"A three-day filibuster," the President greeted him as Leo entered the room.

"Is this conversation ever going to be over?" Leo asked the Oval Office at large. It did not deign to reply, which is just as well, since Bartlett was just getting started.

"Leo." Bartlett could put so much inflection into his name. This particular species was the you-know-better, don't-disappoint-me kind. "It's a filibuster in reaction the judicial appointments. Most of the country has no idea what that entails ? and now, Congress is going to show them!"

"C-SPAN is going to show them. At length, ad nauseum. And it's still a waste of time." Leo did not bother pointing out Nielson ratings, which meant that the average American was going to change the channel within two seconds, and thus not learn anything.

"They have graphs, Leo," the President said, sounding for as if he were tickled pink by the whole mess of nonsense.

"And my heart flutters with joy. In the meantime, they're still not doing anything." Which was nothing less than frustrating, considering the tenuous alliances over commerce bill.

"I don't think your heart has been doing much fluttering lately. What happened to that nice attorney?"

"Nothing happened, because nothing happened in the first place. The attorney was another one of your romantic delusions." Christ, Leo had breakfast with the woman once and Bartlett wanted to paint it the romance of the century.

"Do you want to know why nothing happened?"

"Because I'm a crotchety old man and I don't like people?" Leo volunteered.

Bartlett gave him a dirty look. "Nothing happened because you never put any effort into anything happening," he corrected.

"It was one breakfast!" Leo protested, backing out of the room.

"Le-o."

Usually, it took three hours until the President said his name that way. Leo glanced at his watch on the way to his meeting with Josh and Toby. Forty-seven minutes ? a personal best.

"Yes. Yes. Thank you, Congressman. Yes. Goodbye," Leo said, as politely as he could manage. He refrained from slamming the phone, which he was rather proud of. "Margaret!" he bellowed. "I need that file!"

Margaret poked her head though the doorway. "Which file?"

Leo waved his hand. "The file. For the thing," he clarified.

Margaret nodded in what he could only hope was understanding.

The adjoining door flew open. "What do you think about Powerpoint?" the President asked, looking intent.

"Very useful, I'm sure," Leo told him, looking over the rims of his glasses.

"In Congress. For the filibuster," the President said. "Don't you think we've progressed beyond easels and paper charts?"

Leo put down the briefing he had been thinking about reading. "Where would we put the screen?"

"The Speaker can hold it. Gives him something useful to do."

"Running the House wasn't useful enough?" Leo asked dryly.

But the President was already off and running. "How much money do you think it would cost?"

"In terms of bickering, tax money, and my relative sanity? Entirely too much."

"But - "

Margaret saved him by coming in with the requested file. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I have a meeting with Josh and Toby."

"Of course," the President said, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Ask Josh what he thinks about it."

"I'd rather play in traffic, sir."

"So what's this about Powerpoint in the filibuster?" Josh asked, doing a miserable job of looking and sounding innocently curious.

"Shut up, Josh," Leo suggested.

The President's eyes lit up. "I've been telling Leo that I think we should get Powerpoint in the House and Senate for just these sorts of occasions."

Leo gave Josh the evil eye. The very, very evil eye.

"I think it might have its applications," Josh ventured.

"I think I might demote you," Leo muttered.

The President contemplated the ceiling for a few moments. "What's your opinion on interpretive dance?"

"It also could be useful," Josh said. He was trying to fight down a smile, and once again, failing.

"I could do an interpretive dance," Leo interrupted them. "It's going to start with my foot and your ass, Josh, if we don't get the issue resolved by the time of the vote this afternoon."

"Maybe I'll just go back to my office and work on that thing right away," Josh said, wisely making his escape.

"You know what, Leo? I think that relationships, even our entire lives are really a matter of interpretive dance."

Leo looked at him suspiciously. "When was the last time you ate?"

The President appeared to consider it briefly. "Breakfast, I think."

Leo rolled his eyes. "Let's go get lunch. Something about low blood sugar turns you into a frightening cross between a bad drama teacher and a tabloid relationship counselor. Have you been eating regularly, lately? I think you've lost weight."

The President snorted. "You're more attentive than my tailor, Leo. And I think that's the pot calling the kettle black, vis a vis regular eating habits…"

"Changing the subject won't do you any good."

"Le-o…"

Leo paused in the doorway, because Josh Lyman was doing something exceedingly ridiculous-looking, and it bore watching.

At the moment, he seemed to be doing some sort of twirling, accompanied by dramatic pausing and mournful sighing. Donna was standing some distance away, the back of her hand pressed against her forehead. As if choreographed (though Leo was pretty sure it was not), they looked at each other at the same time with patently fatuous expressions, and ran toward each other, only to draw away again, and repeat the process several times.

The onlookers were torn between giggles and frowns of puzzlement.

Josh and Donna took a bow. "Any takers?" Donna asked.

To Leo's dismay, Margaret raised her hand enthusiastically. "I know, I know! Donna's the President, and Josh is…"

Josh took that inopportune moment to turn around and see him. "Leo."

"Exactly!" Margaret said, clapping her hands. "That was fun! Do another!"

Leo cleared his throat, and every back in the roomed stiffened. "Doesn't anybody here have work to do?"

The room cleared out as if he had used a taser, which was just as well. He and the President, indeed. There was absolutely no way that their relationship could be symbolized by what looked like an amateur, drunken version of Swan Lake.

"A reverse filibuster!" the President greeted him.

"I want to die," Leo told him seriously.

"Don't be such a baby. First our party holds a filibuster because the Republicans didn't confirm 64 of my nominees, and then the Republicans engage in reverse filibuster because they're annoyed that we're complaining!"

"Democracy at its finest," Leo said sourly, thinking wistfully of aspirin and a dark, quiet room.

"I thought about choreographing my very own interpretive dance for you," the President confided. "But I've been thinking that we're doing one all the time anyway, so it seems a bit superfluous."

"I wish I had some clue as to what you're talking about. Between you, and Josh and Donna and drunken renditions of Tchaikovsky ballet, not to mention the commerce bill..."

"Tchaikovsky had male lovers, you know," the President interrupted. He was suddenly standing very close.

Leo found it a bit hard to glare witheringly at someone whose face was only inches away. He gave it his best try, though. "I'm going to assume that's another helpful factoid, since I don't see what it has to do with anything. You might be happy to note that the staff is taking your suggestions on interpersonal communication a bit too much to heart, and you should have seen it today in the-"

"You're talking, Leo, but you're not saying anything."

Leo took in a sharp breath. "Neither are you."

The President looked pleased. "Congress isn't the only one engaged in a reverse filibuster."

Leo was quiet for a few moments, his mind working but coming up with nothing. "How do we end it, then?"

"I'll give you a hint. We both have to stop talking."

"Oh, that'll happen."

"Leo." The President's gripped his shoulder firmly. "End it."

Leo swallowed. "I don't think we should. Not here, and we can't-"

"End it."

"What about this thing where you're the President, and we're in this office that's very oval-shaped, and ?"

The President kissed him. And when he drew back, he smiled at Leo. "Someone should have thought of this before. Very effective means of ending a filibuster. Although, strictly speaking, I don't think of this as so much of an ending as a beginning."

"What happened to not talking?"

"Come to dinner, Leo, and we can not talk some more about it then."

"Better than interpretive dance."

"That's what you think now, Leo."