Author's Note: After Such A Winter's Day, a new chapter on Achieving Mediocrity was the most popular suggestion from the reader poll, so here you go! I estimate probably one more chapter in this story, but if you've been reading along you probably know how I am when it comes to estimating the length of any work. :) Two more days of the fic-a-day to go!

…...

Donna had an early meeting with the board of the White House Correspondents' Association the next morning, so by the time she walked into the West Wing, it was nearly nine-fifteen. She ran into Will, who was spectacularly bad at staying in his office and letting business come to him, as they both walked through the Communications bullpen in different directions. "Morning Donna," he said affably.

"Morning, Will," she replied, every bit as affably, even as she wondered how Leo had never for one moment looked rumpled while he was Chief of Staff. Even CJ had needed multiple outfits just to get through her days, and Will looked like he'd slept in his clothes half the time. She wanted to give some valuable instructions to his assistant about managing his image, but that would've felt weird. It had been hard enough for her to prove herself in the press room without reminding everyone of where she'd come from. But Will really did look ridiculous.

She sighed a little as he turned from his course and followed her to her office. "So I'm guessing last night didn't go so well," he ventured, stopping in her doorway as she hung up her coat and began checking her inbox.

"Why do you say that?" Donna asked, letting her voice be cool but not as cold as she might have liked. She and Will were a lot more collegial than she'd ever been with Leo, but he was still her boss.

"Your deputy's pretty hungover this morning," he told her with a wry grin. "That usually indicates wine and girl talk."

Donna sighed. "I swear to god, we split one bottle."

"Annabeth only weighs what, fifty pounds?" Will pointed out. "I'm not sure she has any measurable tolerance for alcohol."

"Next time I'll just give her ginger ale," Donna muttered. When Will just lingered, waiting at her office door like he expected a bus to come along, she ignored him. For a minute, then two. She knew if she stared at him, he'd crack like an egg, but it wouldn't make him leave. He'd just start babbling. She finally did look up at him, and he raised both eyebrows inquisitively. "I was home before 8:30 and didn't even eat the overpriced dinner I paid for. You can do the math."

"I'm sorry to hear it," and his voice was sincere enough that she stopped wanting to smack him upside the head. "You, uh, you want to talk about it? Lisa has a bowl of Hershey Kisses on her desk I could commandeer."

Donna snorted at the offer, her lips quirking just a little. "No thanks, I'm fine. I've been brushing off encounters with asshole politicians for the past decade, this one's no different."

"If you say so." He didn't bother to hide his skepticism. Sometimes Will reminded Donna of her older brother, just six inches shorter and seventy pounds lighter, and with darker hair, of course. That wasn't always an endearing quality. "We're in the Oval at 10:30 after the mid-morning briefing, he wants to hear about media targeting in the Upper Midwest. You've got it?"

"Yep," she agreed absently. "But you have to leave now or I'm going to go up for my briefing and just stare blankly at them for ten minutes because I don't know the talking points."

"Leaving now." Will put up his hands and walked away, leaving Donna to pretend she wasn't brooding over the same asshole politician who'd occupied so much of her time for the past decade.

By 10:30, Donna had either dazzled or baffled the press (it was always hard to tell) with the latest news on the economic plan, taken Annabeth a bottle of water and three apology Motrin, and actually gathered the data she'd promised on Upper Midwest media targeting. Will and the President were both putting a lot of faith in their ability to influence the Congressional races this year and thus gain a much-needed majority. She'd had too much experience with Democrats who got a taste of power and refused to toe the line to believe that even if their long-shot strategy worked, that it would end their problems.

Staff in the Oval Office involved the usual subtle jockeying for positions as they all sat down, since President Russell had opted for a loveseat and several chairs instead of couches. Donna aced out Mitchell Martin, the deputy communications director, for one of the chairs, folded her legs neatly, and tried not to look smug. Mitchell went and leaned against the wall. She delivered her report when called upon, got no questions because it was all boring and fairly obvious, then listened to and made notes on what everybody else had to say.

Thirty minutes into the meeting, Will's deputy Bryan was bloviating as usual on how it was completely impossible to get Republicans on the Hill to do anything and how Senators Jefferson and McManus were going to block the entire foreign aid bill when Donna momentarily forgot herself. "Why would you even go to McManus on foreign aid?" she demanded. "He votes with Harrison and his block something like 90% of the time, he's not going to break for this."

"His district is vulnerable, Donna," Bryan explained in a voice that was more than a little patronizing. "We can peel him off his coalition-"

"You're never going to peel him off that coalition," Donna shot back. "He and Harrison are best friends from their days in Congress, Harrison is godfather to his son. It's Harrison you need to go after, and you can get him if you tack on the farming subsidy he's been agitating for. Harrison will get you McManus and three more besides, you won't even need Jefferson."

"That's ridiculous," Bryan began, but was interrupted again, this time by the President.

"It's an interesting idea," President Russell told them both. "And really, we haven't got that much to lose at this point, right? Go to Harrison and see what you can hammer out with the farming subsidy, but don't go over ten million unless he's willing to co-sponsor." Bryan didn't look particularly happy with the directive, but he murmured agreement anyway. Donna was surprised, but rather gratified. At the end of the meeting, President Russell once again asked her to linger for a minute.

"That was some incisive thinking on Harrison," he told her. "I sometimes forget that you spent most of your time wrangling Congress and not the press in the last administration."

"Thank you, sir," Donna replied sincerely.

"Not to change the subject without actually changing the subject that much," he began with a half-smile, "but did you have a chance to talk with Josh Lyman about my offer?"

"I did, sir," she said carefully, diplomatically, "but I'm afraid he's not interested right now. I think he may be pursuing independent consulting work for the moment."

"That's a shame," the president said with a frown. "We could use the muscle right now, that or a miracle. If we can't pull Harrison on this, I might wind up sending you to the Hill to talk with him."

Donna smiled a little. "I serve at the pleasure of the President, sir," she reminded him, "just please, please do not let Bryan into my press room."

"Good point," he acknowledged. "I guess the job switching will have to wait. Get with Will this afternoon when you've got a few minutes and hammer out a statement about the summit meeting next week."

"You don't want me working with Angela on that?" The Communications Director would've been the natural fit for drafting a press release.

President Russell gave her an avuncular smile, which looked just a little weird. "She's up to her armpits in the State of the Union. Will can help you put it together and get it out."

"Yes sir. Thank you." Donna left the Oval Office, rearranging her notes and wondering, just idly, just for a moment, how she would do up in a meeting on the Hill. She knew she was right about Harrison, but she'd never been the actual negotiator, just the one who sent the fruit baskets afterwards. It almost made her want to try it out, just to see if she could.