Donna has always been defined by men.

She is the daughter of a man who loves her in the vague, distracted way of a man unexpectedly left to raise three girls. She has been the girlfriend of various boys, some sweet and gangly, some overeager, always hers until the bitter end. Three days ago she had left Seth, whose definition of her changed from helpmeet to stooge. His touch still lingers ­ a lazy caress here, a controlling push there, phantom sensations. A bitter end to that definition.

Donna has never defined herself, has never appraised herself. That has always been the province of the men in her life.

Her father found her to be plainer than her older sister, less clever than her younger one, less tractable than her mother had been. Assorted boyfriends declared her to be too tall, too vocal, too opinionated. Seth used a different form of appraisal, finding her useful for sex and for money - but only for a while.

She has never appraised herself. Not until today. Not until she has to follow Josh around the campaign office, stumbling over phone cords, stumbling over words. Creating herself in the image that she had always meant to project, only to have it blow away like paper in a breeze as Josh tests her bantering skills. But she knows what she can really do, so she interrupts him. Challenges him.

"Why can't it be those things?"

Josh looks at her instead of past her, the mocking amusement gone from his eyes. There is surprise there, and warmth, and the beginning of respect.

Donna has never been respected by the men who defined her.

"I think you might find me valuable." Itšs not a plea, just a statement of fact, even though she has never been valued by men.

The phone rings.

He nods at her. She creates her new role in fluid strokes of a verbal brush: helper, organizer, guardian. The calm at the center of Josh Lyman's storm. She appraises the quality of her work and finds it good. There's room for improvement, but for now she negotiates with the stranger who wants more of Joshšs time than he has to give, and she does it smoothly.

Donna turns around, still clamping the phone between jaw and shoulder, and she discovers shešs earned something shešs only ever seen directed at others. Josh's expression shows that he understands the miracle she's wreaking right here in this madhouse of an office. He respects it. Values it.

Josh doesn't really smile but dimples crease his cheeks, taking at least ten years away from his face. He removes his badge from around his neck and hands it to her.

She glows, trying not to let her face betray the fact that this meager chain is the only piece of jewelry anyone's ever given her. Some would say that she is letting Josh define and appraise her, but she knows that in this moment she is finally defining herself.