Rating: PG
Pairing: Wesley/Ellie
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site The Band Gazebo (http://helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) Anywhere else please ask first.
Summary: He looks at her across the room …
Author's Note: Set in the same universe as my other stories for this pairing, New Assignment, Almost Close Enough, The Price of Choice and Between Sisters. Though this one may stand alone.

He knows that when people write about the beautiful Bartlet women that she's always the last one mentioned. The First Lady is stunning, poised and regal in a manner that betrays her upbringing, as well as conveying the toughness that comes from qualifying as a doctor, a surgeon yet, in a time when she was very much a trailblazer.

Elizabeth, the eldest daughter, is considered by many to be the most beautiful of the three children, her mother's long dark hair and confident attitude helping her make the most of her willowy body. Prom Queen, Homecoming Queen, there wasn't an honour like that in high school that she didn't collect, and her husband is just as handsome. Their daughter, Annie, shows all the signs of being a stunner too, just like her parents, like her grandmother.

Like her Aunt Zoey, the new doyenne of the fashion houses and paparazzi, thanks to her new boyfriend's influence. When he saw her for the first time at Christmas, he couldn't believe that this sophisticated woman was the same coltish girl that had gone to France a year previously, and from the whispers going around the Treasury Department, he wasn't the only one. The newspapers had been full of pictures of her, of her entire family going to church on Christmas morning, and the headlines had been full of President Bartlet's beautiful women, mentioning them by name.

But they'd all but ignored her, and he can't understand it, because to his eyes, she's the most beautiful of them all.

He knows she doesn't think that, would never believe that in a million years. She's spent too long believing that she can never make her father happy, hiding behind that mane of long hair of hers, stuttering when she speaks, avoiding Washington when she can. John's Hopkins in Baltimore is a great excuse for her to stay away, because she can always claim to be studying more, tell her father that she can do better, work harder. He knows better than to say it to her, but he's always wondered how much of her desire to be a doctor was born of the belief that her father never loved her. After all, if he loved her mother, and her mother was a doctor, maybe he'd love her if she was one too.

Except that some of the Friday nights she claimed to be working, she was sitting in a darkened movie theatre, holding his hand, hoping no-one would see.

He's never told her, but he spent more time looking at her than looking at those movies. At the way the flickering light from the screen played across her skin, creating shadows and patterns that he longed to trace with his hand. The way her face would light up when she smiled, the way her eyes would dance when she laughed. And very occasionally, when tears came to her eyes, he would have to fight very hard the urge to reach out and brush them away.

She's not crying now though, as he looks at her across the ballroom. She's standing with her two sisters, laughing and talking, champagne in her hand as befits an Inaugural Ball. Someone somewhere takes a photo of them, and he knows that in tomorrow's paper, he'll see that picture, and he'll still think that she's the most beautiful of the three. Her dress is long and crimson, the long straight skirt sweeping the floor, the beaded bodice sparkling when she walks. Her hair is swept up, defying gravity, her makeup flawless, and while as a Secret Service Agent, he's not supposed to notice things like this, he has to admit he did a double take when he saw her tonight. The fact that he's not the only one, that even Ron Butterfield's usually imperturbable face registered surprise, makes him feel only slightly better.

Beautiful as she looks tonight though, he has a memory that can trump even that, a memory that's over a year old by now, but one that still evokes strong memories in him. The memory of Thanksgiving twelve months past, of the Bartlet Family Thanksgiving spent at Camp David, over President Bartlet's strong objections. He hadn't known if Ellie would be there or not, had only seen her a handful of times from afar since he'd requested a transfer off her detail because they'd both known that they were getting too close to crossing a line they had no business crossing.

He'd thought that time away from her had made the feelings go away, but the second he'd seen her, he'd known he'd been fooling himself, and he'd seen the same realisation in her eyes.

What had made them give in to temptation, he still can't say, but every time he pictures that deserted cabin, the two of them lying in bed together, limbs entwined, her skin pressed against his, he knows he doesn't regret it, though he knows that he should.

He just regrets that it can never happen again.

He remembers what he told her that day, remembers pressing a kiss to her top of her head, murmuring that she was beautiful. Remembers her response, that that had been the first time that she'd ever felt beautiful, not just there like that, but whenever he looked at her.

He remembers thinking that that was the saddest thing he'd ever heard in his life, wishing that things could be different, for both of them.

But he'd had to leave her there, tears in her eyes, and he'd once again fought hard the urge to wipe them away.

She'd still been beautiful though, just like she's beautiful now when she catches his eye and smiles surreptitiously at him. He wants to smile back, but he can't, so instead he doesn't look away, holds her gaze, hoping she knows that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder, and he sees her just fine.