Jed Bartlet didn't notice much that Sunday morning; in fact, he didn't notice much on any given Sunday morning. He was always hungry, because he couldn't eat before Mass, and he was always tired, because he was invariably up at the crack of dawn in order to prepare the sacraments. He was too distracted to notice much. Furthermore, as a not-quite-priest, he most certainly never noticed girls (or at least tried not to notice ­ he was, after all, only human). However, when she stepped up, head reverentially bowed, ready to receive the body of Christ, he definitely noticed her.

And he very nearly dropped God.

She was as beautiful as they come: sparkling eyes, thick hair, and breasts that could give him a heart attack. Mostly, it was those breasts that first caught his eyes, though he would never admit that to anyone, because when she looked up at him after taking Communion, the wit in her eyes blinded him to everything else. He silently thanked God for the slackness of his garments, and shifted his legs ever so slightly. She sashayed away, all curves and glow, and it took everything in him to pay attention to old Mrs. Crenfield as she stuck her pasty tongue out, waiting for him to place the disc in her mouth. He wondered if God would rather be on the ground than in that gaping maw. If he were God, he'd probably choose the ground; but then, God is all-loving and all-forgiving, and he . . . well, wasn't.

But he was a not-quite-priest, so he carefully placed the sacrament into Mrs. Crenfield's mouth and smiled weakly when she glared.

The rest of Mass was uneventful, and he spent most of his time, when he wasn't reading scripture or observing the actual priest do a job, adjusting his clothes. And afterwards, when he left, mumbling, "shower, 's hot," he made everyone who'd heard him worry if he was ill. After all, this was Jed Bartlet. He never got flustered, never got flushed, never mumbled. If anything, he talked too loud and too long. For this good Catholic boy to run off straight after Mass, needing to cool down, was quite odd.

It came to pass that every week she came to Mass, and every week he ran off after. He never got her name; whether it was because he was too "fum-fuh" around her to ask, or if he just plumb forgot, he wasn't sure. But, he never got her name, until one chance sighting in the student union, exactly one month after he'd first seen her.

"Father Jed," she called, waving him over to a table with her friends. The way she said it was completely without the innocence with which people should greet their pastors. She regarded him carnally, as if thinking, "You are a complete waste in the clergy." It thrilled him. He was a good Catholic, but this was something else. He smiled, and walked over to her.

Fuck the priesthood.