Nope. This is the part where you know I'm begging you to tell me without asking. So I'll know the war is over. This is the part where I know I can trust you and you can trust me too.

Elaine: "...Then why are you telling me this?"
Susan: "I owe you? And I don't approve of what they're doing. Shoving one of the greatest Justices off the bench, using your friendship as leverage... even by White House standards, it's... gross."
Elaine: "...And a little genius."

You're not getting in that way, my dear. Try another door. We aren't going to sit around sucking our scratches and complaining about politics and men and how we have to divide up the oxygen they leave us just to stay alive, because that's how the system has designed itself. That's for the Fourth Estate. I actually have to live here.

Fine. "I'll hold the story off as long as I can," she says. "But when this breaks," she says, "Every reporter in the world will want to know your answer." If we live and die by the same sword, bitch, then you'd better believe I'm the only reporter in the world you're gonna talk to about it.

DOUG'S ON HIS BLACKBERRY

When T.J. hooks a fish; the line is going wild and the sun is getting brighter.

"Ah, good boy!" Bud says. "Good boy," he says. What they call Doug, the good one, the good son -- the good twin, we'll learn -- the good boy and he's getting it right here in the river. While Doug is on his Blackberry, attending to the campaign, Bud praises him for this. For doing the opposite of working, for doing nothing. Less than nothing:

"Now take it slow," T.J.'s father tells him. "Don't rush it." He doesn't listen. Never. Not to that.

"You have to learn to unwind, Dougie," says Bud. He says, "Stress is a killer." We remember things differently.

Bud: "You know, even when I was President, I always took time to smell the roses. You remember those weekends in Camp David? The time that you boys caught that big ole rainbow trout?"
Doug: "I remember your press aide handing me a fish and snapping my picture, if that's what you mean."

Bud snarls at him, gently but with bite in it; he turns and puts his hand on T.J.'s shoulder. Not too hard and not too soft.

"That's it," he says. "Good boy."