To Be On A Stamp

by Jessie

Spoilers: Can't you tell from the title? You need to be familiar with "Galileo" to get this.

Summary: Ainsley Hayes overhears a conversation that makes her think. It's from her POV.

Archive: Yes please. Just ask.

Disclaimer: These characters and situations are not mine. I'd be worried if you thought they were.

Authors Note: I wrote this one rather quickly, so I'm not gonna pretend that it's my best work. But it's fun and sweet and . . . well, I know that *I* need some fanfic to tie me over until "Noel". So, here ya go. Enjoy :)

***

I've never thought of myself as a terribly romantic person.

Casablanca and Sleepless in Seattle were wasted on me. Valentines Day has always been just another day. Except with chalk hearts and swooning coworkers. And the day I cry over a Hallmark commercial or throw myself at the feet of, well, any man, is the day I march right into the oval office and tell the President exactly what I think of him.

But there are times . . . Yes, there are definitely moments- although rare- that I start to wonder whether having some kind of love in my life might just be worth it.

This is one of those moments.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not about to break out in song, or prance around the hallways of the west wing reciting sonnets. But I'll admit that once in a great while, a moment like this comes along and . . . and, well, knocks me off my feet with the sheer force of the realization that it brings.

I do have a point. There is nothing so vague as a woman without words for her emotions. But I do have a point.

I witnessed something today.

Accidentally, of course. So don't go thinking I'm as bad as every one else around here- sneaking up on people and eavesdropping like nobody's business.

It was completely innocent. The day had started out just like every other. All was well and normal.

How was I supposed to know that by walking down that hallway- that by trying to get my work done on time for once- I would suddenly find myself under attack by one of those rare and infamous 'moments'? And that this 'moment' would define the rest of my day?

So don't blame me.

If any one- blame him.

And her. Since I'm sure she's done something to warrant a finger or two pointed in her direction.

But mostly blame him. Since I know how he is, and if there's one thing you can be certain of in this lifetime, it's that, nine times out of ten, Josh Lyman is at fault.

Again, I feel the need to reiterate my blamelessness. I was just picking up some documents. Really. All I wanted to do was retrieve some documents from Josh and maybe finish work in time for an extra long coffee break. I just thought that maybe, for once, I would get to relax for a few minutes in this hectic mess called the White House.

And I was completely blindsided.

"Do you want to do this or not?" The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and I stopped suddenly in front of the Deputy Chief of Staff's office.

"I don't." That was Josh's voice. And the other . . .

"I did index cards." Donna. Of course it would be Donna. Who else would be suicidal enough to intentionally start up an argument with Josh Lyman?

Not that she couldn't handle it. I imagine she's the only one who can.

But purposefully start an argument? Cause that's exactly what she was doing. She was drawing him in for a good fight. As though she enjoyed the prospect of it.

And he knew it, too. Yet he was moving in anyway. As though he also enjoyed the idea.

At this point I realize I could easily be mistaken for someone intentionally eavesdropping.

But I'm not. And I try to look accordingly. I have good reason to be standing there. I'm simply waiting for them to come to a pause in their conversation. I'm waiting for an appropriate time to interrupt and ask Josh for those documents.

I'm not eavesdropping.

"Philately's fun, Josh." I'm sorry- what?!

Did Donna just say what I think she said?

"I'm sorry- what's fun?" He's got the same idea, doesn't he?

Jerk. I can tell he's finally paying attention because of it.

"Philately. Stamp collecting."

Ohhhhhhhhh.

"Careful how you say that word, cause . . ." Cause your mind's in the gutter?

All right, so I hadn't heard correctly either. Still.

"Can we work?"

"Tell me what you know."

I'm suspecting this would be a good time to cut in and make my presence known. I'll be in and out in under a minute. I'll have that long coffee break. I'll . . .

"The process by which a stamp enters into circulation . . ." Crap. Maybe I should just barge in anyway. Get it over with and quit standing there like an idiot. Donna's used to being interrupted. She works for Josh, for Pete's sake. " . . . begins with the American public . . ."

"Well, that's always our first mistake." He interrupts her and I admit to having a little trouble not laughing.

I truly must look ridiculous, standing there at the door and trying not to seem conspicuous.

She goes on about stamps, and he makes another humorous comment.

I grow bored of the conversation and decide that I'll just interrupt them. To hell with manners. It's not like I didn't abandon the concept years ago. I don't know why they're coming up again now.

She's listing the qualities of Marcus Aquino now. I sigh and peek through the doorway, completely ready to stomp into the office unannounced and with more authority than I actually have. But I hesitate.

This is when I should have caught sight of the infamous 'moment', as it headed straight for me. With the speed of an oncoming train, might I add.

I should have seen it coming. I really should have.

I uncertainly look inside the office and see Donna, sitting in the chair facing Josh's desk- leaning forward, totally involved in the work she's doing. Her speech is right on, and I briefly wonder whether she's memorized it, word for word, from a book.

Just looking at her back, she seems full of purpose and direction, as though this argument over some Puerto Rican is what the universe is all about. I have to say that I admire that.

And Josh. He's just sitting there. One look at him and I knew he wouldn't see me standing there at the door. He was too wrapped up in other things. In her.

He just sat there, staring at her as she spoke. As though he was impressed, and intrigued, and . . . I don't know what else. Something I hadn't seen on his face before.

But it looked good on him. It fit him. It radiated importance and . . . something.

I told you I wasn't any good at this romance stuff. Whatever it was . . . it almost made me wish I was one of those people who rescue homeless kittens or cry at the end of Titanic.

Almost.

In case your wondering, this isn't the 'moment' that I keep referring to. It was beautiful . . . in an odd, only-in-the-white-house, sort of way. And it made me hesitate. I'll give them that. Not very many people can make me hesitate like that.

But this isn't the 'moment'. Just a prequel.

As a side note, I will later realize and list all of the reasons that that scene should never have happened and shouldn't ever happen again. The Deputy Chief of Staff and his assistant having any sort of relationship, even simple friendship, is something I can't stand for.

Purely on principle, you understand.

But right now I'm still a bit in shock from that freight train of a moment that I just collided with.

"Let's put him on a stamp." Donna concludes, as though she's just made her decision and there's nothing Josh can do to convince her otherwise. I keep watching, my excuse being that I'm waiting for an acceptable time to intrude.

It's a really bad excuse, isn't it?

"Let's put you on a stamp." The comment comes out of nowhere and he's completely serious. His face is so unreadable, and yet, gives everything away.

"Okay." She's embarrassed. I can feel her blush slightly without even looking. She's loving it. She doesn't know what to say, but she doesn't have to say anything.

And this is it.

I can't breathe.

I've lost the ability to think. To reason.

My moment has come.

"Let's talk about the problem."

And then it's gone.

So quickly. Yet, I can't get over it. Moments like these hit you and don't hold anything back. That's why they're so rare.

I turn around slowly and start walking down the hall in a daze.

I think I've completely forgotten about those documents at this point.

Now, if I were to think about the scene that I just witnessed rationally, I would probably come to the conclusion that it didn't really mean anything. It was just another slice of time in the day and would be forgotten soon afterwards. It was just a couple of people having fun; joking around; trying to avoid work.

But as I stated earlier- I've just lost all ability to think rationally.

So, lacking any thought processing skills as I am right now, the only way I can describe what I just saw is by not.

There are no words for it. At least, none that I can think of.

It was just so perfect. So rare. So . . .

Again, I'm reminded of the hole in my brain where poetics should be.

All right. Let me see if I can do this.

I am an intelligent individual. I'm a competent and resourceful woman. I can come up with a few sentences to, more or less, illustrate what I just saw.

Which, of course, may not be what really happened at all. For all I know that scene back there was as meaningless as the banana muffin I just had for lunch, and probably was.

But *I* saw something else. And so, whether it was all in my head or not, I need to come up with a few words that will make it seem slightly more tangible.

So. Here it goes.

Love.

No, no, no. Wait. Let me explain. Cause if you know me at all you know that I would never use that word in this kind of context, or- well- ever. So let me explain. Because I'm really not going to suddenly start philosophizing on that hypothetical emotion. I'm just gonna call it as I see it. Okay?

Love. There was something back there- in the way that he looked at her, in the tone of his voice, in the sound of hers- that radiated with some unspoken bond. It seemed to shine with whatever it is that love is supposed to be. Everything that anyone ever told you that would happen to you right before he carried you off, the wedding day, and happily-ever-after's that even as a six-year-old I couldn't help scoffing at.

Love. Just because it's the only word that is, at once, so real and unreal. Just like that 'moment'.

Some off-hand remark about putting his assistant on a stamp, and suddenly he's confessing everything to her. He's praising her like every housewife's wanted to be praised by their bread-winning husbands. Like every woman, every man, and every child, wants to be accepted and encouraged. In one little phrase he said what the whole world was waiting, with baited breath, to hear. A phrase that he probably didn't even mean to say, because he actually meant it, and God forbid we say anything we really mean around here.

And she, with that one, embarrassed word. That pink-cheeked reply, seemed to capture the whole of creation smiling as it recognized its place. As it accepted that this is where it belongs and where it is needed. This is what she's supposed to be doing. Listening to him thank her.

That's what it was. It was him thanking her for everything that she had ever done for him and ever would do.

And she thanked him back. Thanked him in every way possible with that one small word. She might as well have kissed him- passionately and without forethought. It was the same thing. It was the same idea and the same energy. It was him saying 'I love you' and her saying 'I love you' back, without the need of such cliched phrases as those that I am able to conjure up.

It was . . . everything.

Wow.

You're thinking I had help with those last few thoughts, aren't you?

Poetics and romance? Ha! I laugh in the face of such obstacles!

Well . . . maybe not.

I'm thinking beginners luck- how 'bout you?

Any way . . . my moment. Or, they're moment. Or . . . whatever it was- it was life changing. Or, at least, it made *me* think. And I have very few experiences that leave me that overwhelmed.

I'm just not that kind of person.

But that moment. The way he looked at her and the way they spoke. It was . . .

I'm sighing now, aren't I? Great. Just great. I'm turning into one of those same saps I've been mocking since grade school.

But I can't help it. I'll just admit it now and get all these emotions out in the open. I can't help wishing that I had a relationship like that. That there was some man willing and eager to say something like that to me.

Perhaps I'd have to put up with a lot of crap from him, and the relationship would never be as smooth as I imagine it, but one comment like that- one gesture of total adoration and love- and I would know it was worth it.

So that, I suppose, is my point.

It's not much of one. But I find it rather inspiring.

And, you know what? Maybe neither of them knows what kind of relationship they have- and I suspect that they don't. But that's the beauty of it.

Cause one day they'll wake up and realize, "Hey! This is what life's all about. This is why I'm me, and you're you, and everything in the world works like it should." They'll suddenly, and with no warning as far as they're concerned, know that conversations like the one I just overheard, are exactly what they've been searching for.

Or . . . maybe they do know. Maybe, on some level, they do. I have no sense for these things really. I haven't got a clue when it comes to men and women; the birds and the bees; love songs and 'chick flicks'.

But I think I do know one thing for sure. If ever a man decided to risk his heart in pursuit of mine: no "I love you"'s necessary.

Just offer me a place on a stamp.

End

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