Disclaimer: I'm unofficial; I don't own The West Wing.

Description: Pre-Series. Bartlett wins the Democratic presidential nomination in 1998. A young campaign staffer celebrates with dessert and a quick call to Mom and Dad. Molly Morello is not the only person from back home who's proud. Dialogue.

Author's Note: Inspired as much by the show as by my own parents, who are fans of The West Wing, but bigger fans of me. For that, I am so grateful. The Donna of the series seemed to get by her own, without much support or guidance from her family. But I don't believe Molly Morello is the only person from back home who's proud of her. The title is not inspired by Matt Nathanson's song, but I'll quote him anyway.

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This time, I'll have no fear
I'll be standing strong and tall
—Little Victories, Matt Nathanson

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"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom!"

"Donna! Oh, Jim? Jimmy? It's Donna on the phone; get the—"

"Got it!"

"Hi, Dad!"

"Gosh, you know, you sound crystal clear! Great connection. Must be those White House phone lines."

"I'm not calling from the White House, Dad, come on."

"The plane, then? That big plane?"

"Daddy, no. I'm in my room at the hotel. We won the nomination last night; the Democratic Party's nomination. Congressman Bartlett is the Democratic Presidential Nominee. He's not the President—yet."

"'Yet!' That's my girl!"

"You're in your hotel room? You usually call collect."

"I know, Mom, and I'll go back to that, to save my cell minutes, but, well, we celebrated last night, everybody together, and it was so— Oh, it was the best night! But we went straight back to work. We barely slept! Just shook ourselves out this morning and dove back in. And I've been dying to call you."

"We didn't expect to hear from you; we've been looking at the news on TV."

"I know, but I wanted to talk to you, and Josh knew I wanted to, so he gave me a couple of hours tonight to have dinner and he told me to call. He pretended to remind me, like it was his idea. He told me to get room service and he said, 'Don't forget to order dessert, and don't forget to call home.' And he said, 'It's on the campaign!' like the entire Democratic Party is buying me dinner."

"And did you?"

"Here we are, on the phone right now, so . . . "

"Ha. I meant dessert. Did you order dessert with your campaign room service dinner?"

"No, Mom, not exactly . . . I ordered dessert and only dessert. I couldn't decide between the crème brûlée sampler and the brownie sundae, so I got both. And they're both delicious. This is hands-down the best brownie sundae I have ever tasted in my whole entire life."

"Why? What's on it?"

"I don't even know. Honestly? I think it's the sweet, sweet taste of victory."

"Well, you've earned it. All of it. The victory, the room service . . . "

"Oh my gosh, I said the dumbest thing when Josh told me to order the room service. The first thing that came to mind was like, turn down service, the clean towels and the making the bed! I mean, we haven't had the time or the money to sit around in hotel rooms ordering food, even once the campaign could afford the kind of hotels that even offer room service, so that didn't occur to me. So when he said 'room service,' the first thing that came out of my mouth was, 'You have to call for that?' I was thinking, 'What kind of hotel is this, where you have to put in a special request for a clean towel?'"

"Well, I can't say I blame you, when you've stayed in places where you practically had to provide your own!"

"Luckily, I don't think Josh really got it. He just said, 'It's a short order cook in the kitchen, not a mind reader!' and it clicked, what he meant. But oh my God—'You have to call for that?' Sometimes I think I'm too stupid to live!"

"Donnatella, you know that could not be further from the truth."

"Well, let's hope you're right, because this is the big leagues now. A Presidential campaign. I can't even . . . When I think about it: twenty-four hours ago, I was just working on a primary campaign. Most people don't vote in the primaries; most people are barely aware of the primaries!"

"This is, in fact, the first time I've ever paid attention to a primary campaign. You've opened our eyes, Donna. And your mother and I are now the condo board's resident political experts. We've been doing some campaigning of our own, on your behalf."

"On behalf of Congressman Bartlett, Dad."

"I don't know if it's Bartlett himself, since you're the one he brags about. Every morning, he waits until one of the neighbors is out at the end of the walk, and then he hustles out to pick up the newspaper, because he wants to tell someone a story about you."

"And everybody asks, 'Where's Donna this week?'"

"Aw. That's so— Tell everyone 'Hi' for me. And 'Thank you.' But tell them to vote for Congressman Bartlett because he's the best man for the job. Even if you don't follow the whole platform, there's at least one domestic policy issue that's meaningful to almost anyone, even those who don't consider themselves political. I sent you that outline; you could—"

"We've got it on the fridge, sweetheart."

"Oh, okay. Good. Sorry; once I get going, you know, it's kinda hard to— Speaking of campaigns, I should probably get back to the war room. And I finished my ice cream, anyway."

"You are eating okay, right? I know you're celebrating, but . . . "

"I'm fine, Mom, I promise."

"And how are you on money? Why don't I make a transfer to your checking account this week, just to help you cover your expenses?"

"Thank you, Dad, really, but I'm fine. You can quit it with the 'not-so-secret' fifty dollar deposits every week. I'm on salary now; I'm full-time; I'm official."

"Okay, okay. Just twenty-five dollars, then."

"Daddy . . . I appreciate it. Truly, I do. But I'm getting by on my own."

"Well, those collect phone calls must be costing you a fortune. I'm sending you enough to cover those."

"Dad. The collect calls get charged to you, I believe. You already pay for the phone calls."

"What's that, Donna? I can't quite hear you. The connection's all fuzzy. Why don't you try calling again when you do get to the White House?"

"Good-bye, Dad."

"Please call before then, sweetheart."

"I will, Mom. I'll call next week."

"I'll be waiting by the phone. I love you. And I'm so proud of you. Congratulations!"

"Mom, it's not me. It's the Congre— Thank you. For everything. Goodnight."