Author:  Cynthia Arrow

Disclaimer:  I'm not Aaron Sorkin.  I'd be him for free, I swear.

Rating:  R, for innuendo and a couple of big nasty curse words.

Note:  I don't hate Saint Patrick's Day, and I honestly don't think the holiday even registers on their radar, as busy as they are.  But, oh well, I needed a jumping off point for some frivolity.  Also, I apologize for the errors in here.  I just wrote it, and I'm going out of town tomorrow.  I wanted it up before it was out of date. 

Title:  Saint Patrick's Night

It was well past dinner time when I wandered into Will's office.  I've worked much longer days before, but that night I was zapped..  It probably had to do with several things.  We were working on some particularly challenging legislation with some pain-in-the-ass congressmen, or should I say congresspeople, I had a headache, and it was Monday.  Oh, yes, and it was also that lovely holiday with even less reason for existence than Valentine's Day.  I think its only real function in the world is to promote heavy drinking (who in the hell needs encouragement to do that, anyway?) and the color green.

If I saw one more green shirt, tie, shoe, plate, cup, napkin, or shamrock, I might have just vomited on whoever was passing by.  It was not a good night.  Did I mention that Amy was also making my life a living hell.  A living hell in the 'I-wanna-screw-you-on-the-desk' sorta way, but misery nonetheless.  I was deeply regretting my cocky attitude that set Mrs. Bartlett off on the search that brought Amy anywhere near my business.  But that's another story.

So I was walking down the hallway when I looked in on Will.  He was staring at the window between his office and Toby's, or should I say where the window had been.  I honestly think that's what got Will the job—being tougher on that window than Toby thought possible. 

He was standing there, looking like he had possibly forgotten everything he ever knew.  I didn't envy him, really.  The burden of the staff quitting because of him, not to mention the weight of re-writing nine speeches with the help of four teenagers who were neither poli-sci majors nor communications majors.  He was damn lucky to have that sister of his around.  She reminds me of Donna, but she's much less obtrusive.  And a hell of a lot less co-dependent.  It probably helps that she's his sister, not his assistant.

Speaking of Donna, she plastered the office with green Sunday night after I left, so I walked into Emerald City Monday.  At this point in the night, I was looking at three more hours of staring at the green.  Which is why I stepped into Will's blissfully lime-free office space.  I didn't say anything.   I wasn't even sure he heard me until he turned and let out a tiny moan.

"I hate Mondays.  No, I loathe them.  Abhor.  Detest.  Can't stand."

"Anything else?"

"Fuck Saint Patrick's Day."

I raised my eyebrows and sat down on the desk.  "Bailey.  Irish?"

He sat down, taking a deep breath, I think attempting to seem normal again.  "Aren't we all Irish today?"

"If the holiday-mongers have their way."

"I noticed Toby worked from home today.  I'm certain that's not a coincidence."

"Last year, he ripped all the decorations down within three hours.  The assistants didn't speak to him for three days."

"So is it a female thing, then?"

"No, it's an assistant thing.  I think they get off on making us crazy.  CJ is like us.  She even refuses to allow green in her office on Saint Paddy's Day.  Leo took off his green tie for a meeting once during the first term.  The press pool…well, let's just say you can pick out the newbies by looking for the festive garments."

"Is she still here?"

"Probably." 

I watched Will pace back and forth, noting the tell-tale wobble.  His eyes darted sometimes, and other times they glazed open, staring at nothing at all.  He hadn't been asleep for some time, I could tell.  He was way the hell past frazzled.

I said, "So, how are things going?"

"Fine."

"Really?  Not too much work now that the staff quit?"

"No.  It's great.  The load is lightening.  We're already looking for replacements, too.  The girls, well, they're great.  Hard workers.  The vitality of young, idealistic minds.  They're not cute enough to really distract me, and they seem to give me a patronizing reverence that I find at turns annoying or empowering.  Maybe empowering isn't a good word.  Maybe I feel like a commanding presence in a leadership position in the highest office in the country, except my staff watches The Bachelorette and discusses it every day, reminding me of my youth spent in politics when I should have been out using what charm and intelligence I had to get drunk and get laid.  Not to mention that not a one, not a single one of them has a college education, and probably, if statistics are good for anything, at least one of those hardworking young ladies will never finish college—because she worked for me and decided she was tired of self-important assholes.  See what I've done to the future of America.  She'll probably turn republican."  He looked genuinely forlorn.

"Will, I'm guessing here that you haven't slept in since, oh, Saturday night."

"Two hours.  Three Friday night."

"And none last night?"

"No significant accumulation during my naps."

"What are you working on now?"

"I don't know.  There has to be something."

I walked to the door.  "Come with me."

"What?"

"You just said you have no idea what you're doing right now.  You look like hell.  You sound like the things I'm too chicken to say on a very bad day.  And you smell like…well, at least not offensive.  Yet."

"Where are we going?" he said.  He followed me into the hallway like a lost dog.  I almost expected him to fall out on the floor.

"To find CJ."

*

They came into my office looking sad and tired.  Will looked much sadder and much more tired. 

Josh said, "I have a new soldier for the great war on green." 

Josh pointed to the couch and Will sat. 

"Will," I said, "Why is it we hate Saint Patrick's Day so much?"

"Do we need a reason?"

"He'll do."

Josh crossed the room to my side.  "I think we need to get him away from this building."

"I think we need to get us away from this building."

"Two birds.  But do we know any bars that aren't plastered in Irish?"

Will stood up, which looked like a real feat, and slammed his hand down my desk.

"Who needs bars?  All we need is a fifth of Cuervo and somebody's apartment."

I smiled, completely surprised by this side of Will Bailey.  If I'm honest, a little turned on.  But that must have been the exhaustion.

"Are you Irish?"

"Do I seem Irish?"

"Not drinking Cuervo.  You had better make that Jack Daniels.  Tequila makes Josh sick.  Of course, alcohol does that anyway."

"See," Will said, serious as a heart attack, " the Cuervo is for me."  He waved his hand around and said, "You two can get whatever you like."  He turned and left.

Josh smirked and followed Will out the door.  And somewhere in the ill-planned insanity I agreed to have the two pretty boys over to my apartment.  It still smells like puke in my bathroom.

*

They called me after Josh threw up the first time.  I'm like the first call on the Josh-is-knee-deep-in-it-now list.  Will actually seemed to be holding his liquor quite well.  When I got to CJ's and commented on this, he snorted.

"Irish catholic.  We're drunks.  Politician.  Also drunks.  Was almost a lawyer.  Would have been a drunk."

CJ moaned and lead me to the sofa.  There was an empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a half-full bottle of tequila. 

"He talks.  So.  Damn.  Much.  When he drinks."  Aside from the slow-motion, CJ was doing well.

I said, "Where's my patient?"

"Throwing up.  Again."

"Please tell me he didn't have any of the tequila."

"He didn't have.  Any.  Any any any.  Of the tequila."

Josh took that opportunity to stumble out of the bathroom.  I had seen him drunk before, but not miserable sick wanna-knock-myself-unconscious drunk.  Part of me was so angry at being awakened and watching a very intelligent man behave like an ass.  The other part felt sorry for him.  Until he spoke.

"It's your fault.  Damn stupid green shit everywhere."

I appealed to CJ, who seemed a bit saner.  "What?"

"Your Saint Patrick's Day decorationorama."

I was slightly mad now.  "You can't blame Saint Patrick's Day on me."

"Why not?  I blame everything else on you."

I started to argue but he covered his mouth and went into the bathroom again.

"CJ, what did you three do?"

"Nothing fun.  Bellyached.  About our sad, depressing lives."  Her eyes went vacant as she stared into the muted television set.  I decided maybe I should check on Josh. 

He was hugging the toilet, resting his head on the seat.

"Why don't they pad these things?"

"Some have pads."

"I'm getting one.  I'm getting a padded toilet seat.  Maybe it will remind me every day why drinking is very very very very very bad.  Why are you here?"

"To get your drunk ass home."

"Such language, Donnatella.  I'll puke in your car.  I'm a rotten drunk."

"I know this, Josh.  I also know we're taking your car."

He eyed me carefully for a minute or two and rested his head back on the seat.  "I love you so much even though you're a mean, mean woman.  You're so good to me, even if you make me nuts.  If you promise to never put up Saint Patrick's Day decorations again I'll give you tomorrow off."

"I think coming to get you at one in the morning is enough to warrant a day off."

"Promise," he said.  Then he started to heave.  I sat down and rubbed his back, wincing at the sound of everything he'd eaten that day reappearing.  I got up and wet a washcloth so he could wipe his face and mouth.

"That's it," he croaked.  "I have nothing left inside my body.  You're still here, Donna?"

"I wouldn't leave CJ to have to deal with you."

"Man, she can hold her liquor.  Donna, you can't have tomorrow off.  I will need you way too much."

"You always need me.  But I see your point.  Somehow, I'm going to be blamed for this anyway, so I should make things easier.  How about I get Friday off?"

"Donna, can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"No."

"Dammit.  I swear we'll talk about this tomorrow.  Just, please, get me home before I throw up again."

When we got back into the living room, Will was passed out on the couch.

"Anybody know his sister's number?" CJ asked.

"It's stored in my cell."  I started to write it down on the pad of paper by the phone.

CJ stood up and moved away from Will.  "I need him out of here."

"Tired of grown men puking in your bathroom?"

"No.  I'm afraid I'll try something."

I gave her a strange look.  Josh sighed and put his hand on my shoulder.

"She gets real horny when she's drunk."

"Ask Toby," she said, and I tried hard to forget it.  Way too much information.

Josh smiled and said, "Tried to stick her tongue in my mouth earlier."

"I thought you liked it," she said, almost angry.

"I'm just hoping I'll remember it."

"You know I'll never admit to it," she said, resting her knees on the sofa cushions and hanging her arms over the back.

"Donna heard you admit the truth."

I piped up, "Donna can tell her own version of the truth.  It might involve walking in on the three of you mostly naked."

"You wouldn't," Josh said, eyes getting big.  Then he smirked.  "You wouldn't.  Nobody would believe you."

"But imagine the mental images passed around the West Wing.  And the speculation it would start.  I can hear them at the water cooler now:  which of them do you suppose was better?  That's a place I'm certain you don't want to go."

"Donna," CJ moaned.

I looked Josh dead in the eye.  "Thursday and Friday."

"Deal."

"In writing." 

He took the paper and passed it back to me.  "I can't.  The paper is blurry."

"How can the paper—Okay, I'll write it out.  Some people think my handwriting is yours anyway."  I started scrawling on a sheet of paper from the telephone message pad.  Finally, I handed it to him.  "You sign."

I made CJ sign, too.  Good thing they didn't read it.

I, Josh Lyman, promise Donna Thursday and Friday off.  If I don't follow through, it will be explained to Leo McGarry why I want a cushioned toilet seat, in addition to why I dream about CJ…and sometimes Will Bailey.  And I will wear green every Friday.

Joshua Diane Lyman

Claudiaj.    

I got my days off.  Something tempts me to frame that paper and leave it on his desk anyway.

.the end.