Charlie dreams about Zoey in a beautiful white dress, laughing and smiling, red hair tied up in an elegant knot. He buys a ring.
But Charlie still dreams about Rosslyn sometimes too. Bullets and screams and chaos. The guilt he felt later, when he learnt the reason for the attack, and after that, the anger, because why should he feel guilty that he loves a girl?
Still. Charlie worries. He's entitled to his pursuit of happiness, but it's beautiful words written two hundred years ago against the look in people's eyes, and someone somewhere is putting a bullet in a gun. They would be a high profile couple.
Of course, he won't have to worry if she says no.
---
In retrospect, it was his own fault that the President got involved. If he had just been able to act more naturally, to keep the constant thought of asking Zoey to marry him off his face, out of his voice. But then he blames President Bartlet's freakish ability to read people too.
There had been a mention in the book to remind the President that his wedding anniversary was next week. Following President Bartlet into the Oval Office, Charlie had read the notation off with the rest of the agenda and he'd stumbled over it just slightly. The President had looked up, eyes sharp as a hawk, and assessed his aide.
"Alright, what's on your mind?" President Bartlet had demanded. Charlie vehemently denied that there was anything, but the President stared like a reproving father—oh, the irony—until he cracked.
---
"You're going to what?" Charlie says, mouth agape.
"I'm going to help you work on your proposal," President Bartlet repeats, as if he hasn't said anything that should be surprising.
"But, sir, I'm proposing to Zoey. Zoey Bartlet," Charlie clarifies, sure there has been some mistake. "This is your daughter we're talking about. Your youngest daughter." Is President Bartlet trying to lull him into a false sense of security?
"I know my daughter's name thank you, Charlie," the President returns affably. Is this a nightmare?, Charlie wonders. Have I gone insane? Have I fallen into some alternate universe? There must be some rational explanation.
"Sir," Charlie prompts tentatively, as if he's poking a lion with a sharp stick. He knows he shouldn't do it but can't quite stop himself. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine, Charlie. Why wouldn't I be? I might have a new son-in-law soon," President Bartlet responds.
"That's kind of my point, sir," Charlie says skeptically.
The President ignores him. "Debbie! Call Toby and Sam for me. Tell them I need them in the Oval Office right away."
Wait. Why are they bringing Toby and Sam in on this? Is ultimate humiliation the goal of the President's sudden descent into lunacy?
Toby and Sam appear promptly, ready to offer the President their assistance. "Charlie here needs help proposing to Zoey," the President says. Toby and Sam both stare for a protracted moment then turn to each other for confirmation.
"Was I just called into the Oval Office to consult on what Charlie should say when proposing to the President's daughter?" Toby asks, putting a slight stress on the words 'Oval Office.'
"If it helps, we were both called," Sam points out, not sure whether the question is rhetorical.
"Sir, I'm working on the ABA speech. Can you manage with just Sam?" Toby asks.
The President nods graciously and waves him out. Toby turns and walks out the door with the air of one who has dodged a bullet.
"Hey," Sam says, hands up, "I don't know why anyone thinks I have any expertise in this. I mean, sure a girl agreed to marry me at some point, but we didn't do so well on the follow through."
A disapproving look from President Bartlet and Sam relents. "You should say her whole name when you're asking her," Sam suggests, deciding to offer his support if he's stuck here anyway.
"You don't think she'll know I'm talking to her?" Charlie replies, exasperated by the whole thing.
Sam doesn't seem to notice his irritation. "What is Zoey's middle name?" he wonders aloud. Charlie draws a blank. It starts with a P…
The President looks at him severely. "You can't marry my daughter if you don't know her middle name."
Charlie flounders and quickly skims through all the P names he can think of. Pamela. Paige. Penelope. Phoebe. Patricia! The name strikes a chord and Charlie offers it up triumphantly, "Patricia."
President Bartlet rolls his eyes. "Some advice from man to man: you would do well to remember that without the thirty second hesitation."
"Alright, moving on." Sam smiles brightly, as if Charlie has agreed and the issue of saying Zoey's full name is all settled. "Then you should get down on one knee. Do you have the ring?" Charlie produces the black velvet box he's been carrying everywhere for a month. "Great," Sam says, taking the box and going down on one knee to demonstrate how Charlie should approach Zoey. "Just—"
The door on their right opens and Leo steps into the Oval Office. "The leadership is—" he stops abruptly, taking in the scene. "I'll come back later."
"I think I'll call Abbey," President Bartlet says. Charlie covers his face with his hands. "For a female perspective," the President justifies.
---
The candlelight glints off Zoey's hair and catches in the crystal glass she is raising to her lips. For a moment it looks like she is drinking a star. She's beautiful. Charlie thinks about how much they've both changed since they first met, all their moments together and apart. He thinks about how he wants all the rest of their moments to be together.
Charlie forgets his doubts.
He also forgets the plan.
His fingers fumble in the pocket of his suit jacket until he comes up with a black velvet box. Zoey looks at him suspiciously. "Is something wrong, Charlie?"
Nothing is wrong at all. He opens the box and offers it to her. "Will you marry me?"
Zoey smiles and says, "Yes."