Beautiful colouring, and a great choice of caps.

Donna has secrets.

"Thing is, we were wondering if you could maybe tone it down a bit."

She stares at him. "Tone it down."

"Yeah," he says. "See, your guy gets up there and talks about fucking macroeconomic destabilisation or some bollocks and the PM's got to follow by whipping out his wee intellectual cock and waving it about a bit. And nobody wants to see that, darling, it's fucking tragic, understand?"

Matching shots from different shows.

In the afternoon she says to Sam, "I didn't know." Her voice shakes a little.

He looks concerned. "I'd no idea you'd even met her," he says. "I'm sorry."

Ainsley starts, "Well, on my third day here-" and stops. President Bartlet is mourning a colleague and friend of decades standing; Ainsley is mourning peanut butter cookies and maybe four real conversations.

"She was kind to me," she says.

She’s not too fond of jazz, because it seems like the kind of music everyone pretends to like and nobody really enjoys, so when he fiddles around with the radio dials and gives a satisfied “Ah!” when soft crooning and unmistakable Gershwin fills her car, she makes a point of rolling her eyes. She’s trying to teach him a lesson here- this is not going to be as easy as he thinks it is. He ignores her.

"Are we talking Irwin Allen killer bees or SNL killer bees?"

"Josh!"

"No, really, is Belushi gonna come in here and start doing voiceovers?"

"Joshua."

"A spaceship."

"It's holding steady," Nancy said, "and hasn't made any movement toward the planet since we first detected it."

"I bet you felt a little ridiculous saying that, didn't you Nancy?"

"I kicked their asses."

"He was very impressive," Sam tells Donna; she smiles indulgently.

"I'm sure he was."

"I was their God."

"Your fly is undone."

He was this close.

Her favorite president is FDR, not Ronald Reagan.

She tells Sam this on their second date.

There wasn’t a lot of talking on their first.

When he meets Toby, he will remember again, out of the blue, how so few words can encompass whole worlds of meaning.

The first time you met Sam, you thought you could understand and dismiss him in less than five minutes.

"I know what the orange ball is," Josh protested. "I even know that it has lines on it."

Huge multifandom icon post.

You stand still with your hand over your heart as though you were pledging allegiance, your fingertips covering those letters, and wish you could have the last two minutes back.