Donna fumbles with the belt, her hands shaking. She can't believe what she's just said-can't believe she said it, can't really believe she'd thought it, even. Is that what she thinks about Josh? Of course it isn't. She knows how intelligent he is, how hard he's always worked; she knows about his sister and his grandfather; she knows how hard his father's death was on him, and the shooting, and the time after that. She knows his life hasn't always been easy. But still, he's had advantages she never had, and she can't help wondering who she might have been and what she might have achieved if she'd grown up with what he did. She hasn't realized before how much of her recent anger with him has been fueled by sheer, old-fashioned envy. She's shocked to realize it now.

He crosses the road ahead of her but waits at the door of the restaurant, a small, old building with stone walls and Tudor-style half-timbering. He doesn't look at her, but holds the door open silently, letting her go in ahead of him. She catches her breath with surprise when she does and glances at him, confused and completely taken aback. He still doesn't look at her, but steps over and says something to the hostess, who smiles and leads them into the dining room to their right.

Donna doesn't know what she'd expected when Josh had said he was taking her to lunch, but it certainly wasn't an intimate, obviously very expensive country inn, with antique kilims underfoot, fires burning in stone fireplaces—there was one in the entranceway, and another in the room they'd just entered—luxurious-looking armchairs upholstered in jewel-toned velvet and thick Scottish plaids, and a tiny handful of tables tucked into discreet alcoves and set with real silver and china that looks as though it might actually be bone. It's a far cry from the Hawk and Dove, or any of the D.C. pubs or eateries Josh occasionally used to take her to after a long week's work in the past. It crosses her mind that he surely can't be planning to fire her if he's springing for a meal in a place like this. Then she wonders if that isn't exactly what he might do if he wanted to ask her to leave, just to assuage his guilt.

The hostess pulls out a chair for her at one of the tables near the fireplace, and they sit down. Donna looks across at Josh, but he has his head buried in the menu already. She looks at her own. The prices are every bit as high as she's expecting, and the food sounds wonderful. She ventures to say so to Josh.

"It's supposed to be," he says, still not looking up. "I hope you've left room for more than a salad."

"What do you mean, left room?"

"You've already eaten, haven't you?"

Donna feels her face redden. "What are you talking about?" she demands.

"You had half a bagel and a fruit salad an hour ago, didn't you? Or was it yogurt?"

"Yogurt, but—I—how on earth do you know that, Josh? I brushed my teeth."

He looks up at her then, a hint of a smile lightening his face a little. "You always eat something before you go out."

"I do not!"

"You do too."

"Not always. Just when I'm going out with someone I don't know well. So I can talk when I have to, and not just eat."

"So you can order a salad and leave some and your date won't think you eat too much."

"Josh! I was supposed to be going to a business lunch. It's important that I make a good impression."

"On three women from the D.A.R."

"They'd all be doing it too."

For a moment she sees a flash of his dimples, but then, inexplicably, he stops smiling and buries his head in his menu again.

"You can have more than a salad," he says coolly. "Order whatever you like." Donna feels a chill settle over the table, and finds her eyes stinging and the elegant script on the menu card beginning to blur. She's able to blink the tears back, but is surprised by how close she comes to letting go.

The waiter arrives, and she orders a Tuscan tomato soup and filet of fish in a lemon-saffron sauce. Josh orders steak and red wine for him, white for her, then sits studying the wine list as if he needs to prep for a bill about it, even though he's already ordered. The silence grows more and more awkward, until Donna can't stand it anymore.

"Josh," she says, finally, annoyed at the hesitation in her voice. "I'm sorry I said those things. I didn't mean them, not the way they came out. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he says, not looking up from the wine list. "Don't worry about it." He doesn't sound as if it really is all right.

"Josh," she tries again. "I mean it. I don't know where that came from. It isn't what I think; I have no idea why I said all that, I really don't."

The waiter appears, fussing with the wine bottles and filling their glasses, getting them to taste it, asking if everything's all right. Josh waits till he's gone, then says, in a less remote tone,

"You said it because you were angry with me. You've been angry with me for quite a while now, Donna, I know that. You were frustrated in your job before and I was your boss, so you've blamed me for keeping you back. You said so, that time Lou pushed me into a room with you and made us talk."

"You were angry, too." Her voice quavers a little; she's really upset now, and disoriented, too, by this new, more mature Josh, who isn't ignoring the tension between them but confronting it. It's the job, she realizes; it must be the job that's changing him. He has to deal with people differently now, and he knows it. She feels at sea, not sure how far the demands of his new position have taken him, or what to expect next.

"Yes, I was. But I've thought about it a lot since then—I've had to, now we've won the election and I'm having to plan everything, and figure out what I've got to work with and who should be doing what— and I think I understand better why you did what you did. It's just . . ." He stops. Donna hesitates, then prompts him, gently,

"Just what, Josh?"

He doesn't answer right away, but twists his wine glass in his hand, looking at it. Then he clears his throat. His voice sounds husky.

"Just—I thought you were happy working with me, Donna. I thought you liked your job. I mean, I knew you were frustrated sometimes—everyone is—and I know I'm a pain in the ass to work with, but I thought you understood how important it was. I depended on you; I couldn't have done my job without you behind me, helping me, backing me up. Just the way the President couldn't have done his job, without Leo and Toby and C.J. and me—without all of us—backing him up. We did some big things together—some really big things, that have made a difference to this country, to the world, even. That's what it was always about for me, just trying to make a difference. I didn't go into that first campaign thinking, what job will I get at the end of this, how will I be treated, what will this do for my career? I've never gone into any campaign like that. If that's what I'd cared about, I'd have stayed with Hoynes; he was the front-runner, the guy with the money, the obvious choice. I didn't really think we would win the nomination, let alone the election, and it knocked my socks off when Leo told me he wanted me to be his deputy. I wasn't expecting that at all; I had no idea. And when Leo decided C.J. should take his place, not me, it didn't make any difference. I'm not saying it was easy, it wasn't; it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, to take that slap in the face, after all those years of working for him and having her work under me. But I didn't quit over it; until Leo asked me to go and find a better candidate than Bob Russell I stayed on, and I tried to do everything she needed me to, everything I could to back her up, even when she gave me that China thing I worked so damn hard on and then she took it away. Because that's what you've got to do in this game; you've got to be a team player, you've got to be able to roll with the punches and get up and keep going and not think about the bruises or the mud on your face. Because you're not doing it for yourself, you're doing it for the administration. For the country. For the world."

Donna feels the heat rising from the base of her neck right up to her hair. She can't meet his eyes. She feels smaller than she's ever felt in her entire life. She's been ashamed of some of the choices she's made for a long time now, but she's always justified them by telling herself that everyone has to look after their career and she'd neglected hers for far too long. She'd wanted to prove herself, to move out of Josh's circle and prove to him and herself and everyone else that she could be a professional too. But she hasn't given much thought until lately to the kind of professional she's been making herself into. There are the Brunos in politics, she knows, and the Mandy Hamptons; most politicians are like them, willing to sell their skills to just about anyone who'll buy them. But then, occasionally, there are the Josh Lymans too. She remembers now why she used to admire him so much. Suddenly she's completely overwhelmed by him again: by the strength in his arms and shoulders, the sensitivity and intelligence in his face, the passion and principle in everything he says and does, in the way he lives his life. What has she been thinking of, to imagine she could ever stop loving him? It simply isn't possible.

"You were always someone I thought looked at things the same way I did, Donna. I thought I could trust you, implicitly. I told Leo once that I'd trust you with my life, and I meant it. There aren't a lot of people I'd say that about, Donna. Certainly not any more."

He sets his wineglass down on the table, and leans forward, looking at her searchingly.

"I need to know, Donna. I'm Chief of Staff now, and the President is going to be depending on me. I have to know who I can depend on. I have to. And I don't anymore; I don't know who I can trust to be there when the going gets hard, and who I can't. I need you to tell me, honestly, whether I can depend on you that way or not. I need to know whether this is just a job for you, just a career opportunity that you'll walk away from if I'm not able to give you exactly what you want, when you want it, or whether it's a commitment that you'll give your all to no matter what it takes, no matter how unglamorous the work might seem sometimes, or how angry you might be with me for something I've said or done."

Donna's heart pounds in her throat. She's never felt such blinding embarrassment or shame; what has she been thinking of, all this past year? What has she let herself become, that it's come to this—that Josh Lyman has to talk to her about commitment and trust? A few months ago she would have pushed herself out of her chair and left the room in tears. But now it strikes her, suddenly, that at some level he must still have some kind of faith in her, or he wouldn't be talking to her like this at all. He trusts me enough to tell me what's worrying him, she thought. And he trusts me to give him an honest answer, not just a politician's easy, "Yes, of course."

She knows what answer she has to give, but she pauses for a minute, just to clear her thought and make sure that she can really live up to what she wants to say. It isn't an easy promise to make. It means putting aside her anger and her ego and, just as important, her doubts about herself and her regrets and fears. And her desires, even the ones that go so far beyond job concerns with this man. She's never been so desperately attracted to him or so bowled over by him as she is right now, and yet, to keep the promise she's about to make, she has to be able to work beside him again, feeling those things and knowing he doesn't. I can't, she thinks; I can't. But also, I have to. I have to.

She raises her eyes to his. Tears are pooling in them, but this time she doesn't look away or try to hide them.

"It's a commitment, Josh. It's not just about me or my career, even if it partly was before, when I left and went to work for Bob Russell. That wasn't all of it—I had other reasons too—but I've been ashamed of myself about that for a while now. You can trust me. I promise, I'll take whatever you have to say to me, whatever you have to give or take away, if you'll let me work for this President and this administration, any way I can."

"Even,"—his voice is huskier than before—"even if that means working for me?"

She blinks and swallows, but doesn't take her eyes off his. "Especially if that means working for you, Josh."

He smiles a little then, though there's a bleakness in his eyes that she doesn't miss and doesn't understand.

"That's good, because I'm afraid it does. I brought you out to lunch today because I had to tell you that I don't want you in Communications when we get to the White House."

Donna feels her heart sink. Lou's been so sure he would make her a deputy Press Secretary, at least. But I'm good at this, the voice starts in her head. I am. I am. Oh, surely he isn't going to ask me to take Margaret's job? But she's pretty sure that's exactly what he's going to do. Still, he's right: the point isn't having a job title that strokes one's ego; the point is to serve, and if that's how he thinks she can help the administration best . . . .

"You've been very good at it, Donna, but I've given a lot of thought to this, and I realize I need to make some changes. Ronna's staying with Matt as his secretary; it's what he wants, and she's happy with it too. I'm moving Lou out of Communications; I want her to take over some of what I used to do, especially the tougher side of negotiating with Congress—it's what she's really good at, not the message thing. For that, I've asked Sam to come back and take over Toby's old job. He wants Will for his deputy, and Will's said yes. We talked about you for Press Secretary, but—C.J. told me Danny Concannon wants to get out of journalism, and we've got a rare opportunity there to bring in someone who could really bring a whole different level of credibility to the job, create a much better relationship with the press than we've had in quite a while, which is what the President-Elect wants. It's unconventional, and Danny wasn't sure at first, but he met with the President-Elect yesterday and got the assurances he wanted. And there's something else I want—I need—you to do."

"What—what is it, Josh?" Donna asks, her voice husky and faltering. She meant what she said; she'll take whatever he gives her, and do it to the very best of her ability. But still . . . .

He looks into her eyes. "Be my Deputy, Donna. I told you, I need someone next to me that I can trust."

oooooo