He found her sitting on the curb, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of a jacket that wasn't hers. He stood behind her for a long time before coughing politely.

"Drink some water," Sam said, holding the plastic cup out to her.

Donna looked at it blearily. "I don't think I can, yet."

"You'll feel better."

"I really won't." She shrugged out of the jacket and buried her face in her hands. "I just need to sit here for a minute. A long minute. A very long time."

"Okay." He set the cup down next to her on the pavement and sat down. "You shouldn't have had--"

"A six-pack of hard lemonades," she murmured. "I know. God, Josh is going to laugh at me."

"Josh has been more or less asleep for the last forty-five minutes," Sam reminded her. "He's really not going to be very clear on this."

"Good," she said, and then sighed. "No, not good. I'm the one who's going to have to baby-sit him in the morning."

"He'll be okay." Sam shifted uncomfortably. "We all tend to exaggerate how bad he is with alcohol, a bit."

"Only a very little bit," Donna said. "I shouldn't. I mean. I have to drive home."

He waved this off. "I'll drive you."

"And I'm going to get to work in the morning how?"

"The Metro?" he suggested. "Or I'll pick you up. Don't worry about it. Nobody's stolen any cars on this street lately. And I have to get Josh home anyway."

"You're running a carpooling service now?"

"If I need to. Sure." He watched her move a damp lock of hair out of her eyes, and offered her the water again. "You should."

"Thanks." She took the cup and held it without drinking. "I haven't been like this since I was in college. And then everybody was and I didn't really care."

"No one really cares now," Sam said. "About drinking, I mean, in general. Sometimes life is a lot like college, except with responsibility."

"I had responsibility when I was in college," she said bleakly, staring at the ground. "Some of us had to pay our own tuition, you know."

"You're a belligerent drunk," he said lightly.

"I am not." Donna took a small sip of the water and swallowed hard. "Your family has how much money?"

Sam's face flushed. "Enough."

"Enough for your tuition, and your sister's," she mused. "Enough for the stuff you needed as kids. Enough for houses and vacations and, I don't know--"

"A boat," Sam said quietly.

"You had a boat?"

"My dad. Still has one. Not a very big one."

"I'm from Wisconsin," Donna said emphatically. "It doesn't have to be the Titanic. You had a boat!"

"I'm sorry. Want me to buy you a pony?"

"I'm kind of scared of horses." She stood up unsteadily, bracing herself against the back of C.J.'s car. "What're they doing inside?"

"Horsing around."

"Very funny," she said mirthlessly.

He nodded. "When I left, they were making fun of me."

She slowly drank some more of the water. "Why?"

"'Cause I'm not as old and bitter as they are."

"They're not old and bitter. Well, C.J.'s not. Not old, anyway, and I don't think--"

"I was kidding."

"Oh. Stop doing that."

Sam got to his feet and stood beside her. "I don't think they meant to be mean. They're just, you know, teasing. Like we all do."

"If my grandmother heard the way you guys talk to each other--" Donna hiccuped. "She'd be shocked."

"It was worse when I was at Gage Whitney," he informed her. "Every third word out of my boss's mouth was bastard this, son of a bitch that. And that was when he felt good-natured."

"I can't get my mind around you as the corporate straight man." She smiled to herself, tossing the cup aside. "I just can't see you lawyering it up."

"I didn't like it," he said seriously. "That doesn't mean I wasn't good at it."

"I guess." She tipped her head back and closed her eyes against the amber glare of the streetlights. "But how did you get from the legal beagle--"

"--Eagle--"

"--To the guy with ideals and things?" she concluded. "Doesn't it normally go the other way?"

He frowned. "Not if you work at it."

"So you work at it? You try to, what, not know things so you can be this guy, or what?"

"Don't we all try to do that with things we don't want to know?" He laughed emptily. "Not knowing everything is all that makes it okay sometimes."

"I think--" Her face clouded. "I think I'm too drunk."

"You're a smart girl."

"Yeah, well, I didn't go to law school. I couldn't afford it."

Sam shrugged. "I didn't ask to be born where I was born. We all just get stuck with what we get."

"That's great if you're born where your last name is Rockefeller." Donna took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You don't get to never think about it. You can't just ignore that you got lucky and your father had enough money not to worry about how to afford your lunch or your schoolbooks or new shoes."

His voice dropped. "Enough money to keep a house in Los Angeles and an apartment in Santa Monica."

"Well, damn, Sam." She giggled helplessly at the rhyme. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh at you, but you think you're the only one in the world whose parents had problems? You don't think you had it pretty good even still?"

"Sure." His shoulders tensed visibly. "Sure, I had it pretty good. I still do. I'm a wealthy white male American and I've never had to deal with one-tenth of the stuff that anyone who isn't all four of those things has to deal with. I know there's no such thing as equality. I also know there's no way we're going to get a hundred thousand new teachers in twelve months' time, but it's my job to convince other people to agree with us. How do I do that if I don't attempt to convince myself?"

"Okay." Donna took a staggering step away from the bumper. "That was a bit of a speech there, Sam."

"Yeah?"

"And you can be sure I'm going to come up with a well-researched, well-reasoned answer, in, you know, the morning. When the ground isn't spinning."

"Do you want me to take you home now?"

She seemed not to hear him. "You think you have problems. I'm practically up to my neck in hock."

"You're in hock?" he squeaked.

"Practically up to my neck."

He dug in his pocket and found his keys. "Come on, I'll get you home."

"Are you sure you're all right to do that?"

"I cut myself off an hour and a half ago. I'm good to go." He broke off and stared down the street. "I wouldn't do that."

"Okay." She started to follow him.

"You're leaving your jacket," Sam pointed out.

"Huh?" Donna turned around. "Oh. It's Josh's. I should take it so I can wash it."

He waited for her to pick it up and then continued down the block. "Tomorrow morning's going to suck."

"They often do. Sam?"

"Donna?"

"I think... I love him. Josh. I love him."

"So do I," he said casually.

"No." She rubbed her eyes. "You don't get my meaning."

"Neither do you." He took her arm gently but firmly. "You're wobbling."

"The word on the street," she said in a sing-song voice, "is that you have a thing for Ainsley Hayes."

"I know."

"Is it true?"

He shook his head. "She's -- I'm not really that attracted to her."

"Oh."

"You look a lot like her," he added.

She thought this over and then stuck her tongue out at him. "Thank you."

"I didn't mean that how it sounded." Sam set his jaw. "You know, I do know I'm lucky. I know a lot of things I don't always like to think about. I'm not naïve. I just don't want to be that guy."

"Easy to feel that way when you're not behind on the rent." She tripped over her own feet, but he held her steady as they approached his Saab.

"I suppose," he said, opening the passenger door. "But circumstances aren't quite that simple."

"Sure they are." She spat into the gutter.

"Wouldn't your grandmother think that's unladylike?" he teased, helping her into the seat.

"She's not here." Donna looked up at Sam. "Thanks for the water. And the ride."

"You don't owe me anything," he told her, and closed the door. He walked around the car, and got in, and said nothing more, and took her home.