He asked her the first question on the second day of their vacation. They had spend the most of the first day sleeping, both of them barely able to stand up from campaign-fatigue. Now it was midmorning, and he was lying on his back on the bed next to her. He rolled over and faced her, draping an arm across her stomach. They had just made love, and she was covered in a fine layer of perspiration. Her breathing was still slightly labored, and to him she had never looked more glorious than in that moment. Her hair was a mess and her lips were reddened from his kisses and he felt a wave of possessiveness well up inside himself.

"Why did you say that?"

She frowned when she faced him, and despite the way they were always so completely in tune he realized that maybe she would need more of a clue to pick up a five week old conversation.

"That day in Michigan, after we´d kissed, when I tried to…" he trailed off.

Instantly the confusion cleared of her face and she rolled over to face him completely.

"Did you ever feel like your love-life was just… sort of in transit?" she was searching for the right way to explain herself, and he merely raised his brows in question.

"I mean… Have you ever felt like you were just going through the motions of dating, more because you knew you ought to than because you really wanted to?"

He thought about it for a minute and the he gave a slight understanding nod.

"For the last… Well, six years at least, I've felt like I was just waiting for something to happen… for something to rock the boat enough to tilt us out of balance…"

He frowned. If his shooting, her accident in Gaza and assorted boyfriends and girlfriends hadn't been enough for them to lose their balance then why had they lost it now?

"We had been circling around each other for so long that we were bound to bump into each other at some point and I was just sort of waiting for it…"

They lay in quiet for a few minutes.

"But there have been so many things," he started but she interrupted him.

"They were, more or less, all about you." He searched her face for an accusation but found none "In the end it had to be about me, about me making myself into a real person, not just an extension of you. "

"You were always a real person." He interjected but she just smiled and continued.

"Something had to change in the basic power structure between us for this to happen. I had been waiting for you to stop running and when I stopped waiting, you stopped running. If I hadn't left the White House when I did you'd have kept on, using our working relationship as an excuse for us not to move forwards"

He felt like protesting, but couldn't really do it because she was right he guessed, he had been hiding behind their professional relationship. He had been hiding from the feelings he had for her, because he knew it would end up hurting him, and it had, even though he hadn't acted on them.

"But you left me!" he objected.

"No, I quit my job… You chose not to take my calls, and after a month I had to stop trying." She drew a gentle finger across his forehead, smoothing out the wrinkles and her voice softened "I could never leave you."

"I was angry…" he tried.

"You were terrified!"

A slight annoyance had surfaced in her voice, and before she continued, she fought to get it under control again.

"Let's be honest about this. Asides from your mother I was the most constant entity in your life and had been for a long time, and I was still prepared to be there, but you shut me out because you were scared to see me without having a reason to keep your distance. When I started on Russell's campaign that was a new excuse, my disloyalty…"

Josh sighed and drew a hand over his face in frustration.

"You're right." He conceded, and for a moment she looked stunned.

"I was attracted to you for so long," he continued "and then I suddenly had this chance to make a move and it terrified me! There were so many things that could've gone wrong, and I chickened out. After that, it was just easier to blame you. I'm so sorry."

She looks at him and smiles, her hand moving up to caress his check.

"It's okay," she pauses "or it will be, if you kiss me again."

He matches her smile and leans over, kissing her, gently at first but it heats up quickly and in no time she's panting again.

The next time she's the one to ask. They had finally managed to get out of the hotel room, and they're lying on the beach on a couple of sun chairs, hidden mostly under the shade of a large parasol placed between the chairs. He's not really a beach person and although the chair is keeping him out of touch of the sand he feels itchy. Despite his own discomfort he's decided that Sarasota agrees with her and that her bikini, a bright red stringy little thing which looks great on her, would look even better on the floor in their room. She's wearing sunglasses, and he realizes that he can't remember the last time she's done that. He's noticed that most of her holiday clothing is really easy to get into and it makes him think it's really easy to get out of too, he likes that exceedingly. She has her eyes closed and her face is tilted upwards and he's considering doing the same thing if he ever gets tired of looking at her, but then she asks him, and he completely forgets.

"Why did you ask me if I ever had a campaign fling? You of all people ought to know that I haven't, since we spend most of our time together."

He's shaken out of his reverie and for a moment he is silent, a little unwilling to tell her the truth. A last he gathers himself and instead of answering directly he points out the flaw in her logic.

"You've been on a campaign without me, remember?"

She rolls her head over to look at him and it annoys him that he can't see the look in her eyes behind the dark tinted glasses.

"Yes, I guess," she mumbles "but those people were all so young, and the only one I ever really talked to was Will."

His silence says it all.

"Were you jealous of Will?" she asks a slight smile playing over her lips.

"No!" he starts, but then he amends his answer "Maybe a little."

She takes of the glasses and places them beside her on the chair before sitting up from her reclining position and swinging her legs over the side of the chair to face him completely. He likes that she seems to understand his need to see her eyes in that moment.

"I didn't go out with Will."

She says it in a very definite tone, inarguable, sincere, and he feels something lightening in his chest. He could have kicked himself when the next words fly out of his mouth.

"Why?"

She stands up and looks down at him.

"He's not you."

She turns and walks slowly towards the water and his eyes follows her movements, the sway of her hips and the way her hair swings over her shoulder when she turns to look back at him.

"Wanna come for a swim?" she calls back at him and smiles.

Before he knows it, he's next to her on the sand, walking towards the water their hands hanging, loosely intertwined, between them.

On the fourth morning, he realizes that the toe curling awkwardness of waking up next to her is completely gone. He wakes up with her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. She's awake already and her fingers are lightly tracing along the scar on his chest. It's faded now, only a slightly swelled thin white line about 8 inches long. She sighs, and until she snuggles closer and kisses the edge of the scar, he fears that she is put off by it. She has her own scars, but he doesn't care and he would hate it if she did. He reaches down and kisses the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her deeply.

"Hey," his voice is gravely and unused.

He feels her smile against his skin and he pulls her closer, just to feel more of her against him. The ends of her hair are tickling his arm and he extends his free arm to tug it behind her ear. Her hand has sought lower, away from his scar to trace back and forth across his stomach, and he's beginning to feel the effects of her touch.

"I called for coffee," she say, just as he is about to roll her over onto her back "I thought you might like a cup."

Instead of rolling her over he pulls her up to meet his mouth, morning breath be damned.

When they return to Washington after eight days the only address they give in the cab is his. She waits behind him when he opens the door and he pushes her up against it when it's been closed behind them. The feel of his hot breath and light kisses on her neck and shoulder makes her tremble, and this time they don't make it to the bed. When they finally do, she falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow. He lies there for a while, spooned up behind her naked body, the sensation of her skin against his almost too pleasurable to handle. He's drawing lazy patterns on her stomach and before the steadiness of her breath lulls him to sleep he whispers softly, meant for his own ears only.

"I love you."

The next day, after work, she reappears with another bag and the floral terry cloth bathmat from her bathroom. Once, in a rather inebriated state, he told her that it was the ugliest thing he ever saw and he still thinks so but every time he sees it on the floor in the bathroom he is reminded that she is somewhere in the apartment with him. They haven't really talked about it at all, but that doesn't matter because it feels right, and it's not like she haven't stayed in his apartment before, the only difference is that this time she's next to him on the bed and not on the pullout in his office. The next time he sees the twitchy girl from treasury, he has to fight the impulse to cross the street and thank her for taking over the lease.

No one notices their changed living situation until the day the Sam shows up at the door in a flurry, full of news and annoyance that Josh hasn't picked up his phone. It is six weeks after inauguration and the teacher tenure elimination plan has just gone through the Senate. Sam is itching to tell Josh, but he forgets why he came when she opens the door, wearing one of Josh's dress shirts and a pair of woolen socks. They had ordered pizza so she thought it was the delivery boy, and seeing Sam throws her of completely. For a few moments they just stand there, staring at each other.

"Ehm," Sam croaks out and the noise finally kicks Donna out of her stupor.

"Hi Sam, come on in." she sounds a little too airy "You looking for Josh? He's is in the shower. Do you want anything? I think we have a couple of beers in the fridge. Or do you want a glass of red wine?"

He sees the bottle on the coffee table, flanked by two glasses. Suddenly, he realizes that Donna probably knows exactly how many beers there's in the fridge, most likely because she put them in there. They stand in the living room for a few moments seemingly frozen in place before he accepts the beer she offers him, and he can't help but notice that when she's embarrassed Donna flushes all over. She pours a glass of wine for herself and disappears into the kitchen. In the same second he hears Josh stomping through the bedroom.

"Honey," he yells "Was that the pizza-guy?"

He walks into the living room wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and with a towel over his head while he's drying his hair. At first he doesn't notice Sam at all. Donna returns from the kitchen and her face is still slightly pinker than usually.

"No."

Josh finish drying his hair and looks at her before he notice that something is wrong, then he turns and focus his gaze on Sam. He's still standing with the unopened beer in his hand. At first Sam thinks Josh might stumble into a long implausible explanation as to why Donna is in his apartment, and in her particular state of undress, but instead he just takes a steadying breath.

"Hi Sam, how did it go on the hill?"

He's almost unable to answer, but in the end the words come out.

"Fine, it went through the Senate."

Josh face breaks into a wide smile, and he plucks the beer from Sam's hand.

"Honey," he says and hands it back to Donna "Put that back will you, and bring that bottle of champagne instead, this is definitely a cause for celebration. I'll get some glasses."

Donna looks at him, obviously stunned, but then she smiles widely and disappears back into the kitchen. When she comes back Josh has the glasses ready. After the first sip of champagne Sam finally regains his voice enough to ask the really imposing question.

"How long…" he gestures back and forth between them and then starts over "Are you living together?"

Josh smiles at Donna, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and then faces Sam.

"I guess so, I let her stay here for a while because she sublet her apartment, but I guess I should have suspected that she had an ulterior motive when she brought that hideous bathmat."

Sam looks horrified and the living room is entirely quiet for a beat, and then Josh and Donna both break into an easy laughter. In the end even Sam cracks a smile, and he sinks into the couch telling them that they are terrible people and they really could have, at least, let him know.

The next day the whole White House knows and instead of the pressure he feared, Josh just feels relieved that they don't have to hide it anymore.