Author's Note: Happy New Year's Eve, everybody! I thought about doing a holiday fic today, something nice and season-appropriate to usher in 2017. Unfortunately I am completely sick and have been sick for the past two days while writing fics that exploded to be much longer than I thought they'd be. I've spent most of today in bed, blowing my nose. So instead, here's a little post-episode fic for Guns, Not Butter that answers the question I've had for a long time, "what's the deal with the olives?" Hope you enjoy, feedback is great and will entertain me while I ring in the New Year with my tea and humidifier.

…...

Donna rounded the corner by the Communications bullpen at her usual brisk walk and nearly ran right into Bonnie and Ginger. Usually all three were adept at avoiding just this sort of collision, but the two Communications assistants were burdened by the bicycles they were pushing down the hallway. Donna slammed on the brakes and stopped just in time, taking in the sight. "I'm guessing there's a story here," she offered.

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Grab a bike," she told Donna, "and we'll tell you." As it turned out, Will Bailey's new office was filled to the brim with bicycles, most of which apparently belonged to the junior communications staffers who were having a little trouble adjusting to the new temp guy. Rather than rising above the hazing, Will had corralled his assistants into doing manual bike-removal labor, which didn't earn him any points either.

"We tried to tell him that he didn't have to do anything," Ginger complained. "Just let the air out of the tires and leave them be. The guys use their bicycles to get to work half the time, they'd be stuck having to come get them and roll them out with flat tires. It'd be perfect. But god forbid the man work in an office with bikes in it for a day or two."

"Where are we taking these, anyway?" Donna asked. They were causing a major disruption trying to navigate three bicycles through the West Wing in the middle of the day; she estimated they had another three trips ahead of them at this rate. The junior staffers were nothing if not thorough. It was a little entertaining to watch the interns scrambling to get out of the way, but the Secret Service agents didn't look amused, and god knew what they'd do if the President decided to go for a walk.

"Couch room," Bonnie said with disgust.

"Are you serious?" Donna was aghast. "That's two full flights of stairs!"

"He wants them someplace that the staffers can't get them without trouble," Ginger explained disgustedly. "OEOB staff don't have access to the basement levels without escort."

"Which means we're also on the hook to take them down there and listen to them complain the whole time," Bonnie added.

"I miss Sam," Ginger sighed.

"Let's just put them in the cloakroom," Donna suggested. "No big events scheduled this week, and he'll never know the difference." This idea met with general acclaim, especially since the elevator was too small to fit more than one bicycle at a time. "So is he always like this?" she asked the other women. "Making you guys do all this extra work?"

"He's a nice enough guy," Ginger admitted, "but he's not very thoughtful. Like he's polite, and at least he doesn't demand pie..."

"If I never see another piece of freaking pie it'll be too soon," Bonnie put in.

"But he's the sort of guy who expects extra services in general." At Donna's raised eyebrow, she snorted a laugh. "Not like that! But if he's got dry cleaning to pick up he expects us to do it, or an errand to run, or needs somebody to chase away his sister, he doesn't realize that's not actually our job. He doesn't ask."

"And he doesn't do tit for tat. The guy's always been rich, or running his own show," Bonnie added. "He's probably had a PA since he was in diapers. But we've got actual work to do."

"He needs training," Donna observed sympathetically. The other assistants both nodded. "You think Toby should talk to him?"

"Nah," Bonnie replied. "No need to bring in the guys on this. A little gentle redirection should do the trick."

"CJ did pay me twenty bucks to put olives in his suitcoat pockets," Ginger reported cheerfully.

"What?" Donna blinked.

Ginger shrugged. "I dunno. I got the impression it was a thing. But she even gave me the olives. I rinsed them off first," she added defensively. "They weren't oily or anything."

"Well, twenty bucks is twenty bucks," Bonnie decided philosophically. "You're buying the first round tonight." Donna agreed to this with a little cheer.

"That seems unfair," Ginger protested, without much energy.

"I'm taking valuable time out of my afternoon to help you move bicycles," Donna pointed out as she shoved her bike into the furthest corner of the empty cloakroom. The other two followed suit.

"I noticed that," Bonnie replied. "Josh must be really insufferable today."

"It was a tough day yesterday," Donna said, a little defensively.

"The Foreign Aid bill?" Bonnie asked. Donna nodded. "Sons of bitches." Ginger nodded agreement.

"We'll get it in the next session," Donna insisted, "but we should've gotten it today. Senator Hardin is definitely on my list. And Josh is... coping."

"Sulking," Ginger interpreted. Donna agreed with a shrug. "Fine, I'll buy the first round."

"We should invite Carol too," Bonnie suggested. "She was kicking the trashcan in the bathroom again earlier."

"Sure, just abuse my generosity," Ginger groused. "We'll get Margaret, too, make a clean sweep. I take it Danny's back again?"

"Have we considered just yanking his credentials?" Donna asked.

"He's a senior correspondent from WaPo, we'd need more than 'he depresses the hell out of the Press Secretary,'" Bonnie replied dolefully. "Right now we're just hoping he goes away again soon. Or that CJ gets a date who isn't a reporter."

"Maybe we should take CJ out for drinks," Ginger suggested, half-serious. "Help her get a life."

"Yeah, because all our dating lives are so much to celebrate," Donna muttered. They wended their way back into the densely-packed hallways of the West Wing, automatically dodging around the flow of traffic.

"Hey, speak for yourself," said Bonnie. "Six months and counting."

Ginger rolled her eyes. "Internet relationships don't count."

"They completely do."

"Really don't. You're not getting any of the fun stuff from a computer screen."

Bonnie smirked. "Oh, you have no idea..."

"Right!" Donna interrupted as they passed the Ops Bullpen. "This looks like my stop. Good luck with the bicycles!"

"You know," Bonnie told Ginger, "if we're putting them in the cloakroom, we can make the interns do it."

"That's a brilliant idea." Ginger turned to Donna. "Hawk and Dove, seven-thirty?"

"Probably closer to eight, but I'll be there," Donna agreed.

As though waiting for the cue, Josh's voice echoed from his office. "DONNA!"

"Probably." Donna modified her agreement with a sigh. "Good luck with Will, try not to break him. We need him till Sam comes back."

"We haven't broken a staffer yet," Bonnie pointed out, "and we had to work with Mandy. Do you think I'd get fired for donating to Sam's opponent's campaign?"

"Not if nobody found out, I guess." Donna gathered up an armful of folders. "Sam'll be back soon."

"Your mouth to God's ear." Ginger muttered. "Seven-thirty!" she repeated to Donna. "Sneak out if you must. We deserve it!" Donna just laughed, getting back to work as her friends hurried away.