"So," Josh said, about twelve hours later, when they had almost finished a last dinner in the restaurant she'd chosen, her favorite of the many places they'd tried that week. He pushed his plate back, and was fiddling with his wine glass and looking out the window when he said it. The sun was setting, a huge round red ball going down into a mirror-like sea. The day, like the meal and the vacation, was almost over.

"So," Donna said, picking up her glass and taking another sip. The bottle sat between them, nearly empty.

"We go back tomorrow."

"Yes, we do."

"It's been nice."

She smiled, carefully avoiding letting any of the emotion she was feeling show on her face.

"Yes, it has."

They sat quietly for a couple of minutes, sipping the last of the wine. The busboy came and cleared away the plates, and the waiter brought their coffees.

"Donna," Josh said, when they were alone again, "when we go back—" He stopped, and looked down at his coffee-cup. His voice sounded strained. Donna felt her throat tighten. She looked studiously at her cup, too.

"Yes?" she asked, hearing a chill creep into her voice, but unable to keep it out. So, she thought, this was it. This was when he was going to give her the speech she'd been dreading: "It's been nice. You've been great. But when we go back, I'm going to be too busy. . . ."

Josh cleared his throat.

"When we go back—have you thought— Do you know—What—" He broke off again. She looked up to see him frowning at the table, the coffee pushed aside.

"What what, Josh?" she asked sternly. The suspense was killing her.

"What—you want—to do?"

She shrugged.

"Go to work for the First Lady, of course."

"You're sure? You don't want Assistant Press Secretary? It's a good offer, you know—you'd be in the thick of things, you'd be helping to shape our message, and you'd get to take some of the briefings for Lou, which would give you experience and exposure. And then, if she leaves, you'd be all set to move up. . . ."

She raised her eyebrows at that, surprised the possibility had occurred to him, but shook her head.

"No, Josh, I told you. I can't sleep with you and work for you, too. And I don't think it would be so good to be working for you if we're not together, either. So, either way, I don't think I should take that job."

He nodded.

"I know," he said, quietly. "I just wanted to make sure you knew you had a choice."

"Thank you." She meant it. "This will be a better job for me, I think, though. It will be nice to be in charge of something, for once."

A shadow crossed his face, and he shut his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, after a moment. "I know."

They sat quietly again for another minute or two. Then Josh said, suddenly, "That wasn't what I meant, though."

"What?"

"That wasn't what I meant, when I asked if you knew what you wanted to do when we get back. I wasn't asking about the job."

"Oh," Donna said, surprised. "What—did you mean?"

"I meant, had you thought any more about what you wanted to do about—this?" And he waved his hand across the table, indicating the two of them.

Donna looked back at him steadily. She was surprised he'd brought it up, but she wasn't about to let him make her go first on this one.

"What do you want to do, Josh?" she asked.

He took a deep breath, and looked down at his glass again.

"This has been a great week," he said. "It's been—well, great. I haven't done anything like this in years. Or ever, really—not like this, not for a whole week, and not—not with someone—well, you know. . . ." His voice trailed away self-consciously. Donna raised an eyebrow, doing her best to look cool and collected, but wondering where, exactly, he was taking this. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Everyone's been telling me I don't have a life," he said, "and it's true, I don't. I mean, I didn't. It's been amazing, just having a week like this to do whatever we want, whenever we want to do it. But now we've got to go back. And you know what it's going to be like, Donna; it's going to be crazy. It's going to be the hardest job I've ever had, and I'm going to have to work harder than I've ever had to in my life before, because this job matters more than any other job I've ever had. I have no idea how I'm going to do it. I'd thought Leo would be there to help me, but. . . ."

His voice choked a little and he blinked, hard, and, upset as she was at what she thought he was about to say, Donna couldn't help reaching across the table and touching his hand. He turned it over and wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed them, hard.

"So," he said, when he'd got control of his voice again, "so, I don't know what kind of life I'm going to be able to have, you know? It's not going to be like this, that's for sure." He glanced towards the beach, where the surf was rolling in lazily, and then looked back at her. His eyes were as dark and serious as they had been that morning when she woke up, and she wondered whether this inevitable conversation was what he'd been thinking about then. She was suddenly, fiercely glad that he'd made love to her one more time instead.

"And maybe I should just quit, but. . . ."

Donna squeezed her eyes shut, but nodded. Josh could never do that, she knew. Politics was his life. She couldn't imagine him stepping down to do something less difficult; couldn't imagine him backing away from the challenge and the thrill of being at the heart of things, giving them his all. She'd always known that about him, and had always known, really, that he couldn't possibly find time to fit anything else into that life, even her.

"No," she said, softly. "No, you can't do that. Of course you can't do that."

He squeezed her hand more tightly.

"You understand?" he said. "You do understand?"

She nodded, unable to look up at him but holding onto his hand for dear life. She'd tried so hard to keep herself from showing what she felt for him so this moment, if it came, wouldn't be so painful, but now that it was here she couldn't stop herself from clinging to him as if that would somehow keep him from leaving her.

"Thank you," he whispered. A long minute passed. Donna stared down at the table, willing herself not to cry. And then, to her astonishment, he said,

"But I want to try to make this work, Donna. I do want to make it work. I just don't know how to do it, you know?"

She lifted her eyes, stunned.

"You—want this to work?"

He nodded, looking miserable.

"I don't know if I can. I'm no good at this sort of thing, Donna, you know that. But I want to try. I mean, if—if you do. . . ."

She felt the heat flush over her face, and a smile that was far broader and brighter than she really wanted him to see.

"Trying sounds good," she said, struggling to keep some composure in her voice, at least.

"It does?" He sounded so surprised, she laughed.

"Yes, Josh, trying sounds like a pretty good idea to me."

"But how?" he said, anxiously. "How do we make it work?"

She sat back then, disentangled her fingers from his, picked up her coffee cup, and took a steadying sip. Her mind was whirling with relief and happiness and the realization that here, at last, was her opportunity to say all the things she'd been thinking all this time, all the things Louisa had helped her see would be essential in any relationship she might eventually want to have.

"Well," she said, taking another sip and smiling a little over the cup at him, "for starters, it might be a good idea if we saw each other every now and again."

That made him smile, too.

"That sounds like a very good idea."

"But you're going to be very busy, as you've said. So, how are we going to do that?" She was dodging, wanting it to come from him, and yet she was surprised when it actually did.

"I was thinking," Josh started, hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"I was thinking, maybe, since we're not going to be seeing each other much during the day anymore. . . ."

"Yes, Josh?"

"I was thinking, maybe . . . we should try . . ."

"Yes, Josh?"

"You know, actually—sleeping together?"

Donna laughed a little at that.

"That would be a necessary part of making things work, yes."

"I mean, not just for sex, but, you know—all the time."

"Every night?"

"Every night."

"We could do that, I suppose."

"We could?"

"I don't see why not."

Josh sat back, looking relieved. He reached out across the table and put his hand over hers. She turned her hand up, and he twisted his fingers through hers. She shivered a little at his touch; it felt so good, so right, so. . . .

"It might be easier if we made some adjustments in other areas of our lives," he said.

Donna laughed again.

"Such as?"

"Such as, if we were actually, you know, sharing a place."

"You mean, living together?"

He bit his lip and nodded, his eyes searching hers questioningly.

She smiled, and looked down at their hands, clasped together. He was squeezing tightly again; it almost hurt, with his fingers twisted through hers like that.

"That might make things easier," she agreed. He sighed, and relaxed his grip just a little.

"It's a good idea?"

"It sounds like a good idea."

He beamed at her then, showing all his dimples. She beamed back, feeling as if a huge load had just been lifted off her chest, and she could breathe freely again. He looked as if he felt the same way.

"At my place?" he asked.

"Why not mine?" She was just teasing; she didn't want to live in her apartment, if Josh's was a possibility.

"Because mine is in a better neighborhood, and nicer, and you've always liked it better."

Donna tipped her head to the side, pretending to consider that.

"All right," she said at last, with a smile. "But you'll have to make room for some of my stuff."

"Just some?" he asked, grinning.

"Just some," she said. "I don't want to give up my apartment just yet."

His face fell a little, the dimples vanishing. He looked at her cautiously.

"Why—?" he began, and then broke off.

"I'll sublet it for six months, Josh. If things aren't working out by then, I'll move back again."

That was important. Moving in together was a step forward—a big step—but it wasn't a full commitment. And she still didn't know yet whether he'd be able to give her everything else she needed.

He looked out the window. It was a minute before he looked back and answered.

"Okay," he said, quietly. She couldn't tell from his voice what he was thinking.

"Okay?" she echoed, questioningly.

He looked back at her.

"Okay," he said again, and smiled a little then. She smiled back. They sat for a minute, saying nothing, just holding hands across the table and smiling and thinking about the fact that they were going to be living together. But after a minute Donna looked down at their joined hands, and when she looked up, she wasn't smiling anymore.

"But Josh—"

"Yes, Donna?"

"Just sharing an apartment isn't all it's going to take to make things work, you know."

His smile faded too.

"Yeah," he said, "I know."

"I know you're going to be very busy."

"Yeah," he said again. "I really am."

"And I understand that, Josh. It's okay; I can deal with that."

"Jenny couldn't," he said, a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"I'm not Jenny, Josh. Jenny never told Leo what she wanted; she just let it all build up until she couldn't take it anymore, and it broke them. I'm not going to be like that."

He nodded, looking at her questioningly.

"That's good," he said. "But—what do you want? Can you tell me? Do you know?"

She did know. She'd given it a lot of thought over the past year, talked about it a lot with her therapist, and with herself. Once the answer would just have been, "You," even if she'd never have said it out loud, but it wasn't the answer anymore. She looked down at the tablecloth, frowning a little, looking for the words she needed.

"I need," she began, and paused. This was so important; she had to get it right.

"I need to have some sort of life together," she started, taking an indirect route to the main point. "I need you to come home at night whenever you can, as early as you can. I'll understand when you can't, but as much as you can, I need you to keep hours that will let us spend a little time together. I know how important this job is, Josh, but I'm going to need to know that being with me is important to you, too, that you'll put that first—put me first—when you honestly can."

He squeezed her hand again.

"It is," he whispered. "It will be. I want that, too."

"If you can't make it back, I need you to let me know. Call me. Or have Margaret call me. But don't just leave me hanging, please."

She would understand if he slipped up sometimes; she expected it. But she wanted the principle established that he'd try not to do that.

"I will," he said. "Really, Donna. I promise."

She looked up at him for a moment, and saw him watching her intently, his eyes very bright. She dropped her eyes again, took her hand out of his, and took a deep breath.

"But—I'm going to need more than that, Josh," she started, hesitantly. She could hear the tension in her voice, feel her hands pressing together in her lap. She took another deep breath and stretched them out on her legs, willing herself to relax. Josh was looking at her searchingly, a worried expression on his face.

"What, Donna?" he asked, quietly, when she didn't go on right away. She bit her lip. Why was this so hard to say?

"I need—I'm going to need—to know—" She stopped, and cleared her throat. In spite of herself, her hands were twisting together again in her lap. She kept her eyes fixed on them, and hated herself for not being able to look up.

"To know what, Donna?" Josh's voice was gentle and steady; it steadied her. She took another deep breath, and looked up to see his eyes watching her, warm and tender and concerned.

"That you—that you respect me." He blinked, looking startled. She pressed on. "That you take me seriously, Josh."

"Of course I take you seriously, Donna!" He sounded almost indignant. "How could you possibly think—"

"You know how I could think it, Josh. And I need to know it won't be like that anymore. That—that I won't be just your assistant to you anymore."

There, she had said it. She was shaking inside, but she had said it, and her voice had stayed surprisingly steady while she did. Louisa would be proud of her, she thought, fleetingly, and perhaps C.J., too, and Kate Harper. She looked up and saw that his eyes had gone very wide.

"You're not," he stammered, "I do—" He looked completely flummoxed. "I—you—

Donna, you never were just my assistant to me."

She flushed, and looked back at him squarely.

"But Josh," she said, determined to have this out once and for all, "I don't want to be your assistant anymore at all."

He blinked, and swallowed, and this time he was the one to drop his eyes and start fiddling with his napkin. After a minute he said, huskily, "Was it really that bad?"

"It got to be."

He bit his lip, hard. There was a long pause. Then he said, quietly, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I—I'm sorry, Donna. I meant to be—I didn't mean—I'm sorry I was such a lousy boss."

This wasn't the time, she thought, to go into the list of grievances she'd built up before she left what had once been her dream job. That was history now; she could let it go. So she just said,

"I know. And you weren't, not at first, and not always. But—if I'm going to live with you, Josh, I need to be your partner, not your assistant. And I need you to be my partner, not my boss."

His face twisted.

"I'm sorry," he said, again. "I didn't think I'd been—I didn't know you thought I still—"

"I don't, Josh. You haven't been. I just don't want that to change. I don't want us to slip back into the way we used to be."

He nodded. She reached across the table and put her hand over his again. He turned his over and squeezed hers until it hurt.

"It won't," he said. "We won't. I promise."

"I just want to know that you take me seriously, Josh."

"I do," he said, earnestly. "I do. And I will."

She smiled then, and the waiter came with the bill, and afterwards they skipped the taxi and walked back to their hotel along the beach, hand in hand, a huge, romantic moon hanging before them in the velvety darkness of the sky, the water splashing seductively around their ankles and the sand warm and yielding under their feet. There was no question about what they would do when they got back to their room.

Josh was quiet, but Donna didn't mind; she was happy just to walk along holding his hand, and didn't need any more words now. They had had their talk, and she had said all the things she'd needed to say, and Josh had been all right with it. He hadn't wanted to break up with her after all. They were going to live together, and she had set out the terms, and he had agreed to all of them. The next six months wouldn't be paradise, of course—she wasn't expecting that—but for the first time since this whole thing had begun she felt a real sense of conviction that it was all going to work out.

How right Louisa had been. She hadn't known anything about Donna becoming involved with Josh, of course, but she had helped Donna learn to let her needs be known and to be prepared to walk away if they weren't met, and that had made all the difference. If only, Donna thought for a fleeting moment, she had learned years ago how to get what she wanted. She had been so foolish then, so naive and trusting. C.J. had opened her eyes to that. . . . But there was no point in going there. She had learned her lesson, and everything was so much better because of it. She had stood up for herself and what she wanted, and now she was going to have it, and that was all that mattered.