A/N: The first two chapters are in first person. The third and fourth are in third person. That was the best way I felt to tell this story.

I didn't always know I loved her.

If you ask Sam or CJ, they'll tell you I have been in love with her since she hired herself as my assistant on the first Bartlet for America campaign. In fact, they probably thought I hired her because she was young and attractive, and they could see my relationship with Mandy ending before I could.

If you ask Danny, he'll probably tell you I knew the moment I figured out she hadn't leaked that damn quote to the media. He'll tell you that throwing snowballs at her window so that she'd come down and go to a party with me just screams "grand gesture".

If you ask Leo, he'll probably tell you that I realized it when I watched that video of the SUV in Gaza. He'll tell you about how I spent an hour on the phone trying to find out if she was alive. He'll tell you that even after I found out she was alive and the doctors said she would be okay I couldn't focus on work. And then he'll tell you that I didn't even bother resisting when he told me to go be with her.

I've always written it off as a crush brought on by how much time we spend together. She's my best friend. Even when she was working for Russell and we weren't speaking much, if you'd asked me who my best friend was or for an emergency contact, I would have told you Donnatella Moss.

I'm not blind. I've always seen how beautiful she is. Granted, I'm not the best when it comes to taking in a woman's appearance. It's a point of pride with me that I notice a woman's mind before her body. And with Donna, I was always attracted to both. So forgive me if I was a little more focused on why the hell she would take the fall for Jack Reece than how amazing she looked that night.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that contrary to popular belief, I did not pine after her for eight years. I didn't date Amy because I knew I couldn't have the woman I really wanted. I dated Amy because I was really attracted to her. I didn't sabotage Donna's dates because I couldn't bear to see her with anyone else; I did it because as her friend, I knew that none of those gomers were good enough for her. Not Cliff Calley, not Jack Reece, and definitely not Dr. Freeride. I didn't write that note in The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing because I loved her. I did it because I knew it would make her happy to know how much I valued her as both an assistant and my friend.

I didn't know.

I didn't know when I gave her my Bartlet for America lanyard. I didn't know when she hugged me that Christmas I refused to get her skis. I didn't know when she took care of me after Rosslyn. I didn't know when I was throwing snowballs at her window or sleeping in a chair by her bedside or when she quit her job in the middle of the bullpen.

I didn't even know it this morning when I kissed her.

But now it has hit me like a freight train as I look at her from my seat. I wasn't quick enough. I should have picked that key up as soon as she offered it to me. But I didn't know it even then, thirty seconds ago, when she made no attempt to conceal her intentions.

Because now, as she looks back at me with shock in her eyes, I know. I know as I swallow thickly and try to ignore the burning of tears in the backs of my eyes. I know that I am unabashedly, irrevocably, completely in love with her.

And I think I've just missed my shot.