XIII

"Donnatella! Dance with me!" A very bright-eyed and hyperactive Josh Lyman bounced over to his assistant. Donna put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"Joshua, have you been drinking?"

"Not yet!" he said cheerfully. "C'mon, Donna, dance with me!"

"Oh my God." Even as he dragged her towards the dance floor, she turned to look at CJ and pulled a face. "Can you imagine what he's gonna be like after the bill's been passed?"

"Good luck," CJ called after her, sincerely. "Boy are you gonna need it," she muttered into her wine glass, as an afterthought. She had a suspicion she was now a little tipsy, but what the hell, it was a party, wasn't it? She turned to Sam beside her. "Hey, Sparkles, wanna dance?"

"Uh, no, I think I'll pass," he said hastily, managing to summon the ghost of a smile from whatever morose place he was currently inhabiting. He glanced at his watch. "We've been here a while now, I think I'm gonna go home."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, the sudden movement setting her to wobbling just a little. Damn heels. "Guess I'll have to go find Toby."

That did make Sam laugh, though it was more a snort of amused disbelief than anything else. "You expect to get Toby to dance with you in front of people?" he asked.

"No, but I'm gonna ask and watch him squirm."

"Okay." Apparently Sam didn't see the beauty in this form of entertainment. But then, when it came to making Toby squirm, there were very few people who could master it well enough to call it an art form. And since Andy Wyatt wasn't here and the First Lady was busy with her husband, she considered it pretty much her sacred duty.

With a quick nod her way, Sam set his glass down on a nearby table and left, threading his way through the crowd. CJ watched, wishing she knew how to fix what was wrong with him. She would have thought that a political victory would help, remind him that sometimes they really could accomplish something - but he still seemed as depressed as ever, and...

And she was way too drunk to think about this now. She finished the rest of her wine in a quick gulp, and started looking for Toby.

Despite the lateness of the hour and the not inconsiderable amount of alcohol swirling around his system, Sam found himself somehow drawn to back to the bar. It was dim and nearly empty, although the bartender gave him a nod of recognition. The only other people in the place were a young black woman sadly contemplating her martini, and an old man in the corner nursing a pint.

Sam settled at the bar and drank a single beer, alone.

When it was done, he stood up and left, feeling obscurely disappointed.

The brief stroll across the college campus to her room was the perfect moonlit walk. Dizzy memories of dancing and a wonderful meal, stars in the deep black sky above, and her boyfriend at her side, his fingers entwined with hers.

And, of course, her Secret Service escort shadowing at a discreet distance.

Admittedly, they doing their best not to be too obvious, but it wasn't as if she could forget they were there. After all, she was Zoey Bartlet, and they were always there. She and Charlie had been together for four years now, if it still counted as together when you had to fight so hard to find a few minutes where you could both be in the same place. But in all that time, they'd never been able to have what she would consider a real date.

They could go to dinner - if the Secret Service had checked the place out fully and their table was kept under careful observation. They could watch movies - provided they either watched them on video, or at the White House cinema under the watchful eye of her father. They could walk along the street holding hands - provided her escort were there every step of the way to watch for any Neo-Nazis who might take objection to the sight.

Zoey sighed.

Charlie, attuned to her in way that she still found almost startling, picked up on it and squeezed her hand. She smiled up at him, and tried to pretend that it was just the two of them, that nobody was shadowing them, that they didn't need anybody to shadow them. That they were just a normal couple.

She managed to keep up the pretence until they were up in her dorm room, snatching a few precious moments alone. Just a few moments, because after all she was the president's daughter, and it wouldn't do to give anybody the wrong impression, because you always had to worry about appearances...

She'd had enough.

"It's all so, so... I don't know!" Zoey burst out angrily. She buried her face against the pillow.

"Well, I don't know either if you won't tell me," Charlie pointed out. She looked up at him where he stood by the door.

"You could actually, you know, sit on the bed next to me," she told him pointedly.

"No I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because if I do, your father's leaping in the nearest helicopter and coming here especially to kick my ass."

Zoey couldn't help grinning at that - probably not exaggerated - mental picture. "Yeah. You think they could land it on top of the building? That would be pretty cool." She ought to be able to come to college in a helicopter. Hey, if she had to put up with all the trappings of being a First Daughter, she should at least be getting some fun out of them.

Charlie quirked an eyebrow. "It's nice to know that you value my ass so highly."

"Hey, it's a very nice ass," she told him, enjoying the embarrassed way he looked down at the floor.

Charlie compromised, and came over to crouch beside her where she lay slumped on the bed. "What's wrong, Zoey?" he asked gently.

"I just, I just... I don't know," she said, frustrated. "I just feel like, you know... what am I doing here? What am I even doing here?"

"You're going to college and getting your degree," Charlie pointed out sensibly.

"I know! But what for? What am I gonna do with it when I get it?"

"Whatever you want," he shrugged.

"I don't know what I want!" She looked at him. "What about you? What are you gonna do when dad's not the president anymore?"

He could only shrug again. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Well, there you go!" said Zoey. "There's all this... all this future out there, and what happens next? Where do we go, what do we do? Aren't you worried?"

Charlie considered that for a moment. "No," he said finally.

"Why not?" she demanded, pushing up into a sitting position.

He looked at her earnestly. "Because wherever I go and whatever I end up doing, I know I'm gonna be with you."

"Charlie." She couldn't resist flinging her arms around him and giving him a squeeze, he was so adorable.

"No, I mean it," he said, next to her ear. "Zoey Patricia Bartlet, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want us to be together forever. I want us to be married, I want us to live together, I want..."

Zoey froze suddenly, and pulled back to give him a suspicious look. "Charlie... is it me, or did you just propose?"

Charlie blinked, and looked surprised. "You know what? I think I just did."

Zoey couldn't help it. She burst into gales of laughter, and hugged him again.

"You know, hysterical laughter is the exact reaction that every boy dreams of to that suggestion," he said wryly.

"No, Charlie!" She sat back, wiping her eyes. "It's just... God, I love you so much." She flung her arms around him again.

"I love you too, Zoey," he said quietly, and for a moment they just stayed that way, in the shelter of their shared embrace.

Finally, though, far too soon, she had to pull back and let reality filter in. "We can't get married, Charlie."

"I know," he admitted seriously. They both knew the harsh realities of how it would be if the two of them sealed their relationship in the glare of the media spotlight. Her father's overprotectiveness would be the least of their worries.

They both knew it... but that didn't make it any less heartbreaking.

"But we could get engaged," she said, to wipe the sad look from his eyes. She realised. "We are engaged! Charlie, you just asked me to marry you."

"You didn't say yes yet," he pointed out.

Zoey rolled her eyes. "Fine."

"I ask you to marry me, all you can say is 'fine'?"

She grinned. "Okay?"

"Zoey."

"All right? Sure? Yep?"

"See, and now you're just downplaying the gravity of the situation," he rumbled against her neck. His closeness made her feel deliciously warm, and he pulled away all too soon. "I should probably go."

"Why?" she demanded. He smiled gently at her.

"'Cause otherwise, your father might suddenly end up with a real reason to kick my ass, and I don't think 'we just secretly got engaged' is gonna cut it."

Zoey's face fell briefly. "We can't tell anybody, can we?" she realised sadly.

"I'm sorry," said Charlie, and he kissed her forehead. "I wish I could do this properly. I wish I could buy you a ring to wear and shout it from all the rooftops like I want to."

"I don't need a ring," Zoey told him. "I've got a promise."

The memory of his brilliant smile lit up the room long after he was gone.