Must be a Ziegler family trait."

I laughed, standing up and closing the distance between us, wrapping my arms around his neck. His arms went around my waist and he sighed. "You're a good guy Sam," I told him as I pulled away, smiling at him.

"But I shouldn't see her any more should I?"

"Probably not," I told him. "But you're not going to take my advice are you?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Probably not."

"Then do me a favour? Be careful, ok?"

"I promise."

And he had been. He has been. He told me that there told me that there's nothing sexual going on between him and Laurie, and considering he's also talked to me about Mallory, and asked advice on how best to win her over, I believe him. Sam's not the kind of guy who'd have two women on the go at once. I know that while they're just friends, he is still actively trying to reform her. And I know that having this whole thing splashed over the papers is going to be embarrassing for both of them, not to mention the administration.

When Toby comes out of the bathroom five minutes later, he doesn't waste any time in ripping his clothes out of the wardrobe and he's still muttering to himself under his breath. From his body language I'd say that he's getting ready to rip Sam's head off, and it's my job as his assistant, not to mention his wife, not to mention Sam's friend, to reel him in. Or at least try.

"This isn't Sam's fault Toby," I tell him.

"Of course not. Of course it's not his fault. Not his fault that he slept with a prostitute. Not his fault that he wouldn't listen to the good advice of at least three people in the administration far better versed in these matters than him? Not his fault that he didn't do as he was damn well told?"

I pull myself out of bed, wrapping my robe around myself as he talks, shaking my head. "He did do as he was told Toby. He didn't go to the graduation. You heard what CJ said, the friend told the story. He was set up." He stops, his tie half-done, and rubs his hand over his forehead, resting the other on his hip. I wait until I'm standing in front of him before I speak again, and I begin doing up his tie as I talk. "This isn't his fault Toby."

"This was nearly going to be a good day." His voice is a whisper, his hands on my hips.

"I know. But you can't blame Sam for this. He's never lied to us about anything, he's been above board with this. She's his friend. And he kept it as quiet as he could. He did his best Toby. You know that."

There's a ghost of a smile on his face. "You keep seeing the bright side don't you?"

I shrug, giving him my best grin. "Hey, one of us has to." I straighten his tie, then fix the shoulders on his shirt, making sure that he's presentable. After all, I can't have him going out of the house looking half put together now, can I? Once that's done, my hands curl around his shoulders.

"And I'm very grateful for that," he tells me, before dipping his head and kissing me quickly. It has to be quick, and I know that, because after all, there's a fire to be put out at the White House, and that for the moment has to take precedence. I hand him his jacket and walk him to the door, and he kisses me once more on the cheek before he tells me that he'll see me at the office.

I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of orange juice, sighing as I realise what day it is.

"Happy anniversary," I say, but there's no-one there to hear me.

>*<*>*<

I stalk towards CJ's office, enjoying the way that staffers seem to scurry to get out of my way when they see the look on my face. I told him, I told him several times and quite vociferously too, that this was a bad idea. That the Deputy Communications Director of the White House should not be seen to be cavorting, fraternising or in any way shape or form spending time with a prostitute.

Call girl.

Whatever.

But he just had to go and do it, didn't he? Had to try to reform her, to save her. Sam, with his innocent demeanour, his credulous simplicity…was there ever any doubt that that was what he was going to do? Exactly what he thought best, exactly what his heart dictated, political fallout be damned?

Was there ever any doubt that this was how it was going to end?

Dammit.

I'm thinking of Sam when another pair of blue eyes come to mind, as they so often do. And I remember Ginger's words this morning, remember her pleading for her friend, telling me to go easy on him.

Of course, it was going easy on him that got us into this mess.

It just remains to be seen how bad this particular disaster is going to be.

And as if the fact that Sam's affair with a call girl had to explode in public wasn't bad enough, it had to happen on my wedding anniversary.

I'm going to kill him.

"How bad is it?" I ask without preamble as I stride into CJ's office. Carol, to her credit, didn't even blink as I walked by, just let me go straight in. And unlike a lot of the other staffers, she didn't scurry away either. I always did like that woman.

CJ is sitting at her desk, her head in one hand, a bottle of aspirin in the other. As I watch, she slams a handful down, without any water, wincing as they go down. "Bad. Sam got a call yesterday from a friend of Laurie's. She said that they were going out after the graduation, and that she'd get Laurie to her place, if Sam wanted to meet them there."

I rub one hand over my eyes, resting the other one on my hip. "And he didn't see that this was a classic set-up?"

"This is Sam," CJ said, with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, turns out the friend was paid fifty thousand dollars for setting up the picture and confirming that she was a call girl."

"Who has it?"

"The London Daily Mirror."

I just about stifle a groan at one of those tabloid rags having this story. The English press has a reputation, well deserved, for being the most vicious in the world when it comes to setting up stuff like this, and our media outlets are going to have a field day reporting just what they said. "When?" I ask, although I already know.

"It'll run later today over there. It'll break, probably online and in the wires later today. American press has it tomorrow morning."

"Great. Just great."

"Yeah. As if today wasn't going to be bad enough with the poll…" CJ shakes her head, her voice trailing off in pure frustration. It's at that moment that her phone rings, and she seems to debate picking it up, not that I blame her. When she finally does, she speaks two words into it before handing it out to me. "It's Charlie for you."

This can only mean one thing.

And when Charlie quotes the President's order to me, the only thing that I really want to do is go home and go back to the nice warm bed where I left my wife. This wasn't supposed to happen this morning. We were supposed to wake up at our normal time, which is still unconscionably early as far as she's concerned, or even a little earlier if I could manage it. We were supposed to have time to actually eat breakfast together, exchange gifts, do the things that husbands and wives normally do on their anniversary. I knew that we weren't going to get out of here early today, not with the poll breaking tonight. I thought we'd at least have the morning.

Dammit.

When I come out of CJ's office, Sam is leaning against the wall, waiting for me, and I can't help but notice how terrible he looks. As if he hasn't slept, and I bet he hasn't. "He's ready to see us," I tell him, not breaking stride as I walk.

"What did he say?"

"He said 'get your ass over here'."

"I've drafted a letter of resignation."

I don't miss the fact that Ginger walks by us as we go along the corridor, and that alone is enough to remind me of what I'm missing, how this little debacle blew my plans for the morning. So he'll forgive me if I sound a little testy when I tell him, "Well you're not going to give it to him, Sam, because that would deny me the pleasure of throwing you out through a plate glass window." There are such windows in this place you know. I have several of them in my office. And the idea really isn't without appeal.

"You have every right to say that," Sam tells me, and I'm thankful that there are no windows in this hallway, because otherwise I might really carry out my threat.

"Thank you for acknowledging that right."

"Toby…"

"I should keep you on a leash, you know that?" Because that way, you wouldn't be able to act like the puppy that you are, ruining the good run that this administration finally has going and screwing up other people's anniversary plans in the process. As we walk down the corridor, we see someone that I'm betting Sam really didn't want to see. Besides the fact that Leo is our boss, Sam is also trying to enter a relationship with his daughter. Leo doesn't want Mallory dating Sam in the first place, or at the very least, he's having fun giving the two of them that idea. But this won't have done anything to raise Sam's stock with him.

"Leo…" Sam begins, but Leo doesn't even break stride as he blows by us, heading towards CJ's office. Is that how I looked a few minutes ago when I was heading in that direction? No wonder people were running away from me.

"I'm talking to CJ, then I'm talking to you," Leo calls out, and I don't want to be in Sam's shoes for that particular conversation.

I'm still stuck on the idea of keeping Sam on a leash, an idea not without merit. "Ten foot chain around your neck." Because you know, I'm not cruel. A ten foot chain means he can still walk around his office and it's one less job for Cathy or Bonnie or Ginger to worry about. "I bolt you to your desk, and have someone come in and feed you." The three of them get his food for him most of the time anyway; I'm sure they wouldn't object to doing it on a more regular basis.

By the time that we meet the President, on his way over to the Oval Office as we're on our way over to the Residence, my plan is even more complete. But when the President starts asking questions, I find myself doing more and more talking on Sam's behalf. I wasn't talking like this earlier on, wasn't thinking like this earlier on, and have no idea why I'm doing it now.

"You've never paid this girl to have sex?" the President asks.

"No Sir." Sam's denial is resolute, and I believe him. He's been telling me that for months. He's been telling Ginger that for months too, and we both believe him. Sam doesn't have it in him to lie about something like this.

"They didn't have that kind of relationship Sir," I find myself saying. "Except once, and that time, he didn't know what was happening." I wince when I hear my own words, realising that I've heard them before, knowing exactly where. The fact that Sam is looking at me, surprise stamped all over his features, doesn't exactly help me either.

"Well, that makes two of us," the President says.

"Mr President, Sam has always been completely above board about his relationship with Laurie."

"Laurie's the girl?"

Considering I'd never referred to her by her first name before today, I don't blame him for asking, and I don't miss Sam's look of surprise either. "Yes Sir," Sam confirms.

"He told us about it after his first contact with her nine months ago. The fact that she was putting herself through law school, under circumstances that were less than good, has to count for something, as does the fact that Sam's word is unimpeachable."

Sam's looking at me in amazement, and I can't believe that I'm saying all this either. The fact that it's echoing every sentiment Ginger expressed to me this morning isn't lost on me either. He doesn't call me on my words though, but the President does. "Toby, are you in here sticking up for Sam?"

Which means that it's time for me to backtrack without recanting anything. "I know it's strange Sir," I admit. "But I'm feeling a…a… certain big brotherly connection right now. You know, obviously, I'd like that feeling to go away as soon as possible. But for the moment, I think there's no danger in the White House standing by Sam, and aggressively going after the people who set him up."

The President seems to take my words to heart, because he issues Sam with his instructions on what to do for the day before he dismisses him, and he tells me that our meeting is going to take place with Lobell and his entourage in the Roosevelt Room. I head out of the Oval Office and go to wait across the hall, just out of sight of the Roosevelt Room door, far enough out so that no-one there can see me. It's while I'm standing there that Sam comes up beside me.

"You stuck up for me in there."

"I thought you had to go down to the Counsel's Office." I'm not looking at him, concentrating on maintaining my gruff exterior.

"I'm heading there now," he tells me. "Why'd you stick up for me in there?"

"Because Sam, you didn't do anything wrong," I tell him. "You were set up. Onorato's people set you up. We've got enough people tearing us down without doing it to each other as well."

He nods. "I appreciate that."

"Don't let it get around," is the only request that I make of him and he nods and goes on his way.

>*<*>*<

I'm sitting at my desk typing what seems like the hundredth memo so far today when Donna comes into the bullpen and makes a beeline for my desk. I know that she's got something to say to me, something important to ask me, from the way that she's walking, from that glint that she has in her eyes. That's the look that Donna Moss gets when she wants to pump someone for information and I've become used to it over the past few years.

But this is, after all, the West Wing of the White House, and as Mrs Landingham keeps reminding us, we're assistants to very important people doing very important work, and this is not a place for gossip. Hence, Donna comes to me with a file in her hand and says to me, "Ginger, these are the papers that Toby wanted for the thing."

I don't have a clue what thing she's talking about, but I'm sure that Toby will enlighten me eventually. "Thanks Donna," I tell her. "Any word on how the poll's going?"

She shakes her head. "I checked in five minutes ago…we're still on course to finish tonight. Sometime."

"How's Mandy doing?" I ask, and I don't miss the flash of irritation that flits across Donna's face. She and Mandy mix together like oil and water. Come to think of it, Mandy and all of the assistants mix together like oil and water. Something to do with her treating us like we're lesser forms of humanity I think. Donna hates her because of the way that she treats Josh. My reasons, aside from the fact that it's my duty to support one of my closest friends and my maid of honour in her hatred of the ex-girlfriend of the man with whom she is in love and in denial, have to do with what happened the first time I met Mandy, during the campaign. She spent five minutes railing at me over some mix-up that was nothing to do with me. She didn't let me get a word in edgewise, and stormed off before I could defend myself. When it all got sorted out, she didn't even apologise. Then, later on that same day, Toby and I were in a bar when she and Josh came in. Once she heard that I was Toby's girlfriend, her attitude towards me changed totally, and she couldn't have been nicer to me, and had the gall to pretend that she'd never met me before. The woman practically simpered. I could have forgiven her for shouting at me. I could even have looked past not apologising, just about. After all, we were all under pressure. But the two-facedness, the hypocrisy of pretending that nothing had happened earlier on, that killed me. That's what I couldn't get over.

"I think that half the volunteers are getting ready to kill her," Donna confided.

"You gonna help?" I ask her, grinning.

"Name the time and place," she told me, her eyes sparkling too. Then she sits down on the edge of my desk, picking up the folder that she'd already placed there, flipping it open and looking at the pages, so that to anyone else it looks almost as if she's reading what's there and discussing it with me. "So, what did he get you?"

I glance at my computer screen, then back at her. "I don't know what you mean," I tell her, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not fooling her. That's borne out by her next words.

"Ginger!" She looks around her then, to make sure that no-one is listening, then leans closer to me. "Was it as good as Hawaii?"

I smile and shake my head. I wasn't sure that anyone else would remember that it was our wedding anniversary today, but I reckoned without Donna's freakishly organised mind. I shouldn't be surprised that she remembered; after all, she was maid of honour and is one of my best friends. She talked to me about it yesterday, wanting to know then if I knew what Toby was getting me for a present. "I don't know," I'd told her. "What's the traditional gift for a second anniversary?"

"Cotton," she'd told me promptly, before going on to reel off a list of things made of cotton that Toby could conceivably give me. She'd obviously been putting a lot of thought into it, and I almost felt bad when I told her once again that I really didn't know what it would be; that Toby hadn't even mentioned our anniversary to me. Which he hadn't, and still hasn't. "Well, after last year, he's got a lot to live up to," she concluded, and I couldn't help but agree.

The traditional first gift for a wedding anniversary is paper you see. She'd given me that little bit of trivia last year, and I was expecting a book or something like that, if Toby followed those guidelines at all. I got a bit of a surprise though. He got me paper all right - in the form of two aeroplane tickets to Hawaii. I was so shocked when he gave them to me, all the more so when I realised that we were going to spend two weeks there. He'd shrugged, looking embarrassed, and just told me, "Well, we didn't have a proper honeymoon." Which we hadn't. One day off in the middle of a Presidential campaign does not a honeymoon make. "I thought you might like one." And I'd thrown my arms around his neck and shown him just how thankful I was. The next morning, I'd gone into the White House and made all the other assistants green with envy.

I come back to reality and today to realise that Donna is talking about my present last year, and how she spent yesterday talking to Josh about Hawaii and how he should really take her there. "I told him that it's not unheard of for a boss to do something nice like that for his assistant," she tells me, and I burst out laughing.

"Nice try Donna, but it's not the same thing," I remind her. "Did Josh even get the reference?"

Donna shakes her head. "He's pretty hopeless about things like that," she tells me, and there's not much I can say to that. Because it's pretty obvious that Josh is hopeless when it comes to matters of the heart, especially when you consider that this whole place knows that he and Donna are crazy about each other and just can't, or won't, admit it. Which Toby tells me is a good thing since it would inevitably lead to scandal, and I know enough about how the press works to know that he's right. It doesn't mean I can't wish things were different though, because those two are perfect for each other.

"I'm not surprised he doesn't remember," I tell her. "There's a lot going on around here today."

Donna throws a glance over to Sam's open door and empty office. "How is he?"

"I haven't seen him all morning," I tell her. "He's been down in the Counsel's office, making sure that he didn't break any laws."

"He didn't, did he?" Donna's eyes are huge, and I shake my head.

"He never paid her. And he only slept with her once."

"How do you know?"

"He told me." Those three words make her eyes grow even wider, although I'm not sure why. After all, Donna's known about Laurie almost as long as I have.

"Sam told you that?"

I nod, not sure why that surprises her so much. "We're friends Donna. Why wouldn't he tell me that?"

"I'm friends with Sam too Ginger. He doesn’t tell me stuff like that."

I shrug. "I doubt he wants it to get around. This was supposed to stay under the radar."

"Yeah." Anything else Donna is going to say is cut off by the arrival of the object of our conversation, and he barely stops to say hello to us, going right into his office and slamming the door.

Donna and I look over at Cathy, who shakes her head, and the three of us look over to Bonnie who does the same. "No way," she says, looking right at Cathy. "You're his assistant."

"I'm not going in there," Cathy says. Her gaze swings squarely back to me.

"Why me?" I ask, even as I'm bowing to the inevitable, standing from my chair.

"Because you're friends." Leave it to Donna to throw my own words back at me.

"Besides," Cathy points out, handing me a sheaf of messages and pointing me towards Sam's office. "If he upsets you, he'll have to answer to Toby, and he's in a bad enough mood as it is today. So you're safe."

"Great," I mutter under my breath, as I prepare to enter the lions' den. I take a deep breath as I knock on the door, only opening it just enough so that I can slide in through the crack, not sure what I’m going to see there. Sam's sitting at his chair, but it's turned around so that he can look out the window, and he doesn't turn around when the door opens. "Sam? I have your messages."

He turns slightly, so that I can see his profile, and there's a slight smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "Somehow, I thought it would be you."

I smile myself at that, reaching out with one hand to turn down the blinds on his window. "And what made you think that?"

"The fact that the rest of them would probably gang up on you." There's still that small sad smile around his lips, and he looks right at me for only a second before averting his eyes again.

"Not the fact I'm a nosy so-and-so who can't leave well enough alone?" I ask him, throwing his messages down on his desk before I walk around his desk and come face to face with him.

My words make him chuckle. "That too," he says, and for the briefest instant, he's the Sam that I know again.

"What did the Counsel's Office say?" I ask him, my hip resting against his desk.

"Tribbey says that unless stupidity is now a criminal offence, I haven't broken any laws." His voice is low and bitter, and knowing what I know of Lionel Tribbey, I can imagine the kind of morning that Sam's just had. "However, he also pointed out, quite loudly, that the fact of propriety does not give the appearance of propriety."

"Does CJ know when it's going to break?"

"Later today she said. She's hopeful that the polling numbers will knock it off the front pages but…" His voice trails off and he shakes his head. He looks so despondent right now that I can't help but feel sorry for him. Sam really doesn't deserve this.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Sam looks over to the blinds. "Run interference out there?"

"Done," I laugh. "And I'll see what I can do with Toby too."

"Toby stuck up for me." He looks amused at the expression of shock that I know must be on my face right now. "Yeah, can you believe that? Right in the Oval Office, he told the President that the White House should stand by me and go after - I’m sorry, aggressively go after the people who set me up."

There are times when I am so proud to be married to that man that I could scream. This is definitely one of them. "How 'bout that?" I'm talking to myself more than to Sam, but he responds anyway.

"He's something else all right." Then he looks up at me suspiciously. "Did you say anything to him?"

"Me?" I give him my best wide-eyed and innocent look and it seems to do the trick.

"Yeah." He sits up properly, taking the stack of messages up off the table, flipping through them. "I should make a start on these…"

"Yeah." On impulse, I put my hand down on his shoulder, and when he looks up at me and smiles, I kiss the top of his head quickly. "It's gonna be fine Sam," I tell him, and I hope that I'm telling him the truth.

He doesn't say anything until I’m at the door, and then he calls my name. When I turn to look at him, he's sitting back in his chair, and the look on his face is somewhere between sorrow and gratitude. I'm not sure that I've ever seen a look like that on anyone's face today, and I can't quite place what it means. "Thank you," is all he says, and I shrug.

"Anytime."

I spend the rest of the day doing what he asked me to do, and checking in with the polls periodically. And when we get the word that the envelope is on its way, Toby and Sam head over to the Oval Office, leaving the rest of us to sit and wait.

>*<*>*<

My day actually got better as it went on. The thing with Sam and the President went well, even if I did find that big brotherly connection quite disturbing. Against all odds, the meeting with Lobell and his fourteen staffers went better than I expected when you consider it was between men who considered each other a lily-livered bleeding-heart liberal egg head communist and a gun-totin' redneck son-of-a-bitch.

I would have been happy not to have to tell the cleaners to take extra care to get the bloodstains out of the carpet. Smiles and handshakes were more than I bargained for.

And then, I got to tell a man that he's being made Ambassador to the Federated States of Micronesia.

I swear, if I ever hear one word of trivia about that country again, it will be too soon.

But all things considered, things could have gone a hell of a lot worse. I just wish that I could have got out of here early today; after all, it is our second wedding anniversary. I'm sure Ginger had plans for the night; if not, I'm damn sure we could come up with something better to do than have her sitting at her desk, typing briefing notes, and me sitting in the Oval Office, waiting for CJ to arrive with the polling results.

The President has already asked me for the umpteenth time about Kassenbach and how he took it, and I told him also for the umpteenth time. He leaves me alone with my thoughts then, as the rest of them are deep in conversation, some kind of discourse on the subject of English as the National Language between Josh and Joey, which ends up with her blowing a raspberry at him. Twice.

I really do like this woman.

And then the President gets into a conversation with Sam about the briefcase that he gave Laurie to celebrate her graduation, and the two of them sound as if they're about to launch into a debate about the merits and demerits of selected models.

So, to recap, on my wedding anniversary, instead of spending a quiet evening alone with my wife, I'm discussing scuba diving and diplomatic immunity, and listening to talks about laws protecting the language of Shakespeare and briefcases, while waiting for a sheet of paper to arrive that will tell us if we're on the right track or if we're hopelessly off base.

This conversation is surreal.

I may or may not have said that out loud.

Which thankfully, is when CJ comes in.

The room instantly quietens, and the air of tension ratchets up a notch or thousand, and CJ's face isn't giving a thing away. I've known her for years and I don't have a clue what she's going to say next.

"Good evening, Mr. President. The full polling book is 400 pages long and it's still being put together. I have the top sheet results."

She's far too calm. This can't be good. Leo's throat doesn't seem to be as dry as mine, because he asks her what it says.

"I was wrong."

That's all it takes for my heart to sink, before I realise that CJ's not done.

"We went up nine points."

I blink, running that statement backwards and forwards in my head before CJ's little smile assures me that I did indeed hear her properly, and I join the rest of the group in smiles of happiness and relief.

We're still in the game. We'll live to fight another day.

I'm not surprised when the President asks, "What's next?" or when Leo replies that we should talk about the new projections. Predictably, everyone begins to talk at once, and we're so energised that we lose all track of time, and I've no idea how late it is when we leave the Oval.

Josh and Sam are talking about going off for drinks someplace to celebrate, and CJ's all for going too. They turn to me, but I shake my head. "I'm going to see if Ginger's still around, see what she wants to do."

They nod, accepting my words and we take another couple of steps before CJ stops dead, and Sam walks into her. "CJ!" he protests, but she's deaf to him, looking at me curiously, and not without a mild sense of horror.

"Toby…" She asks me slowly. "Isn't today your anniversary?"

The other two look horrified at the thought, even more so when I nod. "Yeah."

"Toby!" It's CJ who shrieks.

"I didn't even think…" Sam mutters, shaking his head.

"Why didn't Donna say something?" wonders Josh.

"I can't believe we all forgot," moans CJ, one hand over her eyes.

"We did have other things to think about," I point out. "Ginger and I understand that."

"You do have something planned right?" CJ asks me, and I nod mysteriously. "Toby!" she says again, looking at her watch. "It's ten o'clock at night!"

I shrug. "So I've got two hours left. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find my wife and make the most of them."

They let me go on ahead to the bullpen, and as I pass by, I notice that Ginger's computer is still on, that her jacket is still there, so I know she hasn't left yet. I don't even have to think about where she's going to be; I know where she always ends up on nights like this.

My office door is slightly ajar, and I push it open a crack, standing there, looking down at the couch. She looks for all the world as if she's fast asleep - head tilted back against the cushions, eyes closed, stocking feet propped up on the table - but my practised eye sees the corners of her mouth turn up, and I'm not surprised when she speaks.

"Are you going to stand there looking at me all night or are you coming in?"

I chuckle at that, taking the hint and closing the door behind me. When I look back at her, she's turned her head and is looking up at me, but she doesn't look like she's moving anywhere anytime soon, which is fine with me. I sit down beside her, taking her hand in mine. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be here."

She shrugs. "Carol told us the poll results - I knew you'd be a while in the Oval."

"Where's everyone else?" I might have been distracted by thoughts of political strategy and thoughts of her, but even I'm not blind enough to have noticed that the bullpen is all but deserted.

"They went out to celebrate," she tells me.

"You didn't go with them?"

She leans over just enough so that she can rest her head on my shoulder. "I was waiting for you," she tells me.

I nod, letting my head rest on top of hers and closing my eyes for a second, just taking a moment. This is the first quiet moment we've had all day, and I want to enjoy it.

"Happy anniversary." The words are out of my mouth before I realise that I've spoken and she lifts her head then and looks at me, her wide eyes even wider than normal. I smile at her, pushing back a lock of hair from her face. "What, you thought I'd forgotten?"

"What with Sam and the polls…I wasn't sure," she admits, blushing, and I have to shake my head.

"I could've killed Sam this morning," I tell her. "I was hoping that we could have a nice long breakfast together…and then things got crazy…"

"It's not like I don't understand Toby. And you did warn me enough what it was going to be like before I joined you here."

My mind automatically recalls many, many phone conversations and a few face to face ones, where I tried to convince her that a political campaign was not the best arena in which to pursue a relationship. I was flattered that she wanted to join me, and part of me wanted nothing more than to send her a plane ticket for the next available flight. The rest of me was terrified that familiarity would breed contempt and that she'd end up hating me. Ginger however, has a mind of her own and thank God for it.

"Sometimes, I just want one day," I tell her. "One day, where we get to be a normal husband and wife."

She shrugs, a cheeky smile on her face. "We had Hawaii," she reminds me, and the memory of our belated honeymoon is all it takes to have me smiling too.

"Yes we did," I murmur, leaning over to close the distance between us and kissing her softly. "And that reminds me…"

Her eyes follow me across the room as I go to my desk, taking out a brightly wrapped package from my bottom drawer, the one that she and Bonnie know not to go near. Her cheeks grow pink, but there's a smile on her face when I come back to her, and she won't take her eyes off me. "I left your present at home…" she says softly.

"That doesn't matter, " I tell her as I sit down beside her.

"Still," she says, looking at the parcel in her lap, turning it from one side to the other, observing it closely. She does everything but pick it up and shake it, although I've got a feeling that that's not far off. I realise once more that when we have children, I'm going to have to be the parent that warns them off snooping through their Christmas presents, because they're going to get a pretty poor example from their mother.

"You going to open that, or are you just going to stare at it all night?"

She grins up at me and sets about opening it slowly, which is another thing I've never understood about her. After all the poking and prying and wondering about what's in the present, one would think that she'd just rip the paper off it, correct? But no. My wife peels each strip of tape off individually, hating to rip the tiniest bit of paper. When she finally does get to the box, she lifts the lid, a bemused smile on her face as she pulls out the nightshirt inside. "It's nice…" she tells me.

"It's cotton," I point out. "The traditional-"

"Gift for the second anniversary," she nods. "Donna got to me."

"Ah." I nod. "I know it's not what you normally wear…" I tell her, a smile on my face, and she laughs lightly.

"Considering that you end up ripping most of them…" she teases.

I nod at that. Not much else that I can do really. "There's something else in there," I tell her, and she looks, pulling out the CD, turning it over in her hand. A soft, faraway smile forms on her face as she reads the track listing, and I can tell that she's remembering too.

Our wedding was a quiet affair, just the two of us, Josh, Donna, CJ and Sam. Our wedding reception, on the other hand, was an impromptu party at the bar in Manchester, one that went on long into the night. We had nothing to do with it, we headed off to get married, but it was who CJ convinced us to come to the bar for food and for a quick celebratory drink. Once we got in there, we were faced with everyone we knew who worked on the campaign, all applauding, throwing rice at us, wishing us well.

It was quite an evening.

But the thing I remember best from that night is standing at the bar, a glass of Jack Daniel's in my hand, looking at Ginger across the room. We hadn't had much time to plan the wedding; after all, I'd only proposed to her a week earlier. None of our families were there, and she didn't have the big fancy wedding dress that is every little girl's dream. Not that it seemed to bother her overmuch; she'd told me that she wasn't sure what she was going to wear for the wedding, but that she'd find something. CJ and Donna, on the other hand, happened to overhear that, and let her know in no uncertain terms that that wasn't good enough. Thus Donna and Ginger had taken a morning off one day to hit the shops, and they'd found a dress for her. It wasn't a wedding dress, not really, but it was long and floaty, in a creamy colour that did amazing things to her red hair, with little straps holding it up.

She refused to let me see it before the wedding, even going so far as to arrive in a different car with Donna and CJ, and when I saw her, I was thankful that I didn't have to write a speech anytime soon. Seriously, what good is a speechwriter who can't find a word to save himself?

That night in the bar, I was looking across the room at her, dancing with CJ, Donna, Margaret and a bunch of the other assistants. There was some eighties music blaring from the jukebox, and while Ginger had tried to entice me to join them on several occasions, I politely, but firmly, declined.

I watched her instead.

That's what I was doing when I became aware that Josh was standing beside me, staring at me with an amused grin on his face. "What?" I asked, giving him a look that had been known to have staffers running in terror.

"Nothing," he told me, shaking his head, but the smile on his face said otherwise. "I just don't think I've ever seen you look quite so-"

"Besotted?" I asked, and he shrugged.

"I was going to say happy." He followed my gaze to the dancefloor. "She's quite a woman Toby. You're a lucky man."

Under any other circumstances, I would have given him a smart answer, some snappy retort. But she was coming towards us, a beaming smile on her face, and all I could do was say, "Yes I am."

He was chuckling softly when she reached us, putting her arms around my waist and kissing my cheek quickly. "You two should be dancing," she told us firmly, and that makes Josh laugh properly.

"I'll save you a dance when we win the election Ginger, how 'bout that?"

"I'll hold you to that," she told him. "Honestly, you're as bad as Toby."

He took a gulp of his beer. "You know, that's your husband you're talking about there." I think he meant that to be a teasing remark, but it caused Ginger to turn her head towards me, her smile growing wider, which I would have said wasn't possible, her eyes shining.

"Yes it is," she murmured, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me passionately.

Somewhere far, far away, I heard Josh mutter something about getting a room, but I wasn't paying any attention to him. And when the kiss ended, I realised that the dreaded eighties disco compilation from hell had given way to a more contemporary song, a ballad that I'd been hearing on the radio for the better half of the last six months. A song that I was frankly sick of because I'd heard it so often, but the lyrics seemed to have special meaning for me that night. Maybe it was the Jack Daniel's.

Then again, maybe it was her.

All I know is that when I heard the words, "I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish I'll be your fantasy," my mind leaped ahead and filled in the rest of the words, and I found myself moving her towards the dance floor, which was deserted but for a few other couples.

"Toby," she whispered to me, surprise in her voice as we walked. "What are you doing?"

" I'll be your hope, I'll be your love, Be everything that you need"

We were on the dancefloor before I answered her, slipping my arms around her waist, looking into her eyes. "Dancing with my wife," I told her, and she beamed at me when her arms went back around my neck.

"OK then."

" I love you more with every breath, Truly, madly, deeply do. I will be strong, I will be faithful 'cause I'm counting on, A new beginning, A reason for living, A deeper meaning, yeah…"

That night was the first night of the rest of my life, as clichéd a phrase as that is. Before that, I think that somewhere deep down, I was always expecting her to up and run at some point. I couldn't believe that she'd want to spend her life with me, but yet miraculously, she did. And when I danced with her that night, I knew that it didn't matter if we didn't win the election, not really.

I had her. Which meant that I was just fine.

"I want to stand with you on a mountain, I want to bathe with you in the sea, I want to lay like this forever, Until the sky falls down on me…"

That song was our first dance as man and wife. And it was only when the last strains had faded into the distance that I realised that people were clapping softly, realised that we were the only remaining couple on the dancefloor, and that everyone else, our friends, our colleagues, total strangers, were watching us with smiles on their faces.

She looked up at me that night the same way that she's looking at me now, as if I'm the greatest thing she's ever seen, and I literally have to catch my breath. "I love it Toby," she whispers, kissing me gently.

"I love you," I tell her. I wrap my arms around her and hold her, just hold her, for a few seconds before I pull away again. "You want to go someplace? Join the rest of them?"

She shakes her head. "Nah," she says with certainty. "I say we go home…order some Chinese food… put on some music…and do a little dancing."

"Sounds good to me."

We walk out of the bullpen hand in hand, and I spare a moment to be thankful that Margaret's not around, because she was quite worried the last time that she heard me singing as I walked through the bullpen. And I'm not singing this time, not really, but I'm humming the song that's been going through my head all day, and Ginger is smiling as she walks alongside me.

That's us, right there. That's our song.

Polling numbers are looking up. We have a big speech at the Newseum in Rosslyn next week that, with any luck at all, is going to give us another boost. We've just celebrated two years of marriage, and I don't think that I've ever been happier.

The sky won't be falling any time soon.

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