Rating: PG
Pairing: Leo/Ainsley
Spoilers: Most of season two to be on the safe side, Manchester.
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: Ainsley's thoughts in the aftermath of the Press Conference
Author's Note: For all of those who read Stolen Moments here is the proof that even the most resolute of non-sequel writing fic writers can be swayed by public pressure. For those of you who haven't read Stolen Moments, I'd recommend it before plunging in here. Major thanks, or blame, must go to everyone who emailed me about the series, wanting to know what happened next, and a great big thank you to Reagan who sent the tape!

"Yeah. And I'm gonna win."

There's a split second of silence immediately after those words. Then Mr Babish's office erupts in the loudest round of cheers and whoops of celebration that I've ever heard in my life. People are shouting and screaming and hugging one another, and the mood in the room lifts instantaneously. Before those words, it was pensive, sombre, almost fearful. Now, it's like Mardi Gras.

I find myself smiling just like everyone else in the room, but there are no hugs for me. After all, I'm the lone Republican White House Counsel, and I'm supposed to be leading the charge in the witch-hunt against President Bartlet. I'm not supposed to be standing here, thrilled beyond belief that he's going to run for re-election, and even, God help us all, considering voting for him.

I listen to the rest of the Press Conference as best as I'm able, between the noise that's in the room and the noise that's in my head. Because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt what the rest of this room didn't know. That as far as everyone, the Senior Staff, Mr Babish, even the President himself knew before he stepped up on that podium, he wasn't going to run. And no-one told me that; no-one had to. Because I was standing in the bullpen when he and Leo and the rest of the Senior Staff marched off to war and I can read Leo's face like a book.

He thought that the President wasn't going to run.

The thought occurs to me that he must have changed his mind on the way over there, and that that's why he asked the reporter that he asked. I know CJ Cregg, I know how her mind works. And how the Press works, and how Mr Babish's mind works. They would have planted a reporter who would ask a medical question, moving the focus onto the President's health, before allowing the re-election question to be raised. I thought it was odd when that question was the first one asked, but obviously the President decided to change the game plan right there on his feet.

I wonder how Leo felt about that?

And as soon as the thought hits me, all I want to do is see him, talk to him, find out what's going on in his head. Unfortunately, I get the feeling that that's going to have to wait. Which is fine, I can handle that.

When the press conference ends, the crowd in the room doesn't disperse, choosing instead to mill around in small groups, and I overhear snatches of the conversations, mostly wondering about what happens now, hearings and Grand Juries, wondering if jobs in the private sector are still open to them. And no-one notices me, so I can slip out quietly and not worry about anyone talking to me.

I'm halfway down to my office when a sudden urge overtakes me, and for once in my life, I give into it. My desk and all the paperwork on it will still be there in twenty minutes, and I'll be better able to concentrate once I do what I need to do. So I go to the same nook that I stood in earlier on, watching them leave for the Press Conference, and I stand there again, waiting for them to come back.

A Presidential motorcade can move pretty fast, and it doesn’t take long before the doors fly open and in walks a crowd of agents and personnel, and in the midst of them all is Leo. I only get a fleeting glance of him, because he's moving so quickly, but there's something about him, something that maybe people wouldn't notice if they didn't know him as well as I do. There's something in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, that tells me he's surprised, but that he's happy about things. And the way he's moving tells me that he's got a thousand and one things to do before tomorrow morning, and I'm willing to bet that all of them are more important than making sure his girlfriend is happy.

And that's just fine with me. He'll call me when he's ready, and I'll be there.

Once I get that little look at him, I'm ready to go back to my office, and on my way there, I run into Donna and Margaret. Again, both of them are soaked to the skin, but they're wearing the biggest smiles on their faces. "Ainsley, hi!" Donna tells me. "Did you see it?"

"Who didn't?" I ask. "Mr Babish's office was packed."

Margaret nods. "You should have seen it over there," she notes.

"It was a zoo," Donna agrees.

"It looked that way on the news," I agree. "So many flashbulbs going off…and the noise…"

"I could hardly hear myself think, let alone the answer to the question," Donna sighs. "But when he said that…" Her voice trails off and she shakes her head, reliving the moment over.

"It was something else," I agree and the three of us share a smile before Margaret shakes herself.

"I'd better get back…Leo's going to be yelling."

She makes a hasty retreat, and Donna makes the same excuse, telling me that she's expecting to hear her name being yelled by Josh at any moment. And I smile at her and let her go, and get back to my office.

I haven't been working there for long when I get a call from Mr Babish, and he summons me to a meeting of all the Associate White House Counsels in his office, outlining his plans for the next few weeks and months, and the roles that we have to play in it. And once again, I feel some of my colleagues looking at me strangely, but I pay no attention to it. And when Mr Babish points out that, "It's not going to be easy. It's going to be brutal and bloody and unforgiving. But we are going to win. And if any of you have a problem with that, then there's the door," I don't miss the pointed look that he's giving me. But I meet his gaze head on, my chin rising in defiance, Gramma's posture lessons paying dividends, and I stare him down.

I go back to my office and work some more, but by the time the clock hits one, I'm done in. Functioning on auto-pilot, I switch everything off and grab my long black coat, holding it out and hoping against hope that I didn't get any dust from down here on it. Lord knows, it wouldn't be the first time that I've ruined my clothes in this place, and this is my best coat, the one that I only wear once in a blue moon. I'm going to need it now for protection from the storm, and once I slip it on, I finger the dollar bill in the pocket, the one that Leo gave me, the one that I've been carrying around with me since yesterday morning. I know that it sounds silly, but if I can touch it, I feel better somehow. And if I have to walk through the lions' den that the West Wing represents tonight, I need all the help, and all the luck, that I can get.

My luck holds, because no-one seems to notice me as I walk, and I'm pretty sure that most of the Senior Staff and assistants are still holed up planning battle strategy. But that's ok, because Leo's going to know where to find me. Once I get home, I flip the channel to CNN, and imagine my surprise when I see details on the MS disclosure all over the news, as well as speculation on who the Special Prosecutor will be (just who is the bloodiest and most Bartlet-hating member of my party anyway?) and various scenarios as to what might happen with regard to re-election. I realise that I really don't want to hear about it - after all, I'm going to be living it, and I've never been one of those women who want to peer into a crystal ball of their future, even if that crystal ball happens to be courtesy of Larry King.

I decide that I'm much better off taking a long hot shower, so I ensure that my answering machine is on and ready to go and that there's actually a tape in it (because Lord knows, it wouldn't be the first time) and head into my bathroom. And when the steam is such that I can hardly see an inch in front of me and the water begins to run cold, I jump out, pulling on my most comfortable sweat pants and sweater and go back into the living room, only to see no light blinking on the machine. Frowning at the phone, as if I could make it ring by the sheer force of my will, I head to the bedroom, towelling my hair, dragging a brush through it before beginning the long arduous blow-drying process. And even after that, there's still no phone call, and I find myself muttering as I pace the living room restlessly. "Where are you Leo?"

I go to the refrigerator, hoping that some food will take my mind of things, but I'm not the remotest bit hungry. And while normally that would scare me, tonight, I can't even work up the energy to be worried about it. I try to read a book, a magazine, but I can't concentrate. And the television is either showing Presidential scandal and intrigue on every channel, or some pathetic weep-a-minute movie of the week.

I'm about ready to tear my hair out when the phone rings.

And I jump about seven feet in the air, staring at it, because I'm suddenly afraid of what he's going to say. The President changed his mind about a decision that he'd made today - who's to say that Leo hasn't done the same? That he's changed his mind about the two of us?

I rapidly decide that I don't actually care if that's what he's going to say. Well, I do, but that's not important now. It's not as important as hearing his voice, as talking to him. I need to do that, or I really might lose my mind.

"Hello?" My voice is trembling, tentative, and I hate that.

"Ainsley? It's me."

His voice is that low, husky tone I've become familiar with over the past week, and it sends my already shaky legs even shakier, and I sink down on the chair beside the phone. "Hey," I say, and I can feel the smile spreading over my face.

"You asleep?"

"I couldn't sleep…too wired. Besides," I tell him frankly. "I was waiting for you."

"Yeah, there was a thing…" he says, his voice trailing off.

"I was watching you know," I tease gently, and when he doesn't respond, I realise that there must have been something else going on too.

"Can I see you?" he asks, and I'm surprised he feels he has to.

"Where?"

He doesn't hesitate. "How 'bout I meet you at the place?"

I don't hesitate either. "Twenty minutes?"

"Done."

He hangs up the phone, and I stare at the receiver, running his words through my head. The place. No-one else would know where we're talking about, but I know that he means the coffee shop that's near his apartment, the one that we started going to all those months ago, the night that he asked me out for coffee when his divorce became final. I don't know when it became a habit with us that we began meeting there, that it became our place, a fixture in our verbal shorthand. And it wasn't just to do with the fact that they have the best chocolate fudge cake that I've ever tasted in my life.

It was the company.

It was Leo.

But I didn't know that it was him, not then. It took a long time for me to realise that I was attracted to him, the night of the State of the Union. And it took even longer for me to do something about it, longer for us to act on it. That came only a week ago, when he came to me to tell me about the President's MS. That was the first time that I kissed him. And the first time we shared a bed together was only two nights ago, when he told me about Mrs Landingham.

I can't believe it hasn't been longer than that.

The streets of Washington are mostly deserted as I drive through them, the late hour meaning that I get to where I'm going quickly, although not as quickly as I'd like. Considering that even if I clicked my fingers and teleported there, it'd still take too long, I do pretty well. Even better, I find a parking space only a moment's walk from the coffee house and I all but run there.

He's already there, just like always, and I can see him as I pass the window, drumming his fingers against the table. He must see me through the window, because by the time that I come in the door, he's standing up, and he's got this huge beaming smile on his face, and I only hope that my legs are going to hold me up long enough to get over to him. The sight of him seems to infuse me with adrenaline, because I seem to be hurling myself into his arms, my grandmother's voice in the back of my head telling me that that's a very unladylike thing to do. Another thing that I'll have to apologise to her for later on, but when his arms wrap around me and he lifts me off the ground, I decide that Gramma would probably understand.

He sets me down gently, oh-so-gently, so gently that I'm not sure I even notice. I feel as if I'm walking on air right now. And he stares down at me and he does something that Leo McGarry has quite simply never ever done in public.

He kisses me.

And not some small innocent, this woman is my dear friend and quite like a daughter to me kiss. Oh no, this is a full blown kiss, the kind that makes my legs disappear and my head swim, the kind I never want to end.

But end it must, and while I would normally be looking around me to see who saw us, I can't look away from him, can't stop looking into his eyes. He might be the White House Chief of Staff, he might have a thousand and one things to do, but right now he's just Leo, and he's looking at me like a little boy who's just got just what he wanted for Christmas.

He leads me to our regular table, and I sit down, not where I usually sit in the chair across from him. Tonight I sit at the chair perpendicular to his, pulling it as close to the edge of the table as I can. As close to him as I can. Our joined hands are resting on top of the table, our legs touching each other underneath, and I can't stop smiling.

"Are you ok?" I ask him when I've recovered enough to speak.

"Better all the time," he tells me, and it might be a line, it might be a cliché, it might just be a load of hokum, but it's music to my ears. "I'm sorry I couldn't get out of there earlier but…"

"Leo, stop," I interrupt him. "I understand. It's a big night for you."

"For all of us," he tells me, before tilting his head. "You weren't sleeping were you?"

He asked me that before, and I'm not sure if he's just checking to see if I was lying before, or if it's slipped his mind. Either way, I shake my head. "I'm so glad you called," I tell him honestly. "I was going crazy…"

He shakes his head, and I know his mind is back on the events of the night. "I was in the sit room for hours…and trying to direct the staff…" he tells me, shaking his head. "I thought I'd never get out of there…everyone was going nuts, talking at once…Josh and Sam were bouncing off the walls, Toby was smoking cigars like crazy…and CJ swears that this is really it, she's gone!"

I laugh at that, so well able to imagine the emotions running high among the Senior Staff tonight. I felt like that, and I'm still a relatively new employee. What must it have been like for those on the Staff who were with the President from the beginning; those who got him elected? At that moment, our regular waitress comes over, and she already has a tray with our usual order filled on it. She puts the drinks and cakes down in front of us, smiling warmly. "I hope this is what you wanted?"

I look up at her, the smile never leaving my face. "It's perfect…I've been waiting for this." As I speak, I realise that I don't just mean the coffee and cake. I feel Leo squeeze my hand and I turn my head back to him, squeezing his hand back.

"I wanted to call you sooner…" he tells me. "But I couldn't. There was a thing…"

"I understand Leo…really. You're here now, that's what matters."

"Yeah." There's another squeeze of the hand and a warm smile.

"I couldn't believe the White House tonight," I tell him. "There was so much energy, so many people running around…it's like a different place than it was this morning."

"I know what you mean. People making plans, gearing up for a fight…it reminds me of the campaign, you know? It's just like the old days."

There's a question that I already know the answer to, but I've got to ask him anyway, have to know for sure. "And you really didn't know?"

"Not until he got up there. And when he paused…" He stops and shakes his head, back there in the room, hanging on to the President's every word.

"I know just what you mean." I reach out with my free hand and take a sip of my coffee, realising as I do that it's probably not the best thing for me to drink right now, wired as I am. I'll never get to sleep tonight at this rate. And then I look at Leo and realise that that might not be the worst thing in the world.

"I was so proud of him today Ainsley." His voice is soft and serious, and I pull myself back from the salacious direction in which my thoughts were heading. "With the funeral…and Haiti…and then all of this…I didn't know how he'd handle it."

Which brings me to my next point. I know this man, I know what he's like, what his priorities are. I know that he's spent most of the last couple of weeks worrying about the President for one reason or another, and he won't have given a thought to himself. But that's ok. That's what he has me for. "How are you handling it?"

He shrugs, but his hands tighten on mine. "I'm fine."

"Really?" I don't believe him and my voice reflects it.

"Yeah. I've got you, haven't I?"

And even though I thought of that just now, hearing it from him makes me blush. And reminds me of my earlier worries from this evening. What the President said at his press conference changes everything; any plans that Leo might have been making. It puts us under even more of a spotlight, us being the White House. It means that we're going to have every scandal sheet in the country looking under every rock that there is for dirt on us. If people found out about us, us being Leo and me, who knows what would result?

"So…" I hesitate when I speak, hating to ask the question, knowing that one of us has to bring it up. "What happens now?"

"Now?" He takes a sip of his cappuccino, shrugging. "Now, we get ourselves geared up for a long fight. Grand Jury. Re-election. Hoynes is mad as hell…Abbey's not too happy either…"

"Leo." I put my fork down, steeling my voice as much as I can. Because Lord knows, this is a road I don't want to go down. "That's not what I mean."

He sighs, putting down his fork too. "No. I know that."

I look at him, and picture the two of us sitting here, hand in hand, at a coffeehouse in the middle of the night. If anyone saw us, there'd be no doubt as to what's going on. "This…" I wave a hand between us. "…Could be a problem."

"I don't care."

I've heard that voice before. It's his Chief of Staff voice, his defiant voice, the one that says he's not going to be steered away from this course of action. And while I want to believe him, while I want to agree that that's the right thing to do, because it is what I want too, I know it's not that easy. "Leo…"

"Ainsley, I don't care. I'm not losing you over this. Let the Grand Jury ask about us. Let the press say what they will. We haven't done anything wrong. There's no conflict of interest, we're not the first couple to ever have a big age difference. We can get through this. If you want to."

OK. That speech just did him a power of good. And me. "You know I do," I tell him. "But…"

"No buts." Our hands are still joined and he brings them to his lips, and I am not, I am not going to cry. "I couldn't have got through these past few weeks without you. And if the rest of the world has a problem with us, I really don't care. Do you?"

And you know something? I really don't. "No," I tell him, proving my words by leaning over to kiss him. There's no-one here to see us, no-one who knows who we are, or at least, no-one who cares. It doesn't stop at one kiss of course, and when we pull away, I look into his eyes, and I see emotions in there that match my own. I'd forgotten how nice it is just to spend time with someone like this, when you know that you're on safe ground, when you know that you're both committed to see this through, no matter what other people might say or do or think.

We linger over dessert, taking our time, savouring the moment. And when we're done, he pays the bill and we walk arm in arm to his apartment. We're making small talk, laughing and generally being silly, and I can't remember what he says, but I stop and turn to look at him, and he kisses me, right there on the street before we continue on our way.

And later still, when he's fallen asleep, I lie beside him and watch him, and I wonder about how things can change in twenty-four hours. In the morning, he zipped me into my black dress and held me as I tried not to cry. And in the night, he lifted me into the air and kissed me in public, such was his elation.

And I know that this isn't forever. That this feeling won't last. Because in a few short hours, we're going to have to head back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, and the vultures are going to be circling. We're nowhere near out of the woods yet.

But we're together.

And that's something.

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