By Lacy

Just as I promised Donna, I go home and change into clothes more appropriate for a Saturday afternoon meeting with the President. When I arrive at the White House, I go directly to the Oval Office. I have no desire to prolong this any longer than necessary.

Mrs. Landingham looks up from her computer as I approach her desk. She takes a moment to scrutinize my clothing, which makes me wonder if I should have opted for the tie.

"Mrs. Landingham," I greet her. I feel as though I am about to meet with someone I have never met. A very powerful someone that I have never met.

"Josh," she responds in a less than enthusiastic tone. "The President wishes to meet with you in the Residence." It is clear from her delivery that she attempted to discourage the President from this decision.

"Did you up his security detail?" I joke. I realize that I am long past trying to appease this woman.

"He wouldn't let me," she responds, and the look on her face has never been more serious.

"Thank you, ma'am."

I exit through the back doors, past the soldiers and Secret Service agents on duty, and along the outdoor portico. The Secret Service agent at the entry to the Residence, nods at me and then speaks into his wrist-mike as he opens the door.

"Harvard has arrived." I smile. I love my codename. He is, no doubt, informing the agents stationed outside the President's room, so that they can then inform their Protect-ee.

I ascend the red-carpeted stairs into the First Family's private residence, until I am stopped by yet another Secret Service agent.

"Mr. Lyman?" he asks. He is all bulk and leashed fury. He frightens me which, I suspect, is mostly his purpose.

"Yes, " I reply, hoping that was not my voice that just squeaked.

"The President is in the Salon."

Great, I think. At least I will not have to meet with him in the Bedroom. That could be...well, that could be off-putting.

"Thanks," I answer.

A porter opens the dual salon doors for me, just before I can reach for the knobs. I thank him quietly before entering the room.

President Bartlet stands in front of the salon fireplace. He has one hand shoved into the pocket of his worn blue jeans and he is wearing his favorite Notre Dame sweatshirt. He is sipping from a milkshake in a crystal glass that clearly came from the White House Kitchen. I clasp my hands behind my back because they are shaking slightly, since my nerves have gone into overdrive.

"Milkshakes in Waterford crystal?" I say to break the silence.

"I know," he chuckles as he holds up the glass. "It's the little things about having this job that never cease to amaze me." He points to a chair, giving me permission to sit in his presence. I waste no time sitting down. The President looks me up and down and sighs, exasperatedly. "I'm not accepting your resignation, Josh."

"My...? What?" This has come completely out of leftfield, and the expression on my face must clue the President into this fact.

"I assumed, because you wanted to speak with me alone about a personal matter that you...."

"No, sir," I say.

"Because, quite frankly, it wouldn't surprise me if you wanted to get out of this madhouse."

"I love this madhouse, sir."

"Good," he responds with a smile. "Because I won't accept your resignation."

"Well, sir," I begin. I decide to dive right in, especially considering that I only have five minutes. "After you hear what I've come to say, you might be asking me for my resignation."

"Before you say anything else, Josh, I want to know one thing. If you worked any place else but the White House, would I be reading about this in the Post?"

"I highly doubt it, sir."

"Then go on."

I take a deep breath. "I've fallen in love, sir." The words spill forth from me, and I can feel my forehead crinkle up as I wait for his response.

"Okay," he says. The expression on his face darkens. "I'm not seeing the problem, Josh."

"Well, this person, sir--"

"Is someone I know?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's not Zoey, is it? Because I think that's illegal."

"Zoey's twenty, sir. It's not illegal."

"What are you telling me?"

At this point, I realize the conversation has ended up in a place I never intended for it to go. "This isn't happening at all the way I pictured it," I say. "It's not Zoey, sir."

"Thank God. I was about to put you and Charlie in a room and let you duke it out. Then, I was going to ask for your resignation."

"It's Donna, sir."

"Donna?"

"Donna."

"Your assistant, Donna?"

"That's the one."

"You've fallen in love with your assistant?"

"Yes, sir."

"And does she reciprocate these feelings?"

"Completely, sir."

"She's a good woman, Josh."

"I am well aware of that, sir." There is nothing I can do now except answer his questions -- and hold on for the ride.

"Am I going to have to have her reassigned?"

"I hope not...sir."

"What did Leo have to say about this?"

I cringe. I was hoping he would conveniently forget about Leo. I should know better, since the President has a never conveniently forgotten a thing in his life. Especially, when it's something that can make one of his subordinates extremely uncomfortable.

"I haven't passed this by Leo yet, sir."

"You haven't...? Decided to go straight to the top, did you?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is it you hoped to gain from bypassing your direct supervisor?"

"I...we were hoping for your blessing, Mr. President."

"Ah," he responds. "The Presidential Blessing. I'm not sure that's really on my list of Constitutional duties."

"I'm pretty sure it's not, Mr. President."

"We? Where is Donna, by the way? She chicken out?"

"No, sir. She's in the hospital." It truly surprises me that Leo did not inform the President of Donna's condition. The President has always been an incredibly compassionate man, especially in regards to his staff.

"In the hospital?" he asks, surprised. "What happened? Is it serious?" His compassionate nature asserts itself and, once again, he has not disappointed me.

"It's serious to me, sir. She was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer and Acute Panic Disorder."

"Dear God," he cries.

"She's doing much better now, sir. She's getting out tomorrow."

"Acute Panic Disorder?"

"Yes, sir. Delayed onset," I explain. "It seems that we weren't the only ones affected by the shooting."

"Oh, of course. Is this going to be a problem, Josh?"

"I don't believe so, Mr. President." I look at my crappy watch and see that I have long surpassed my five minutes. I am not about to remind the President. "You see, sir, part of the problem was that keeping our relationship a secret was really wearing on her."

"How long have you been together?"

"About two weeks, sir. The thing is, Mr. President, that we want to go public."

"Public?"

"Yes, sir. Our relationship isn't something we should have to hide, sir. It's not dirty and it's not an affair."

"I understand."

"You do?"

"Yes. Tell me, Josh. What would you say if I told you I can't have two people in my White House working together and dating each other?"

I have just been slammed in the gut with a baseball bat. I am being told to make a choice. I had hoped the President could see his way clear to supporting us in this endeavor. My mouth gapes open and closed like a dying fish. "I would say, sir," I finally find my voice, "that you should be prepared to accept my resignation."

"Okay, then."

I think I am choking.

"Relax, Josh. All I said was 'okay, then'. Don't read anything into it."

"You're not firing me?"

"I thought we cleared that up."

"Are you going to fire, Donna?"

"Have you taken leave of your senses? What am I talking about?" he asks himself. "You're in love. Of course, you've taken leave of your senses. I can't fire Donna, Josh. You would be less than useless to me without her."

"No argument there, sir. So, if I may ask, what was that about?"

"I just wanted to be sure this wasn't a relationship that was going to come back and bite me in the ass in six months. I wanted to see how much you were prepared to give up."

"Oh."

"Bubba!" The President yells in the direction of the doors. Within half a second the burly agent from earlier bursts through the door. From the tight expression on his face, I could see that he expected to find me with my hands wrapped around the President's throat. Assured that the President is secure, the agent relaxes a notch.

"Yes, sir?"

"Talk to your wrist, and see if you can get someone in the West Wing to locate Mr. McGarry. I need him up here."

"Yes, sir."

After a moment of Secret Service discussions, we are told that Leo is on his way up. My face drops in to my hands.

"His name is Bubba?" I ask while we wait.

"Well, no," the President replies, "but he looks like a Bubba, doesn't he? I can never remember their names, anyway."

"I see, sir."

President Bartlet approaches the settee across from my chair and settles into the corner of it. He leans back and crosses his legs, his left ankle on his right knee. Just then, the doors open and Leo McGarry breezes into the room.

"You rang," he smirks, and then notices that I am in the room. Upon noticing me, he wipes the smile off his face and becomes 'serious Leo'

"You owe me two hundred dollars, Leo."

"What?" he asks, astounded. And then, "Oh!"

"I think I won the pool by six months."

"Are you serious?"

"One hundred percent."

"And this is official?"

"Straight from horse's mouth."

"It's about damn time."

I watch this with utter disbelief; however, it's not until the President says 'straight from the horse's mouth' that I actually realize they are talking about me.

"Wait a minute!" I interrupt. "You knew, already?"

"We've known for a long time, Josh," the President answers.

"And you had a bet going? Where was I?"

"I think you were doped up on morphine at the time." Leo responds. "Besides, the subject of a bet usually isn't present when the wager is made."

"So, does this mean we get the Presidential Blessing?"

"You want me to give a speech?" he asks, facetiously.

"It wouldn't hurt, sir."

"You want to go public? Seriously?" Leo asks.

"We want this over as soon as possible, Leo. We just want to go back to our regular lives."

"I understand, Josh," the President says.

"Thank you, sir. We have to do it quickly, because CJ's been getting questions from a guy."

"I see." The President contemplates the implications of this for a moment as he strokes his chin. "Leo, get the staff together. We're going to have to orchestrate this."

Leo nods sharply and heads for the door. "Yes, Mr. President."

"Oh, and Leo?"

"Yes, sir?" He stops and turns around.

"Just for giggles, let's meet in the Situation Room."

"Yes, sir."

After Leo leaves, I face the President again. "You knew?"

"Everybody knew, Josh."

"Who's everybody?"

"Anybody with more than two brain cells to rub together."

"Oh," I say, dumbly. "Okay."

The President throws an arm around my shoulder as we exit the room. While we walk in the direction of the Situation Room, he tells me that, even though he did not know my father, he thinks my father would approve. He tells me he thinks I could not have made a better choice.

I couldn't agree more.

TBC

****