Will Bailey was thirsty, and his head hurt, and every time he tried to lift it off the pillow the whole world started doing the Macarena, which did nothing for the state of his stomach, even though he had his eyes closed and he couldn't, per se, see the world or the spinning. His tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth and tasted, well, not so good. Somewhere, the Temptations were singing Ain't Too Proud to Beg, and that, at least, he could put a stop to, flinging out his hand in the direction of the clock radio. His fingers fumbled for the button, any button—the on/off button that would turn off the alarm, or the other on/off button, the one that would turn off the radio, or at the very least the snooze button, which would stop the noise long enough for him to figure out why he hurt so much, but it seemed there were other fingers in the way, also poking frantically at buttons, not to mention a whole body, occupying space on the other side of the mattress, a side that was supposed to be empty—

—and it was that realization that sent Will flying upright in his bed, notwithstanding the pounding in his head or the sickly swirling in his stomach. The data was coming in a little more quickly now, the feed on fast-forward: it was morning, his apartment, his bed. He didn't have anything on, or at least he didn't think—and nope, lifting the sheet confirmed that hypothesis pretty damn quickly. And, ah, since he was there—nope, the other guy didn't have anything on either—

—and oh, by the way, yeah!—his brain starting to catch up with the data feed—there was a guy! In his bed! Right next to him! Naked as the day he was—!

"Listen, is there some trick to turning this thing off?" Okay, Strange Naked Guy was talking. "'Cause I'm pushing every button I can see and the hits just keep on com—ah. Okay, that's better." A blessed sort of silence descended, giving Will time to replay the tape in his head. Morning, hangover, strange naked guy. Meanwhile, strange naked guy, whoever he was—and at this point Will was drawing a really big scary "eighteen minutes of erased tape" kind of blank on that one—settled back down again, and seemed perfectly happy to go right back to sleep.

Which just wasn't acceptable. Not until Will had a name, a first name anyway. He fumbled for the lamp next to the bed, squinting against the sudden brightness and heard a small disgusted moan from the other side of the bed. Will tried to gather his wits, scattered as they appeared to be, to places he couldn't remember. "Uh, excuse me, but—" But what? Will ran his hand over his eyes and into his hair, trying to focus. It was hard, with all that incessant pounding in his head, "Okay, believe me, I know how bad this sounds, but—who are you?"

There was the rustle of sheets, and then a sleepy voice said, "Joe."

"Okay. Okay—Joe." Good, okay, first name here. Joe. Joe. Will tried to remember. Joe, Joe, Joe...Joe Conason. Joe Don Baker. Joe McCarthy. Joe Bob Briggs. GI Joe—oh, dear God, this was so not getting any better...

Okay, time for a look at this guy. Will groped around the nightstand, searching for his glasses; without them, he was as blind as the proverbial bat—or a Southern Democrat on a welfare committee, whichever was more nearsighted—and all he could make out about Strange Naked Guy was that he was white and had dark hair, which didn't do nearly enough to distinguish him from the majority of serial killers. Definitely not enough information for Will to go on.

No glasses.

God, he needed more sleep. He needed his glasses. Mostly, he really, really needed for this not to be happening to him right now.

Will slid out of bed, which led to the uncomfortable reminder that he was—yes, still naked here! Also that he'd forgotten to turn up the heat last night. Glasses. Glasses. He needed to stay focused here. Maybe they were on his desk? Maybe he'd left them in the bathroom?

"Say, Will?"

Oh, wait—wait, that's right! He's still in the middle of an awkward conversation with a naked stranger! And apparently Mr. I-Stayed-the-Night knew his name, which means he was either smarter than Will, or less hungover than Will, and either way Will was at a disadvantage. "Uh, yeah?"

"I'm just wondering if you have any coffee?"

He felt around the books on his desk, under the stacks of paper. Glasses, glasses... "Uh, I'm not sure—I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Joe. Quincy. We met last night?"

Will bit back the "no really, tell me all about it" that was even now starting to slide off the tip of his tongue, and wondered with a kind of weird and desperate hope if maybe this was one of Elsie's practical jokes. "Joe Quincy." No glasses on top of his backpack. Not inside his backpack.

"Yeah, and I was just wondering—I said," voice getting louder as it followed Will into the bathroom, "—I'm just wondering if you've got some coffee around here. In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you I'm really pretty lousy company before my first cup of coffee."

Okay. Not on his desk, not in his backpack, not on the counter in the bathroom. This was going to be more complicated than he thought. Will started back into the bedroom, then paused and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. A little late maybe, but some damage control was in order here.

Mr. Potential Serial Killer was sitting up in bed. "Excuse me, but I can't help noticing, what are you—are you looking for something?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. My glasses." Where would he have put them, where, where, where...? "Sorry, I'm pretty blind without them. So—you say your name is Joe?"

"Yes." And now the quality of Joe's voice was changing, slowing to that deliberate, very precise cadence that adults sometimes used in talking to very small children. "Joe. Joe Quincy?"

Two could play that game. "You can't remember if your name is Joe Quincy?"

"What?"

"You don't sound so sure. It definitely sounded like a question. You said, 'Joe Quincy?' With that tell tale rising of your voice at the end." Dear God, he was baiting a serial killer. Potential serial killer, he corrected. Not that it made him feel any better.

"Yes," and Serial Killer Joe was getting out of bed. "Yes, I said it like a question, because it was a question, but I wasn't asking that question. Listen, about that coffee...?"

"You weren't asking what question?"

"What?" Ha. Good. Now both of them were exasperated. But where the fuck were his glasses?

"You said, yes, you were asking a question but, no, it wasn't that question. So I asked, what question where you asking?"

"Is there any chance there will be coffee at the end of this conversation? Because I'm really a much better conversationalist after my first cup." Will heard the jingle of a belt buckle and was glad that at least one of them was bothering to get dressed. "Look, I wasn't asking, 'Joe Quincy?' as in, 'am I Joe Quincy?' I was asking 'Joe Quincy?', as in—okay, seriously, is there any chance that you're really interested in the answer to this question? And you should really stop poking around in that—well, whatever that large ugly piece of furniture is—

Will stopped with his hand buried in his underwear drawer. "It's a chifforobe. It's a family heirloom."

"Well, whatever. I'm just saying, your glasses are in your jacket. The one you wore last night. Here. " Will watched blurrily as Joe Quincy Adams or whatever the hell his name was came over and lifted his jacket off the back of one of the chairs, putting his hand into one of the pockets. "It's in one of these—" He stopped.

Will looked at him. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just—you have olives in the pocket of your jacket."

"Oh." Those. "Those are CJ's."

"CJ keeps her olives in your jacket?"

"It's a hazing. I'm being hazed. I'm currently in the hazing process. Although I tend to think most hazings have a shorter shelf life." He held out his hand for his glasses.

"Yes, but have you ever had your parking space covered with mayonnaise? Do you think they have any idea what that does to the gears on a BMW? Here."

Okay, that was much better. Much better. Except he was still wearing the towel. Will went into his closet and pulled on a bathrobe. "How did you know where my glasses were?" And now that he was twenty-twenty again, he took stock of one Joseph Quincy. Joe Quincy had a boyish face, handsome really, a face that had probably kept him pretty popular in college, but was now struggling to transition to something older, something more mature, with somewhat less success. Of course, the morning beard wasn't helping. But he did have nice eyes.

"I put them there. Last night. After your fourth shot of tequila." Joe Quincy smiled; a small smile that Will noticed barely curled the edges of his mouth, but a nice smile just the same. "CJ had already left, Toby was taking Josh home, and you didn't want to leave yet. You were delivering quite a speech on your 'life to date,' I think you called it, and you kept taking off your glasses, for reasons that weren't readily apparent to me, and then, well, dropping them. I put them in your pocket so that they wouldn't get broken."

"I was drinking tequila?" Will stared at him. "I never drink tequila."

"It was two for one shots at The Tombs after midnight."

"What did I say?"

"Well, some of it wasn't entirely clear," Joe started sorting through the clothes tossed over Will's desk chair, pulling out a t-shirt, a shirt, a tie, "though you were going on about something, uh, something about the honor and glory of the Democratic Party, and how you got a dead man elected. I didn't quite get the connection. You also pointed out several times that your name was Will, not Bill or Phil. Or—George?" He looked at Will, as if expecting an explanation. Will just groaned and sat down on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. "Okay, well...there was also something about posters and bicycles that I didn't quite catch, and you seem to know an awful lot of women named Lauren. You have a sister named Elsie Snuffin—though I'm figuring that was a joke?" Will shook his head. "O-kay. You're in the—Army?"

"Air Force!"

"Sorry, Air Force Reserves and you went to school in England. And I think you said that you should be in Nice, getting a suntan."

"I see."

"Yeah, well, that was all I got, but you were getting pretty maudlin towards the end there. Say, can you really just call 'Dad' and ask him to 'nuke' Republican National Headquarters with long range missiles?"

Will buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God..."

"And then you offered me a couple of top secret codes in exchange for sexual favors—"

"I don't know any top secret codes!"

"Damn. So you're telling me I put out for nothing. Listen...I know I probably seem very cheerful and amazingly erudite to you for," he looked over at the clock radio, "four thirty in the morning but—"

"Cheerful? Erudite? You—you're," Will gestured towards the wrinkled pants and unbuttoned shirt, "—you're like a homeless guy. In my bedroom."

"—but I really, really," Joe put his hands together, resting his forehead against them, "really need some coffee."

"Yeah, okay, okay—no. No. Wait. Look, I'm sorry to be slow—and I assure you I'm not normally slow, in fact I'm hardly ever slow—"

"Eton valedictorian, if I recall."

"—but, okay, exactly who are you again? I mean, I'm usually very good with people, I'm pretty good at remembering names and who people are, and I really don't remember anything about you."

"Ahhh!" Joe raised his fists and gave a laugh, half humor, half agonized groan, and sat down on the bed next to Will. "Okay, one more time, slowly, for the Democrats in the room. My name is Joe Quincy—'

"That I got."

"I'm the new Associate White House Counsel. Yesterday was my first day. You and I met in Toby's car on the way to The Tombs, after Leo came by to tell us about—"

Suddenly the tumblers were—well, tumbling. The fuel efficiency ad, an afternoon with the Laurens, SUVs hauling Saudis, and then Toby coming in later to tell him... "You're the guy. The...the guy. The new guy. The guy that figured out Hoynes—"

"Yes!"

"The guy that figured out Hoynes and Helen Baldwin—"

"Yes."

"The...Oh. My. God. The Republican!"

"...Ye-ess," Joe said carefully. "Surely not the only one."

"The only one working for the White House," Will countered. "Well. Well, okay, yeah. Okay. Now I remember." He whistled. "Hell of a first day."

"Yes, well—not exactly what I had planned either."

"This probably got you all kinds of brownie points over at the RNC. They're probably thinking about hanging up a plaque with your name on it. Provided Josh doesn't, y'know, kill you first."

"I'm not sure I like the odds."

"Joe?" Will took a deep breath. "About last night?"

"Yes?"

"I'm still not—" Will could feel the color in his face deepening. "I mean, I know who you are now, but I'm still not clear on the why."

"The why?"

"The why you're here."

"I'm here because I came home with you. Last night."

"Joe, seriously, that's a pretty good précis of the evening and you delivered it, I might add, with all of that elegant economy of speech one expects from a lawyer, but it's not a good answer to my question. Why are you here?"

Joe started buttoning up his shirt from the day before, rolling up his tie and putting it in his pocket. "I heard you made good coffee. Obviously I was misled."

"What—?"

"Will, you weren't entirely sober at the time. Leo came by and told us Hoynes was probably going to resign, and we all went to The Tombs for a drink. Then you and Josh started talking about Hoynes, and Bartlet, and spent the better part of the evening trying to lay waste to a bottle of Cuervo, and simultaneously eulogizing and proselytizing about the Democratic Party. Which was a real treat for me, I don't mind saying. Only hot prongs under the fingernails would've been better." Joe stood up to tuck in his shirt. "You weren't in any condition to drive home—neither of you were in any condition to drive home. So Toby said he'd take Josh and I said make sure you got home okay."

"So you brought me home."

"Yes."

"And yet here we are back at that critical question again, Joe. You didn't stop there; you didn't just bring me home, prop me up on my toilet with glass of water and head off to a midnight meeting of Conservatives-R-Us. You stayed."

"I did. I am guilty of staying." He looked at Will intently. "You were unexpectedly...hospitable."

"Hospitable." Oh, dear God. "I was hospitable?"

Joe shrugged. "Hospitable. Flirtatious. Not to mention attractive, somewhat—albeit in a geeky Democratic radical leftist kind of way. It was completely unexpected. My defenses were down."

"Flirtatious—wait, somewhat attractive?"

"Well, you lose points for calling me 'fascist bottom-feeder with the moral compass of a great white shark.' But that was early in the evening and you'd just found out about my—"

"Dirty little secret?"

"—party affiliation."

"Oh, God. I slept with a Republican?"

"A moderate Republican! Lower taxes, smaller government!"

"A Republican. Joe, believe me, I'm not saying that makes you part of some insidious pro-gun, pro-life, pro-corporate fat cats political conspiracy that's giving tax breaks to the rich while the poor can't afford to feed their kids or take them to a doctor—No, wait! That's exactly what I'm saying!"

"And yet you seduced me."

"You say."

Joe put a hand over his heart. "I'm wounded. And even worse—still without coffee. Listen, I don't mind making it myself. Just point me in the direction of the kitchen and I'll—"

"All right, all right!" Will tightened the belt on his bathrobe. "I will make coffee! Stop talking!"

His kitchen was still mostly packed but Elsie had made sure the coffeemaker was set up, and had even bought him some coffee. "I have..." he looked closely at the handwritten label. Elsie's writing bordered on incomprehensible, even at its best. "Uh...vanilla...hazelnut...decaf. I think."

"Okay, just kill me now."

"Shut up. And..." He pulled the other bag out of the refrigerator. Okay, no way could he figure this out. Maybe that was an eff, or maybe that was a kay, or maybe it was Cyrillic, but whatever it was, he wasn't even going to try to decipher it. "...Brand X."

"Does it smell like anything but coffee?" Joe asked suspiciously. "Like, I don't know, chocolate or toffee or lavender or anything?"

"Lavender?" Will put his nose in the bag, shook his head. "I can't smell anything but dark roast."

"Sold."

They moved around the kitchen, Will finding the filters and measuring the coffee, Joe filling up the coffeemaker. Will was starting to remember, a little bit. The taste of the tequila, bitter and dry. Josh, as shattered as he'd ever seen him, and Toby, silent and dour as always. CJ, trying to make conversation and failing. And then later, after they were gone, Joe smiling at him while making jokes with the bartender, and maybe Will had been flirting, maybe...maybe he had. It felt like a long time since California, and so many changes since then, and there hadn't been any word from...anyone...since the election, and Joe's mouth was warm and wet, and tasted like the sea, the salt and lime. There had been kissing in the cab, he remembered, and he remembered falling into it, slow and easy. And then he was home and there had been more kissing. And then more than kissing. And then just more.

The smell of the coffee was starting to filter out into the room. He opened a cabinet and took out two cups.

"So, Will." Joe came up next to him, leaning a hip against the counter.

"So, Joe."

"So...so I was thinking." Joe stopped, cleared his throat. "So I was thinking—just in the spirit of bipartisanship, you understand—I think we should give some thought to dating."

"What?" He hid his smile.

"I said I think we should date."

"You and me."

"Yes."

"You think you and me should date."

"Yes."

"Date. As in a social, romantic engagement between two persons. Like going to dinner, seeing a movie, sharing a bucket of popcorn."

"Well," and Joe was smiling now too, "I like to have my own popcorn. Most people put too much butter on their popcorn. And I like a lot of salt. But yes, I think we can agree on a general definition of dating here."

"I don't add extra butter but—but that's not the point. I'm still back on 'we should date." And he remembered how this felt, this back and forth, this push-pull of attraction. How good it felt.

"Let me know when you catch up." Joe was getting closer, his breath against the back of Will's neck.

"It wouldn't work," Will said. "You know it wouldn't work."

"Yeah, because, y'know, we have nothing in common."

"We don't have anything in common." He felt Joe take a deep breath, echoed it. "Except—okay, that—yes, that we have in common."

"We're both lawyers."

"That's not enough." And it probably wouldn't be, not in the long run. But the long run was a long way away.

"Will, we're both lawyers; we both like public service. We like politics; we both work for the White House..."

"Stop talking," Will said.

And then he kissed him.