Title: Necklaces, Gifts and Names
Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Bruno/Margaret
Spoilers: The Black Vera Wang
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.topcities.com) Anywhere else please ask first.
Summary: Bruno thinks about his relationship with Margaret.
Author's Note: This one is all Nora's fault…she saw that scene when she saw the tape at my house, and begged me to write something, anything, about these two…there was something about cleaning my room and depositing large sums of money in my bank account that won me over…although teaching my class would have got her a series, but I don't think she realised that!

***

The first gift he'd ever given her had been a necklace, her name on a chain of gold. It had been a surprise to her, he knew that. He'd tried to downplay it, make light of it, telling her that someone had told him to give her the red box. She'd been curious, suspicious even, looking at it at first as if it was going to bite her, and he hadn't stayed around to see her opening it, instead going into Leo's office for a quick conversation with him. When he'd gone back out to her desk, she was standing waiting for him, with a smile on her face that he'd never seen before, and knew instantly that he'd never get tired of seeing. "Mr Gianelli," she'd said to him, and he'd smiled back at her.

"You can call me Bruno."

She'd kept that same smile on her face as he'd walked out.

He'd told her later that that smile was the first gift she'd ever given him.

She loved that necklace. She wore it all the time, never taking it off, and she always told people who complimented her on it where she got it, who gave it to her. The story caused consternation among a great many people; those who knew him, those who knew of him. They couldn't believe that he would do something so unexpectedly romantic.

He couldn't quite believe it either; she just had that effect on him.

She loved that necklace, but that didn't mean that she couldn't tease him about it, and she did, often. She would tell him that he had to give her something like that, had to make sure that she was wearing it, because it was the only way that he'd ever remember her name, know that he wasn't talking to Stacy, or Gertrude, or whatever other name he'd come up with that day.

She'd told him that for the first time on their first date. He'd got her out of the office at a respectable hour, taken her to a nice restaurant, with candles on the tables and soft music playing. She'd worn a black dress, very simple and elegant he thought, and the only jewellery she wore was the necklace. She'd apologised for her appearance, telling him she didn't have much time to get ready, and blushed when he told her that she looked beautiful.

That had been when she presented him her theory of why he got her that necklace, and he'd shaken his head, telling her that he remembered everything about her. She'd lifted one eyebrow in a perfect arch, daring him without a word to prove it, and he'd never been one to refuse a dare.

"The first time I met you was in Leo's office when I first started on the campaign. You were in a blue and white checked suit, and you were pissed at Leo because he made the appointment with me himself and didn't go through you. You asked him who I was, and he told you that I was a strategist. That I'd got five senators elected, and three governors. That I got Hacket elected where they hadn't elected a Democrat in forty-six years. And that I got the Prime Minister of Israel elected. He also told you that it was possible I'd never voted in my life. He was wrong by the way, you can tell him that if you want."

She'd just stared at him, too stunned to even blink, and he'd shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. "I remember everything about you," he repeated.

That, she told him, she considered the second gift that he'd given her. That knowledge that he remembered her, that he was interested in her, that he wasn't just playing some kind of game.

Her insecurity surprised him, because he'd thought that she'd have figured it out way before then; that his pretence that he couldn't remember her name was just that; a pretence. A way of making sure that he stood out in her mind, that she remembered him. She'd been amazed at that too; amazed that he would be that insecure. He'd pointed out to her the men that she worked with on a daily basis. The President of the United States. Advisors to the President. Congressmen, Senators, the occasional Prime Minister or some other head of state.

Men who were at the top of their profession, men who had worked hard, achieved much.

He'd wanted to stand out, he told her.

She'd grinned, telling him that he had.

That, he told her, had been the second gift that she'd given him.

The first date had been perfect as far as first dates go. The food was perfect, the conversation never stopped, and she smiled throughout the whole evening. He'd brought her home and had kissed her on the cheek, making sure that she was safely inside her apartment before he left. The next morning there had been flowers on her desk, waiting for her when she got in, and she'd smiled at him when he came in to see Leo, in full view of Leo and the rest of the Senior Staff. He'd quite enjoyed the looks of surprise on their faces.

Mind you, he found himself often wearing a look of surprise on his face when it came to her too. Quirky was one word that he always heard used to describe her, and he had to admit that it fit. It wasn't his favourite choice of adjective though; he preferred the term wonderfully odd. She'd roared with laughter when he'd first presented that term to her, telling him that it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about her. On a whim, he'd got it printed for her on a T-shirt, and she'd laughed uproariously once again. He'd got it in large, and it swamped her slim frame, and she ended up using it as a nightshirt, and it forever brought a smile to his face in the mornings, when she'd stumble bleary-eyed from his bed, hair sticking up all over the place, mumbling about needing a few hours extra sleep, if not days.

For that matter, her laugh had been a surprise for him. He'd seen her around the West Wing for almost a year before their first date. He'd thought of her the same way that everyone thought of her; the wonderfully odd, yet very strait-laced, very able, very professional assistant of Leo McGarry. He knew from the way she stood up to Leo over the appointments, from the way she absolutely refused to take any shit from him, that there was far more to her than appearances suggested, and that had been one of the things that had drawn him to her. He wanted to find out what she was like when she wasn't being Leo McGarry's assistant, when she was just being Margaret.

He never expected her to have what was undoubtedly the filthiest laugh that he'd ever heard in his life.

She loved musicals, and could sing the score to any show he could name, and quite a few more that he couldn't. She had an encyclopaedic memory and could list a string of facts that she'd only heard once, and on one memorable evening after too much wine and tequila, she beat Sam in a timed race reciting the members of Congress in alphabetical order. That was also the night that he learned she had an amazing tolerance for alcohol, but that she paid for it the next morning. Which was really kind of a shame he thought, because it had certain other affects on her as well.

She was loyal to Leo McGarry to a fault, and he'd learned that it wasn't just because of length of tenure, or because she had a crush on her boss. It was because during the first year that she was working for him, back before he went to Sierra Tucson, her father had had a heart attack. She'd only been working for Leo for a couple of months, she was an only child and her mother was hysterical. She didn't see how she could approach Leo looking for time off, wasn't even sure how she'd be able to afford the plane ticket home on such short notice, and she'd been at the end of her tether, close to tears when Leo came out of his office, having been bellowing for her for five minutes. He'd seen her upset, got the whole story out of her, and his first act had been to call the airlines and get her put on the next flight out. He paid for the flight, leaving the return date open, and told her to take her time, that she didn't need to worry about coming back until things were more settled at home. She'd been gone for over a month, and when she'd called him before she came back, she'd been sure that he was going to tell her that he'd found another assistant, more efficient, more qualified. Instead, all he'd said was that it'd be good to have her back, that he had two women in doing her work, and they still weren't doing it properly, but was she sure that she didn't need more time?

She'd offered to pay him back for the flight, but he'd never taken the money.

She was nuts about football he found out, being able to give him details of every Superbowl game for the last twenty years. Baseball left her cold, but he was trying to convince her to give it a try. She was a voracious reader, but not a big cinema fan, and woe unto the person who got her started when a film of one of her favourite books didn't live up to her expectations. However, she did boast every film that John Cusack ever made, and looked at them as often as she could, as often as he'd let her.

She was the first one into the office in the morning, and the last one to leave at night, and that's what had him here tonight, standing in the doorway, watching her. It was late at night, and almost everyone had gone home, but dedicated assistant that she was, she wouldn't leave while her boss was still in the building. He knew that Leo was in the Oval Office with the President, knew that they were going to be there for a while, knew that he'd been told to tell her that she could go home for the night. He was going to tell her that, he really was, but first he wanted to look at her.

He liked doing that.

She was different when she thought that no-one was around. Her posture wasn't as rigid, her jaw was more relaxed. She smiled to herself sometimes, as if she was thinking nice thoughts, and more than once he'd caught her humming some obscure show tune that no-one else had ever heard of. Right now, the lights were low in the office, the only source of illumination being the lamp on her desk and the light filtering in from the hall and Leo's office. She was sitting at her desk, sorting papers into piles, lips pursed in concentration, but her head was bobbing from side to side to a tune that only she could hear.

Then her head turned sharply and she looked right at him. Her eyes were narrowed at first, as if wondering who had disturbed her sanctum, but when she saw who it was, she smiled, and the gold around her neck glinted as it caught the lamplight.

"Mr Gianelli." It was the same voice she'd used when he'd given her the red box, back when all this had begun for them, and it had the same effect on him now.

But then, he had at least been able to formulate a sentence. Now, as he walked from the door to stand on the other side of her desk, he was speechless, quite the new experience for him.

She lifted both eyebrows, lips curving into a teasing smile. "Don't tell me you've forgotten my name again?" she asked.

"No." He was surprised at how strong his voice was, considering there was a lump in his throat the size of Texas, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out another, smaller, red box, sliding it across the table to her. He enjoyed the way her hand went up to her lips, the way her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the box before she looked back up at him. There was a smile peeking out from behind her lips, and that gave him the courage to finish what he'd started.

"But I am going to ask you to change it."