The Locket

by Arianne
Disclaimer: not mine.
Spoilers: nothing too specific
rating: eh, teen probably, right now.
author's notes: Okay, so I've been working on this story for basically two
years, off and on, through many trials and tribulations, including losing a big
hunk of it to a computer virus and having to rewrite major sections from
scratch. Anyway, this is my baby. The thing you should know is that it's not
really finished- I'd say it's probably about half done, but I don't think I'm
going to have time to work on it in the near future, so I reworked it a bit and
through some creative editing, it sort of appears done, even though it's missing
a large part as I originally envisioned it. However, it's about as done as it's
going to get for the forseeable future. Also, sorry about the formatting, but I
don't have time to make it pretty. Hope that's okay. Anyway, without further
ado...

Chapter 1 - The Incredible Indestructibility of Pyrex and Corningware

"I'm going to lunch," I announce.
Josh looks up and grins. "By 'going to lunch,' do you mean you are going out
to get your hard-working, incredibly handsome boss a steak sandwich?"
"By 'going to lunch,' I mean I am taking a well-deserved break from my
arduous toil and if he gives me the weekend off, I might consider stopping on
the way back from my leisurely lunch at Emilio's and getting my slave driver of
a boss a salad from the caf‚ on the corner."
He tries to pout, but he can't fool me. He can't control those dimples worth
a damn. He looks down at his paper in a dismal attempt to hide them, but sneaks
a last glance at me and graces me with a full dimple treatment. "Be back in
twenty minutes."
I run a couple of errands and pick up lunch for Josh and myself at an
Italian place we both like on the way back. I end up walking back because it
starts to rain and everyone in the city is trying to get a cab. I ponder letting
Josh having some ice cream with dinner tonight because he's been good and hasn't
complained (well, hardly complained) at all about eating the salads I've brought
him for the past few days. Of course, he won't get to choose the flavor. That's
my domain. I am thinking about the relative merits of chocolate chip cookie
dough ice cream versus rocky road when I come back from lunch to find Josh
sitting at his desk, staring at the phone.
"Sorry I'm late," I smile, shaking my umbrella out and propping it against
his desk when I sit down. "I got caught in the rain."
Josh looks at me. "Donna," he whispers. His eyes look panicky and tortured.
My body goes into alert. "What is it?" I ask, my own panic reflected in my
voice.
"My mom. She died this morning. She had a stroke," he says.
I shake my head. "No, that can't be right," I say shakily.
"The hospital just called," he says.
Of all the thousands of things Josh could have told me, this is the worst.
This is the worst thing that could ever happen. If he had told me my parents had
died, it could not have been worse. So help me God, if he had told me that the
President had died, it could not have been worse. Nothing in the world could be
worse than hearing that Josh Lyman is now an orphan.
I'm shaking.
"Donna. My mom's gone," Josh says, his voice cracking with emotion. He's
shaking too.
We both fumble as we reach across the desk and grip hands. If I wasn't
gripping his hand so hard, he would be crushing my bones. If he wasn't gripping
mine so hard, I would be crushing his.
I stand up and turn off Josh's phone. I walk around the desk and fold myself
onto his lap, putting my arms around his neck. He buries his face in my shoulder
and I stroke the hair at the nape of his neck as he weeps. We sit like that for
several minutes. When he subsides, I pull back a little bit and rest my forehead
against his, tears streaming silently down my face.
He pulls me closer to him. I nestle my head on his shoulder and rest my hand
on his chest. One of his arms encircles my waist, and the other supports my neck
and back as he strokes my hair.
We sit quietly for a long time. We probably would have sat there longer, but
Leo interrupts us.
"Josh!" he calls from the hallway. "What the hell is going on? I've been
trying to call you for fifteen minutes."
Leo walks in and trails off when he sees us. "What's going on? Donna, are
you okay?" he asks.
I don't respond. I don't even lift my head. I just look at him from my
position on Josh's lap and remain silent.
"Leo." Josh swallows. "Leo, my mom's dead."
Leo pales. "What?"
"She's gone, Leo."
Leo looks dazed. "What happened?"
"She had a stroke this morning. The hospital called to tell me."
"Are you okay?" Leo asks.
"Not really," Josh replies.
"Do you need anything?"
"I'll have to go down to Florida for the funeral," Josh says.
"Right." Leo stares at the door for a moment. "I'll tell the President. Do
you need anything?"
"Not right now," Josh tells him.
"Okay. I'll have Margaret get you a flight. Do you need anything else?" Leo
asks.
"I'm all right, Leo," Josh says.
"Yeah. Donna, you okay?" I don't say anything, but offer him a small smile.
I think he is encouraged by this, because he nods his head and says, "Okay. Let
me know if you need anything." He walks out, closing the door softly behind him.
I get up and drop a kiss on the top of Josh's head. "Is there anyone you
need to call?" I ask softly.
He shakes his head. "No. There's only me. Maybe- call her rabbi and see what
needs to be done to arrange for the funeral."
I nod. "Of course."
There's a knock on the door and CJ enters, a stricken look on her face.
"Josh. I'm so sorry."
I nudge Josh towards her. He steps forward and she throws her arms around
him. "Leo told you?"
She nods. "Yeah."
I see Toby lurking in the doorway hesitantly and beckon for him to come in.
"You're having the service in Florida?" he asks.
Josh nods. "I think we'll probably have it tomorrow."
"Leo and I are going to take care of everything on your schedule for the
next few days," Toby says.
"Thanks."
I slip quietly from the room. I go over to my desk to make some phone calls
and then take a minute to tell Bonnie everything that needs to be taken care of
for the next few days.
"You're going with him?" she asks.
"Yeah."
I go back into Josh's office where he is sitting with CJ and Toby. "Your
mother's rabbi said he'll arrange everything for the funeral tomorrow, and
contact anyone who might want to come. I talked to Sam. He wants to know if you
want him to come to the funeral."
Josh sighs. "No. I know he's got that thing in L.A. tomorrow he's been
working on for months."
"He doesn't mind cancelling," I tell him.
"I know. But he doesn't need to come."
"He's going to call you later."
"Okay."
"I'll let you guys sort out some of these details," CJ says, wiping her eyes
with the back of her hand. She stands up and walks over to where I'm standing in
the doorway, pausing to give me a quick hug on her way out. "Josh says you're
going with him," she says in a low voice. "Take care of him for us, all right?
Let us know if there's anything we can do."
"I will," I promise.
Toby stands up and pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. "Call us tomorrow,
okay? Have a safe trip."
They leave, and I help Josh put on his coat.
Margaret comes in as I'm picking up my umbrella from the floor. "Your flight
leaves in two hours," she says, handing Josh the plane tickets to Florida. "The
President said to get two."
"Thanks, Margaret," I tell her.
She nods tersely. "You'll be in my prayers," she says to Josh, and leaves.
Josh and I walk out of the White House together, people stopping us every
once in a while to offer their condolences to Josh. We even run into Leo and the
President, and they both tell us they wish they could go with us. They each say
something in low tones to Josh, who ducks his head and mumbles, "Thank you." He
is moved.
I take Josh to his apartment so he can get ready, and then we have to stop
by my place on the way to the airport so I can pick up a few things, and to drop
off my car so we can catch a cab. We don't say much on the way to the airport. I
check us in at the gate and we board the plane silently. Josh indicates for me
to take the window seat and he stows our bags in the overhead compartment. He
sits down next to me and stares straight ahead. I don't say anything either,
just pat him on the hand and look out the window.

When we arrive, a man with a somber look on his face is there to greet us.
"Josh Lyman? I'm Isaac Hart, your mother's rabbi. I'm so sorry for your loss.
Your mother was a dear friend to me, and I'm going to miss her."
Josh shakes his hand. "Thank you, Rabbi. This is Donna Moss."
The rabbi shakes my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Donna."
The rabbi leads us to his car, and explains that the funeral is to take
place the next day, and that he has taken the liberty of arranging a reception
at his home immediately afterward. Josh is clearly grateful for this, and I
bless the rabbi for taking care of these things so Josh doesn't have to. Rabbi
Hart drops us off at Josh's mother's condo, where I prepare a simple dinner for
the two of us.
Josh retreats for a while I clean up. When he comes back, he says, "I talked
to Sam."
"What did he have to say?" I ask, wiping down the counter with a sponge.
"He's coming. I threatened him with bodily harm, but he said he was coming
anyway."
"Sam could take you. The threat of bodily harm probably didn't impress him."
Josh glances at me. "Sam so could not take me."
I sigh. "I know." I pause. "Why didn't you want him to come?"
"I don't know. I guess I didn't want to inconvenience him."
"He's your friend, Josh. It's not an inconvenience."
"I know."

Josh helps me find some sheets and we make up the bed in the guest room for
me. Josh is going to take the master bedroom. I climb into bed and he tucks me
in. He kisses me on the forehead. It's on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he
wants to talk, but I know he'll talk when he wants to, so I bite the question
back and squeeze his hand instead.
I fall asleep immediately and sleep dreamlessly. I wake suddenly at two in
the morning and somehow know that Josh is awake. I get out of bed and walk into
the living room, where Josh is sitting on the couch with a glass of Scotch in
his hand. "Couldn't sleep?" I ask, sitting down next to him.
He gives kind of a half laugh and shakes his head. "I couldn't sleep in
there," he says, glancing down the hall towards the master bedroom. "I feel like
she's about to come in and ask what I'm doing in her bed. And if I'm out here,
it's almost like she's just sleeping in there, and I'm waiting for her to wake
up..."
"I understand," I say softly, touching his cheek.
"Do you think I'm crazy?" he asks.
"No," I reply. "I think you're in pain."
He exhales. "Yeah."
He puts his Scotch down on the coffee table and stares at his hands. I pull
him towards me, positioning his head on my lap so I can massage his temples. "I
don't think I can sleep, Donna," he says, staring straight above his head.
"You don't have to sleep," I tell him. "Just rest your eyes for a little
while."

When I wake up, my head is propped up on my hand, and my other hand is
resting on Josh's chest, who is sleeping quietly with his head in my lap. He
stirs. "Hey," he says, his voice scratchy from disuse.
I smile down at him. "Hey, yourself."
"My eyes feel pretty rested," he offers, sitting up.
"They can't be that rested. It's only seven and you didn't fall asleep til
almost three," I point out to him.
"That's practically normal when you work for the President," he tells me.
"Did you get any sleep?"
"Mmm-hmm."
He looks at me closely. "Do you want to go sleep for a little while in the
bedroom? I can wake you up in half an hour."
Part of me wants to protest, but another part of me has a stiff neck and
back, so I acquiesce and stretch out on the guest room bed for twenty minutes.
My nap is wonderful, and once I shower and dress I feel almost good.
When I go out to the kitchen, Josh has breakfast ready for me.
"Cocoa Puffs?" I ask with a smile.
Josh smiles. "Yeah, Mom always keeps a box around for me. Hopefully these
aren't too stale." He pours milk in our bowls and hands me a spoon.
We eat together in companionable silence and then get ready for the funeral
together. Leo calls and tells us that he wishes he were there. He tells us CJ,
Toby, and the President all wish they could be there, too.
We drive to the funeral, and we see Sam waiting outside the temple, his dark
suit immaculately pressed. When we walk up to him, he pulls Josh into a fierce
embrace. "I'm so sorry, Josh," he says, choking a little. I see the tears in
Josh's eyes, but he gruffly pats Sam on the back and says, "Thanks for coming."
Sam kisses me on the cheek and I give him a big hug. "It's good to see you,
Sam," I tell him.
"You, too, Donna. I've missed you."
We go into the temple together and I think all of us are surprised at how
many people are there. The rabbi greets us and explains that many of the guests
belong to the synagogue, that some are people that knew Mrs. Lyman from
volunteer work, and from a club she belonged to. A few are friends Josh
recognizes from Connecticut.
The service begins and Josh quietly explains the portions Sam and I are
unfamiliar with. He speaks briefly, but when he finishes, his voice is thick
with emotion and I'm crying again. Sam has his arm around me and when Josh
returns to his seat I take his hand.
The reception is held at Rabbi Hart's home immediately following the
funeral. Again, I am overwhelmingly grateful to the rabbi for arranging this and
sparing Josh from the responsibilities of a host.
At first, Josh is withdrawn. I can tell he feels isolated because he does
not know most of the people here. But as more and more people approach him- to
offer their condolences, their sympathies, their memories of Josh's mother, and
in many cases, dishes of every sort of casserole imaginable- he is coaxed into
polite conversation. Eventually, he warms up to a few people enough to be
touched by the stories they offer. I watch him, and hope he may take comfort in
the realization that they share his grief. Maybe that way he will feel less
alone.
When the last of the guests leave, I leave Josh with Sam for a while to help
clean up, and I see the rabbi speaking to Josh in low tones as I help Mrs. Hart
load the dishwasher.
Mrs. Hart's gaze follows mine. "How long have you been with him, dear?" she
asks softly.
"Oh, about six years," I reply absently as I watch Josh bow his head in
response to the rabbi's words.
I can see her nodding out of the corner of my eye. "I thought the two of you
had the look of a couple who has been together for a long time."
My attention swings away from Josh. "We're not a couple. He's my boss. We've
been working together for six years," I tell her nervously, turning to face her.
"I'm sorry if I've offended you," she says slowly. "I just wanted to say
that Joshua is lucky to have someone who cares for him to watch out for him
right now."
I exhale. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. You're right. I do care
about Josh. He's been a good friend to me. I'm just worried about him."
"He'll be all right. Keep doing what you're doing, and he'll be all right,"
she says, and I think, what am I doing? I'm just watching helplessly as Josh
fights through the latest trauma fate has dealt him, trying not to drown in the
sea of pain.

Sam comes back to the condo with us.
He looks at us both while we take off our jackets. "I have to leave
tomorrow," he says, sounding pained. "I don't want to, but Bill and Sue nearly
flipped out when I told them I was coming out here for today. They need me
tomorrow."
"Don't worry about it," Josh says. He tries to hide the disappointment in
his voice. He might have succeeded if he had been trying to conceal it from
anyone but Sam and me. "I'm really glad you came. It- it means a lot to me." He
sounds a bit choked up, but he continues bravely. "For tonight, though, you've
got to stay and help us eat all of this casserole. We each have to eat three for
dinner tonight if we want to be rid of it by the time we leave," he says with a
smile.
We valiantly make our way through three-quarters of the first casserole
before we admit defeat. We take Sam back to his hotel around eleven, and promise
to pick him up early for his flight tomorrow morning.
Josh is silent during the drive back and I glance at him surreptitiously
from the driver's seat. It's a good thing I'm driving and he doesn't seem to be
paying attention to me, or I probably wouldn't be able to tear my eyes away from
him and he would get annoyed at me. As it is, I focus mainly on the road and
Josh stares out the window with an unreadable _expression.

When we get back, he's still quiet. I watch him warily. "It's late," I say.
"We should get some rest."
He grunts, which I choose to interpret as a statement of agreement.
"Listen," I offer cautiously. "You should take the bed tonight. I'll sleep on
the couch."
He sighs. "No, Donna. Take the guest room. I'll be fine."
"Fine, with a bottle of Scotch, fine? Or fine, fine?" I ask.
"Well, a bottle of Scotch would probably help me along the way to fine,
fine, but it's not really on my agenda tonight," he says, to my great relief.
I nod. "Okay. You going to get ready for bed?"
"Yeah."
I listen to him brush his teeth while I change in the bedroom. When I'm done
I use the bathroom, and then go into the hall, where I see Josh coming out of
his mother's bedroom in a pair of dark blue pajama pants and a t-shirt. He looks
startled to see me. "I was just going out to the couch," he says.
"Do you want to tuck me in first?" I ask.
He hesitates. "Sure."
He follows me into the bedroom and pulls the blanket over me when I get in
the bed. I watch him as he fusses over tucking the blanket firmly around me.
He's about to leave. Just say it. I try to keep the pleading note out of my
voice. "Josh? Would you- would you stay with me for a little while? Til I fall
asleep?"
He looks at me for a minute and I hold my breath. There's no way in hell
I'll be able to sleep if he refuses. I'll just lie here, tossing and turning,
fitfully kicking the blankets and torturing myself with thoughts of what he's
doing, what he's thinking. "Okay," he says softly.
I'm hoping he'll crawl into bed beside me, but instead he takes a chair away
from the wall and pulls it up beside the bed. My _expression must reflect the
panic I'm feeling, because he takes a look at my face and murmurs, "It's going
to be okay, Donna."
I wonder if he realizes that the look on his face is the reason he needs to
comfort me right now. I'm terrified when I see how haggard he looks, and that
the spark has gone out of his eye. I grab his hand and don't let go.
I relax infinitesimally when he squeezes my hand back, but I maintain my
death grip on his hand. I'm afraid of what he'll do if I let go. He reaches
forward and strokes my hair with his other hand. I watch him for awhile, but he
just continues to softly stroke my hair, so I finally close my eyes and relax
into his touch.

I watch Donna sleep. Her lips are slightly parted and her hair is spilled
over the pillow. She's on her side, her hand still gripping mine. I watch her
and think about the fear I saw in her eyes before she fell asleep.
She's so still. I feel a familiar tightening in my chest. I stare at her,
horrified, as I think about how still she is. Unbidden, the sound of sirens
echoes in my skull. Only this time, instead of feeling the bullet enter my
chest, I see her fall beside me. I remember the terror in her eyes and wonder
how she knew. I try to catch her, but even though our hands are still connected
I'm not fast enough. She's lying on her side, but now I can see blood staining
the ground and the horrible crimson spreading across her shirt. Her hair is
spilled over pavement now. The sirens are louder, I hear people screaming, but
she is silent. I want her to wake up, but she remains still as death. Bile rises
in my throat. I panic, horror flooding my veins. I pry her fingers from my hand
and hastily shove back my chair so I can flee from the room.
I go into the living room where I begin to pace restlessly and take deep,
ragged breaths in an effort to swallow the fear and rage welling up inside me.

I wake up because my hand is empty. I blink rapidly and look frantically
around the room for Josh, but he's not there. I'm shaking as I get out of bed
and walk out to the living room, where Joshua is pacing like a caged lion. He
slows when he sees me. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"Couldn't sleep," I reply.
"You should go back to bed," he says.
I open my mouth to teasingly suggest we share, but the look in his eyes
causes the words to die on my lips. I want to tell him that it's not really a
joke; I would feel better if he stays near me, but I can't get the words out. My
throat is paralyzed with fear because I recognize that look in his eyes. It is
the same terrifying look of dizzying pain, sickening fear, and writhing,
seething anger he wore the day he put his hand through a window in his
apartment.
"Josh," I say in an anguished voice.
He glares at me. "Don't look at me like that!" he says harshly.
"Like what?" I ask desperately.
"Like I'm hurting you!" he says angrily.
"You're not hurting me, Josh," I tell him, my voice breaking on a sob.
"You're lying! You're crying," he says.
"I promise you're not hurting me, Josh. I would never lie to you," I say,
forcing my voice to remain steady.
"God dammit, Donna!" he shouts, slamming his hand into the wall. "When is
this going to stop? I spend half my life trying to atone for letting my sister
die, and then my dad dies of cancer. I should have been there. I should have
been here. My mom's dead, and I should have been here," he says bitterly.
"It wasn't your fault, Josh," I tell him.
"I should have been here. I was a failure as a brother, and I'm a failure as
a son," he says stubbornly.
"No, you're not."
"Then why am I still being punished?" he shouts. "A bullet to the chest
wasn't enough? Then I have to freak out in the White House? My mom dies, and now
I'm going crazy again. It has to stop. I have to make it stop!"
My heart stops when he says this. I think frantically that I have to stop
him from doing whatever he's about to do, but before I even finish the thought,
he seizes the casserole dish with our leftover dinner from the kitchen table and
hurls it at the wall with all his strength. It bounces off the wall and clatters
to the floor, leaving a streak of potatoes and cheese trailing down the wall.
I nearly collapse with relief when I look over at Josh and see him frowning
at the unbroken glass. I move shakily past him and open the fridge. "Try the
Corning Ware," I suggest, handing him another casserole dish. "I don't think you
could have broken that Pyrex with a hammer."
He takes it and throws it at the same spot on the wall. It bounces and
falls, unbroken. I rummage in the fridge some more. "Hmm, this won't work, it's
Tupperware. Try this one," I say, handing him another one. He chucks it at the
wall, but it doesn't break either. I wordlessly hand him another. Nothing.
I frown at the pile of crockery on the floor. I take two dishes out this
time. I hand one to Josh and throw the other one myself. It thuds against the
wall, but does not break.
He glances at me, startled.
"Sorry," I say guiltily. "That was the last one. Maybe we can find a hammer
and finish the job."
He shakes his head. "No, let's let them rest in peace." He frowns again at
the pile of dishes on the living room floor. "I'd better clean that up."
"We can clean it up tomorrow. Food in those dishes wouldn't dare spoil
overnight," I tell him, taking his hand and tugging him over to the couch.
I watch him closely when we sit down. "What happened?" I ask quietly.
He scrubs his hand over his face, and for a minute, I don't think he's going
to answer me. I brace myself for a flip comeback, but it doesn't come. "I had a
panic attack," he says finally.
Thank God he didn't deny it. "You're a good son, Josh," I tell him.
He closes his eyes. "I didn't visit her enough."
"There's no way she could have loved you any more than she did, Josh."
He shakes his head. "I should have called her more often."
"She was so proud of you."
"I should have had her come live in D.C. I could have taken care of her," he
whispers.
"She liked it here, Josh. She had a full life here. Remember all those
people from the funeral? If she hadn't moved down here, none of those people
would have gotten to know what a wonderful lady she was."
"I could have taken care of her," he repeats.
"You think you could have stopped her from having a stroke? These things
happen, Josh. She wasn't going to live forever. She wouldn't have wanted to.
Would you rather it was you? That would have been the worst thing for her. She
worried so much about you. She wouldn't have been able to bear it if something
happened to you. She never wanted anything but for you to live a long and happy
life, Josh. That was her heart's desire. Whenever I talked to her on the phone,
she would ask, 'How's my boy? Is he eating right? Is he happy? You take care of
him, Donna, because he deserves nothing but the best.'"
He squeezes his eyes shut. I wrap my arms around him, and he crushes me to
his chest. "I miss her so much," he sobs.
"I know," I murmur, clutching him to me. "I know."
"I'm alone now. There's no one left. I have no family," he says.
I literally feel a stab of pain in my heart. "No, Josh," I say anxiously.
"You're not alone. You have family. So many people love you, Josh. Sam. Sam and
Toby- they're your brothers. CJ- she's your sister. You're a big brother to
Charlie and Zoey. Leo and the President both think of you as a son. They're your
family. You're not alone," I repeat, my voice thick with emotion.
He stares at me. "What about you?"
"Me?" I echo.
"Are you a member of that family?"
My eyes well up with tears. "Of course, Josh. Of course."
"Which one are you?"
I don't hesitate. "I'm the first one you call," I tell him fiercely.
Josh draws a shuddering breath. "You can't let anything happen to you,
okay?"
"Okay," I tell him.
"You can't die," he says frantically. "I couldn't bear it if I lost you,
too."
"You could never lose me," I say soothingly. "If anything ever happened to
me, I'd come back and haunt you."
He squeezes his eyes shut. "That's not good enough."
I ache for him. "Josh, nothing's going to happen to me."
"Promise me. Promise me you'll never leave me."
"I promise, Josh. I would never leave you."
"You can't get sick. You can't get in a car accident. You can't- you can't
get shot. You can't let anything happen to you."
"I promise I won't let anything happen to me," I swear fervently. I don't
even feel a twinge about promising something so impossible, something no one has
the power to dictate. I'll get the power. I'll sell my soul if I have to, but I
will not break my promise to Josh.
He takes a deep, ragged breath. "Thank God." He leans back on the couch and
closes his eyes.
I don't move, I just watch him.
"My mom was right about you," he says suddenly, without opening his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"That you're the best at taking care of me. She was wrong about me deserving
you, but she was right about you being the best at making me happy."
"I don't think she meant- " I start.
"Donna," he interrupts me. "She's my mom. I know what she meant."
"Well, she was right about one thing," I tell him, squeezing his hand. "You
do deserve the best."
"No, I don't. I'd lie down in traffic for you, but I don't deserve you."
"You'd lie down in traffic to save anybody. That won't do me any good. You
know what I need you to do for me? I need you to bellow my name twenty times a
day at the top of your lungs. I need you to tease me mercilessly when I go on
dates. I need you to ask me to get you coffee, even though you know I won't get
it for you. I need you to fight for the good of the people and the destruction
of Republicans," I say with a smile. "I also need you to give me a raise," I add
as an afterthought.
"Like that'll ever happen," he responds automatically, and then cringes.
I can't help it. I try to school my _expression into a frown, but I am
smiling like an idiot when I say, "Deputy Downer." I squeeze his hand again.
"You know what I else I need? I need you to be happy. Because when I talked to
your mom, and she told me to take care of you, I always promised her I would. If
you aren't happy, I won't have kept that promise, and that is unacceptable. I
will not break my promise to your mother."
He looks at me. "I'm so glad you knew each other."
I feel a huge lump in my throat. I finally have Josh back on an even keel,
and now I'm the one getting emotional. "Me, too," I whisper, and I feel a single
tear slide down my cheek despite myself.
He reaches out hesitantly and runs his hand through my hair tenderly. "She
loved you," he whispers.
I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of his touch and my voice trembling at
the intensity of my emotions when I answer. "I loved her too."
Josh reaches over and gently wipes the tear from my face. I smile at him.
"Come on. Let's get some sleep," I say, standing up and pulling him by the
hand to the bedroom. There's no way we're sleeping on that couch again. I
probably wouldn't mind if Josh was there, but since we have a perfectly decent
bed, there's no sense in letting it go to waste.
We crawl into bed together, and because I'm too damn tired to pretend I
don't want to hold him, I plop my head on his chest and throw my arm across his
stomach. This way, he won't be able to leave again without me noticing.

I wake up with Donna's head on my chest. Her hair is spilled over my chest,
her ear directly over my heart, and it occurs to me that this is symbolic. She
is tuned to me, her breathing matches my own, and she safeguards my heart even
in her sleep. Her hand... her hand is over my scar. Not just haphazardly grazing
the line from the operation. No. Her palm is pressed flat over the place the
bullet entered, the place I can still feel it entering my body sometimes, the
place I pressed my own hands to stop the bleeding.
She doesn't stir, but it's not like last night, when all I could see was the
stillness of death. Now I can feel her. She radiates warmth from her whole body,
which is pressed against mine, so I can feel her vitality extending to my very
skin. I can feel her chest expanding with every breath she takes, and I close my
eyes to listen to the magnificent rhythm of her breathing. I'm suddenly
overwhelmed by a wave of fierce, protective love, and I tighten my arms around
her.
She lifts her head and blinks at me sleepily. "You okay?"
"Yeah." For once, I'm not lying and she takes me at my word. She does,
however, hug me back. Which is really the best of both worlds, if you ask me.
She glances over her shoulder at the clock, and comments, "We should get up.
We have to leave to pick up Sam in forty-five minutes."
"Okay," I say, but I don't let go of her. She looks a little surprised, but
not displeased, and she settles easily back into my arms.
I think she falls asleep again for a few minutes. Ten minutes later I
reluctantly touch her cheek to wake her and say, "We'd better get up now." She
nods into my chest and gives me another hug before rolling away.

We pick up Sam about an hour later. He takes a look at our tired faces and
says, "I'm staying."
"Sam, no," Josh protests. "We're fine," he says with a smile.
Sam measures him for a moment and then looks at me. I nod slightly and he
relaxes. "Okay," he agrees.
We take him to the airport for a tearful (on my part) good-bye. Josh and Sam
clap each other gruffly on the back and exchange promises to visit. I assure Sam
that I will make sure Josh upholds his end of the bargain, even though getting
him to take vacation time is like pulling teeth.
When we get back to the condo, I suggest a nap before he has to go meet with
the lawyer, and I am both surprised and gratified by how easily Josh agrees. We
curl up beneath the sheets and I listen for the sound of Josh's even breathing
before I let myself drop off to sleep.
I wake up because Josh is moving. "I'll be right back," he whispers in my
ear as he slides out from under the sheets. "Stay here." He doesn't come back
for twenty minutes, but when he does, he brings a plate of sandwiches, fruit,
and two glasses of orange juice with him.
"Mm," I say. "Lunch in bed. That's what I call living the high life." We
take our time with the spread, chatting amiably about things of no consequence.
Josh seems sad but calm, and when we pass through the living room to leave for
the lawyer's office, I notice the crockery is gone and the wall and carpet is
spotless.

Donna drops me off at the lawyer's office and goes off to pick up some boxes
for my mother's things, leaving me to take the elevator to the eighth floor
offices of James Hornby by myself. It's a relatively short meeting. Mr. Hornby,
a painstakingly methodical older man, goes over the will and the details of the
estate with me, and I pay him a small fortune to arrange to have the condo and
the car sold. Finally, he hands me a white envelope with my name scrawled across
it in my mother's familiar hand and a handwritten note inside it.
"My darling boy,
I have instructed Mr. Hornby to give you this letter in the event of my
death, so I expect you aren't feeling at your best at the moment, but this
letter is more for the months and years to come than the immediate grief. I know
your habit of blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong in this world, so
I am writing you this letter in an effort to curb any tendency on your behalf to
feel guilty about my death. How you could possibly blame yourself for me being
old, I don't know, but you always have been an overachiever. While I hope to
spend many more years with you here on this earth, I have lived a long and happy
life, and it is unreasonable to expect that hope to be fulfilled indefinitely. I
have already been so blessed in my life- any additional time I get to spend with
you here is a precious and undeserved gift. When you have a wife and children of
your own, I wish that you may have even half the love I have had with your
father, your sister, and yourself, that you
may know the true meaning of joy. I hope you live as long and well as I have,
Joshua, and treasure every moment. I love you so much, and I'm proud to have you
as my son.
Your loving mother
P.S. Don't forget to do your physical therapy."

I can feel a tear trickling down my cheek, but I can't help but smile at the
postscript. I wipe my eyes and carefully fold the note, placing it in my breast
pocket.
Donna picks me up a few minutes later, the back of the car full of empty
boxes. She informs me that she has arranged for a moving company to pick up my
mother's furniture and clothing and take it to the Salvation Army, so we just
need to pack up personal effects that I want to keep and ship them back to
Washington.
Donna boxes up the kitchen stuff and my mother's clothing while I work at
the more complicated task of sorting things in the study, sifting through my
father's old papers, books, boxes of letters and photographs, and miscellaneous
papers and files belonging to my mother. Much of it is the dry, tedious
paperwork of bills, bank statements, and the like, but I find several
interesting articles written by my father, some old school projects by Joanie
and me, and unexpectedly, a stack of love letters my parents wrote to each other
before they were married. When Donna comes in carrying an intricately carved
wooden box, she finds me blushing over one of the love letters.
She sits down on the floor next to me. "I figured you'd want to hang on to
this. It's your mom's jewelry box."
I lay down the letter and pick up the jewelry box. I'm not sure what I'm
going to do with it- it's not exactly as though I wear women's jewelry often, or
anything, but when I open it I realize I won't be able to part with most of the
contents. Pearl earrings and matching necklace- I'm five years old and can see
my mom put them on before going to a dinner party in a blue dress. Silver
bracelet- I'm sixteen and my dad is giving it to her for her birthday. Gold cat
pin with emerald eyes- I have no idea where she got it or when, but she always
had it on the lapel of her winter coat.
Donna picks up the letter from the floor and her eyes widen as she skims
over it. "Damn. This is a hot letter," she says, two spots of pink appearing on
her cheeks.
I pick up an old-fashioned locket from the jewelry box. "I had no idea she
still had this," I say wonderingly.
Donna peers over my shoulder. "What is it?"
I open the locket and show her the pictures inside. "It's Joanie's locket.
She got it for her twelfth birthday- I think my mom may have had it before, but
she put the pictures in right before she gave it to her. Here's me on Joanie's
lap on the left," I say pointing, "and the one on the right is of my mom and
dad. She wore it every day... I assumed that it had been lost in the fire," I
say, swallowing a lump in my throat.
Donna inspects the chain. "The clasp is broken. She must not have been
wearing it."
"I guess not."
Donna traces her finger tips over the edge of the locket framing the
pictures. "Your whole family's here," she says softly. I watch her as she gazes
tenderly at the necklace, her lips slightly parted and her eyes a darker blue
than I've ever seen them.
"I want you to have it," I say impulsively.
Her hand recoils from the necklace and she looks at me, wide-eyed. "Josh.
No. I can't take this."
"Why not?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "This is your family. You have to keep it. Save it, for
a... a wife, or a daughter someday."
"I don't have a wife or a daughter. I want you to have it," I say
stubbornly.
"Josh..."
"Please?"
"Won't you think about it a little more?" she asks.
"How about if you keep it while I think about it?" I suggest, pressing the
necklace into her palm.
"All right," she says reluctantly. "You just let me know if you want it
back, okay?"
"Sure." I won't want it back.

***

Josh and I spend the rest of the day and the next morning packing things up
for the moving company. When they arrive around noon our fourth day in Florida,
Josh stays to direct the moving, and I go to the post office to ship the five
boxes Josh wants to keep back to Washington. When I get back, I help Josh and
the movers finish up and make sure we have everything ready for our evening
flight.
CJ and Toby pick us up at the airport. Josh seems at ease, joking with them
as they fill us in on what's been happening during our absence, but I wonder
what's going on in his head. I say little, but continue to watch him.



The Locket
by Arianne
Disclaimer: not mine
Rating: teen

Chapter 2 - What Families Do



Josh seems to be doing better. He's not leaping from the rooftops in
happiness, of course, but still, he's better. He's subdued and withdrawn, two
states of being I didn't even know fell within his emotional spectrum, but he
hasn't seemed... edgy, in the way he usually gets when he's upset. I watch him
closely, but try as I might, I don't see any signs of an impending outburst.
He hasn't been hostile or confrontational at all, and in a way, this
worries me more than anything else. Josh's natural inclination is to brood and
misdirect when he's unhappy, to take out his troubles on something else, and
when he's about to burst, his big mouth betrays him and reveals the source of
his frustration. This quiet stillness is worrisome. I go to CJ with mounting
anxiety, but when I express my concerns she dismisses them.
"He's just been a little quiet. It's natural for someone who's lost someone
to need to process everything so he can grieve properly."
"Yes, for a normal person, but Josh, quiet? Doesn't that seem wrong to you?"
I fret.
"I think he just needs time," she says doubtfully.
Her comment does little to ease my anxiety, but once I approach Toby and
wrangle an assurance that Josh is still getting the job done despite his lack of
belligerence, I breathe a little easier.
Plus there's the fact that I keep catching him reading this letter over and
over, but when he sees me, he just folds it up and puts it back in his pocket,
and gives me a sheepish smile. So, while I know he's grieving, he seems to be
managing all right. I, on the other hand, am doing worse.
I'm having trouble sleeping. After three nights of limited, interrupted
sleep with Josh, I miss having him near me while I sleep.
Josh and I have never had what you might call a normal boss/assistant
relationship. When we met, we were immediately comfortable with each other. I
teased him about Mandy; he mocked my naivete. We flirted all the time- good,
clean flirting we both knew would never go anywhere. A deepening friendship was
an unexpected result.
At some point, I had a crush on him. However, I chalked it up to the fact
that I'm a woman in her sexual prime, and spend more time with Josh than
practically anyone else, so I was bound to have the occasional unprofessional
thought. After all, he's an empirically attractive man. Like Sam. Any woman,
when she spent as much time as I did with Josh, would be bound to find herself
attracted to him at some point. I studiously ignored the fact that I never
seemed to have unprofessional thoughts about Sam, however empirically attractive
he may be.
Still, it wasn't until the shooting that I realized how important he was to
me. It wasn't until I almost lost him that I realized I loved him, and that
among the loved ones in my life, he shared a place at the top of the list.
Surprisingly, I didn't think too much about this revelation at the time.
There were too many more important things to do, like staying in that hospital
chair to make sure he was still breathing, taking him his lunch every day, and
worrying myself sick when he showed up one day with a bandage on his hand. I
accepted it as fact, and put it out of my mind. After all, it wasn't like I was
going to act any differently around him. By the time I figured all this out I
realized I had loved him for a long time already.
But now- now, I know. I don't have a crush on him. I don't love him just in
the platonic sense of the word. I am in love with him. Completely, irrevocably,
devastatingly head over heels in love with him. Not just in love, but in love,
the kind most people never experience, the kind of in love that only happens
once in a lifetime. The kind of in love from which you can never, ever, recover.
Josh would be the first person to tell you I fall in love too easily. I get
attached too quickly, form unreasonable expectations early on. This, however, is
different. This hasn't been easy at all. I've been fighting it tooth and nail
since the minute I walked into his office in New Hampshire all those years ago.
The capacity for pain and anguish is unlimited.
And so I lie here in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, clutching the
locket around my neck, with nothing to do but think about him.

***
The thing about Donna is, everybody loves her. She is kind to strangers,
knows the name of every custodial worker in the White House, and always calls
her friends from high school on their birthdays. She's close friends with
everyone on senior staff, and there's no one on the support staff more hooked
into the gossip chain than she is. Even the President, who took about three
months to remember that I wasn't Toby and that CJ was a woman, was charmed into
fondly calling my assistant Donnatella within the first four minutes of knowing
her.
So you can see how, at first, I didn't think there was anything unusual
about me loving Donnatella Moss. It didn't seem odd to me that I sought her
presence over anyone else's, or that a smile from her had the capacity to make
my heart just about burst with pride. I figured I was just one of the crowd.
I overheard CJ and Donna talking in my kitchen once while, according to the
Rules, I was supposed to be resting. CJ had made some comment about my general
idiocy, and Donna responded with exasperation, "Honestly, who, in a crisis
situation, runs towards the sound of gunfire to see what's going on, rather than
ducking into the nearest enclosed structure and protecting himself? Has he no
common sense at all? Sometimes... sometimes I think if I'd been there, I could
have protected him from all this." She sounded angry when she said this. I had
the funniest feeling that rather than being angry at me for being a stupid idiot
who doesn't have the sense to run the other way when confronted with a hail of
gunfire, she was angry at herself for some reason.
However, this wasn't the detail I focused on at the time. I was too busy
hyperventilating because I was suddenly confronted with the horrible thought
that Donna might actually have been at the Newseum the night of the shooting.
She might have been on the sidewalk when the shots rang out. She might have
fallen next to me. She might have been hit.
People often asked me if I was scared when I heard the first shots, or if I
remembered being frightened after I realized I'd been shot, and I always
answered honestly that I wasn't, and that I hadn't. The truth was that I didn't
have a clear enough understanding of what was going on to really process an
emotion as complex as fear. When the shots rang out I had no idea what was going
on. I knew whatever was happening what was bad, and I instinctively ran to that
fence to see what was happening. The next thing I knew I was flat on my ass and
I was having trouble breathing. Again, the overriding emotion at this point was
confusion. I couldn't move, and I couldn't figure out why. I pretty much devoted
all my energy to figuring out why I couldn't move. And then, as strange as it
might seem, I felt a sense of relief when I looked down and saw the blood on my
shirt, because I had figured out why I couldn't move. It was like, oh, that's
what's happening, I'd better do something about it.
So I tried to stop the blood, and then I realized I wasn't really capable of
doing anything else, so I rather sensibly decided that I should wait for someone
to come help me. The panic came later.
I remember how relieved I was to wake up and see her tremulous smile, and to
feel her slender hand in mine.
Incidentally, that was also the moment I realized the way I felt about Donna
was anything but usual.
Still, I managed a healthy dose of denial for a pretty long time. The
irritation at her dating other men and the compulsive need to be around her more
and more often drove me crazy, sure, but I was positive there was a logical
explanation for all this. I just didn't know what it was.
A little voice occasionally whispered that I was in love with her, but the
dominant loud and obnoxious part of my personality is good at overriding little
voices and would tell me derisively that I didn't know what love is and
therefore I couldn't be in love. The loud and obnoxious part of my personality
also happens to be the cowardly and scared shitless part of my personality, and
the cowardly and scared shitless part of my personality was really willing to
believe that I wasn't capable of anything as devastatingly terrifying as being
in love.
As time went by, however, I was less and less convinced by that loud and
obnoxious voice that insisted I wasn't in love with Donna, because clearly it
had no idea what the hell it was talking about. I ask you, if I wasn't in love
with her, would I be compelled to buy her obscure books about alpine skiing,
send her flowers on our non-anniversary, and mercilessly tease her about sewing
her name in her underwear? I think not. When I think about stopping for red
lights, I honestly have no idea how that loud and obnoxious voice held out as
long as it did.
In any case, I finally became quietly resigned to being in love with
Donnatella. It was a big relief to admit it to myself at last, and for the first
couple of years suffering in silence worked out pretty well for me. Over the
past year or so, though, I've gotten... fidgety. I catch myself strategizing
over the logistics of balancing our work with a romantic relationship at the
most inopportune times (such as when I'm deep in conversation with CJ or Leo).
Even worse, I find myself entertaining more and more thoughts about what it
would be like to be with her. Not just at work, but all the time. To kiss her
goodnight, to hold her hand in the park, to wake up with her next to me every
morning.
I've finally gotten to the point where I can no longer ignore it. Now, as I
always knew I would be someday, I am completely consumed with thoughts of Donna.
And strangely enough, this hardly bothers me at all until I get to work late one
Saturday to find Donna already typing at her desk.

***
"Good morning, Donnatella."
"Good morning, Joshua," she responds without looking up from her work. She
turns slightly to consult a report on her desk and a glint around her neck
catches my eye.
"How's life?" I say, leaning against the glass wall of her cubicle.
"All right, except for the leak in my apartment ceiling," she says.
"You called the landlord?"
"Last Thursday."
"Your landlord sucks."
"I know."
"You want me to make a call?"
"I can handle it."
A beat. "What's his name?"
"You can't sic the IRS on my landlord, Josh," she says.
I scowl. "You never let me have any fun."
"Live with the pain." She gets up and crosses to the copy machine, and I see
the necklace around her neck more clearly.
I stop short. I know that necklace. Joanie. My breath catches in my throat.
"You're wearing it," I say inanely.
She looks up. "Wearing what?"
"The locket." I stare, transfixed. Joanie's locket is resting in the hollow
of Donna's delicate throat. A strange feeling of trepidation strikes my heart.
"I always wear it," she says, her hand fluttering up to touch the locket.
"I've never seen you wear it before," I say, still staring. Why is my heart
hammering in my chest?
"I wear it under my clothes," she says, walking back to her desk.
"Why?" I can't take my eyes off it.
"Because if I wore it over my clothes, Bonnie or Ginger or Margaret or CJ
would notice it," she says, flipping through the report she was working through
when I came in.
"And that's bad?" I say, confused.
"They would ask where it was from," she explains, still engrossed in her
report.
"Why would they ask that?" I want to know.
"Asking a woman where she got something is a way of complimenting it," she
tells me.
"Why don't you just tell them I gave it to you?" I suggest.
"Because then they would want to know why you gave me a precious family
heirloom that belonged to your sister."
"So?"
She gives me a funny half-smile. "I don't know the answer to that question."
I give her a funny half-smile back. "You don't?"
She doesn't respond, and I feel the need to cover the awkward pause. "So you
don't want anyone asking you questions about it?"
She meets my eyes. "Not questions I can't answer."
I ignore her. "But you wear it anyway."
"Yes."
"Why do you bother wearing it if it's not going to be seen?" I ask.
She glares at me. "Because it's important to me, Josh."
I really can't think of anything to say to that, but my heart is twisting
around strangely under my ribs. "Oh."
"I'm proud to wear it," she says quietly.
I close my eyes. "G-good," I say, blood pounding in my ears.
"You don't mind, do you?" she says anxiously.
"No, I don't mind," I say shakily. "I'm just... surprised."
"Why are you surprised that I would wear a necklace you gave me?" she wants
to know.
"I... I thought the chain was broken," I say stupidly. I wipe my hand
against my suddenly sweaty forehead.
"I had it fixed," she replies. She frowns. "Are you okay? You look... not
good."
"I'm fine," I mumble.
I back out of there so fast you might have thought a stampede of angry
Republicans was after me. I lock myself in my office and have to resist pushing
my desk against the door. I'm shaking badly and my breathing is harsh. It's no
big deal, I tell myself furiously. Donna's choice of jewelry is nothing to get
worked up about. It's nothing to be afraid of. It's just a stupid locket.

***

That night, I have my first nightmare since the waking nightmare I
experienced in Florida. The details have changed, but in essence, the dream is
the same. Donna is hurt, Donna is dying, and Joanie's locket is nestled in the
hollow of her slender neck, marking her as someone I love. That damn necklace
marks her as a beacon for Death.
More dreams follow the first, and I become an absolute wreck at work. I'm
jittery, unfocused, and I can hardly bear to be in the same room as Donna,
convinced as I am that my proximity is about to launch a hail of destruction
upon her.
Donna turns worried. Vocally worried, that is. I suppose she's been worried
ever since we got back from Florida, but she has been uncharacteristically quiet
on the subject, and until recently hasn't even pestered me once to discuss my
emotions. Now she's at me every other minute to talk to her, talk to Leo, talk
to Stanley, talk to anyone.
But now it's too late. I can't let her pull me out of my shell. I feel sick
as I realize I've let her get far too close already. I have to distance myself
from her as much as possible if there's any hope of saving her.
The best course of action would be to resign, I decide, and remove myself
from her life entirely, but I shy away from this idea. Selfishly, I convince
myself that it's not necessary for me to leave the White House. She's not at any
risk from working with me, I tell myself. It's only my personal attachment that
puts her in danger. I can stop loving her. I can. I just can't bear the idea of
not seeing Donnatella Moss every day. I don't know where I would go every
morning if it wasn't toward Donna.
I realize with a panic that the part of me that loves Donna has taken over
my identity so completely I don't know who I am anymore without it. If you take
away the part of me that loves Donna there will be nothing left but an empty,
directionless shell.
But I can't think like that. I have to pull away. I'll ease out of her life
slowly, and maybe eventually I'll find the strength to leave her entirely. In
the meantime, I have to push her away, no matter what the consequences. It's for
her own good.

***

I think I need to stop this subtle approach. Near constant nagging and
pleading have gotten me nowhere. It's time to be direct. I'm going to sit Josh
down and let him know who's boss. In case you were wondering, it's not him.
No, it's time for Donnatella to take charge. I've been fair. We did things
his way for awhile, but clearly that was a mistake. I thought giving him space
to process things himself would allow him to grieve in a healthy and productive
manner. He honestly seemed to be getting better for awhile. But unsurprisingly,
left to his own devices long enough, Josh managed to find some way to plunge
himself into a deeper mire of guilt and pain than I've ever seen him in before.
All because I went against my instincts and let him do things his own way. I
should have known better than to entrust Josh with his own emotional well-being.
So we're doing things my way from now on. The Rules will be reintroduced if
necessary, but Josh will talk about what he's going through with someone, or
I'll know the reason why. I don't care if I have to lock him in a room with
Stanley for the next month, he is going to get through this.
Bartlet's bulldog doesn't have anything on me. He won't know what hit him.
There will be yelling. There will be scolding. There will be threats. There will
even be begging and crying if necessary. But by the end of it all, I'll get
through to him.
The only problem is getting him to sit still long enough for me to do all
the aforementioned yelling, threatening, and crying. You might think things have
just been crazily busy and we're still catching up from when we were in Florida,
but you would be mistaken. The truth is, he's avoiding me.
Why he thinks I don't know when I'm being avoided, when I control his entire
schedule, I don't know. What I do know is that he sends me on every errand he
can think of that will get me out of the Operations bullpen, that he jumps at
the chance to run off to the Hill at a moment's notice, and that he won't look
me in the eye.
"Donna?"
I break out of my reverie and look up to see Toby hovering by my desk. "Is
Josh around?" he asks.
I shake my head. "He's in a meeting at the Capitol."
Toby rubs his forehead. "Yeah," he says distractedly.
"Is there something I can help you with?" I ask, concerned. He does not look
well.
"No."
"Toby, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Toby."
He glances at me. "Well, there's a good possibility I might lose my job
today."
"What? Why?"
"I lost a file."
"What kind of file?"
"An important one."
"Where did you last see it?"
"In my meeting with Rosenthal and Drummond. I think I might have left it on
the table when I got up." He turns a shade of gray I've never seen on Toby
before. "Jesus Christ, one of them must have picked it up."
"All right, calm down. You don't know that for sure. You might have left it
anywhere."
He's muttering to himself now. "If one of them has it, it'd better if it was
Drummond. He's not as smart as Rosenthal- he wouldn't be able to do as much
damage with it. On the other hand, I've got stuff on Rosenthal, and I've got no
leverage against Drummond. Yeah. I hope it's Rosenthal, then. If I'm fired, I
can at least take that son of a bitch down with me."
"Toby. Focus. You need to get Bonnie to check with the interns in your
office and see if any of them might have picked it up by accident while clearing
up after the meeting. Also, ask Bonnie and Ginger if they saw you anywhere else
with it, or saw you put it somewhere. What should they look for? Is it
distinctive in any way?"
"You mean in any way other than the fact that it holds highly classified
documents?"
"Yes, other than that."
He sighs. "It's a blue folder with red paper in it, to prevent it from being
photocopied."
"Can you tell what's in it from the outside?"
"No. You'd have to read the papers to know what it's about."
"What is it about?"
He looks pained. "I can't tell you. It's classified."
"Okay. Have everyone in your office keep an eye out for it. Chances are you
just set it down somewhere and it hasn't left the building."
"What about Rosenthal and Drummond?"
I think fast. "Don't worry about them. I'll find out if they have it."
"How?" he asks suspiciously.
"Don't worry about it," I repeat. "I'll take care of it."
He exhales deeply. "All right."
I get rid of Toby, and then I sit down to make a couple of phone calls.
I know Mary, Rosenthal's assistant, a little from state functions. She's a
romantic and a softie. I call her and concoct a story about misplaced love
letters in a blue folder and my fear of anyone other than the intended recipient
finding them. She gasps at my predicament and after obligingly searching her
boss's office from top to bottom for some sign of the missing folder, she
assures me the papers are nowhere to be found.
Jonathan, from Drummond's office, on the other hand, hates me. He's
convinced Josh only keeps me around for my long legs and blonde hair. I play up
the ditzy assistant angle, telling him it was such a drag, but Josh got it into
his head that I had sent some papers over to Drummond's office by accident, and
was insisting I double check to make sure they hadn't ended up in the wrong
office. He falls all over himself at a chance to prove my incompetence, but
after putting me on hold while he scours the office for evidence, he tells me
with not an insignificant amount of disappointment in his voice, that the blue
folder wasn't there after all.
Josh returns from the Hill soon after, scowling to himself and ignoring
everyone he passes on the way into his office.
I go into his office and shut the door behind me.
He looks up, annoyed. "What?"
"I need to talk to you."
"About what?"
"The Callahan file."
"What about it?"
"It's missing."
"Missing?"
"Yes."
"It can't be missing. It has highly confidential materials in it."
"I'm sorry, but at the moment it's nowhere to be found."
He jumps up and starts pacing. "Jesus, Donna. How could you lose that file?"
I don't bother to correct him. Toby shouldn't have to deal with Josh when
he's in this kind of mood. It's better for everyone if I run interference when
he's in this state so he doesn't end up, oh, I don't know, yelling at the
President of the United States in the Oval Office, to name one purely
hypothetical example.
Josh is nowhere near finished. His pacing grows more and more frantic. "Do
you have any idea how irresponsible that was?"
I'm getting a little seasick watching him. "Don't worry, it's still in the
building." I sit down in the guest chair.
He sneers. "Is that supposed to be some great source of comfort to me? It's
lying around somewhere where any of our enemies could just pick it up and walk
off with it, but I shouldn't worry, because it's still in the building!"
He's taking this a lot harder than I thought he would. "Josh, I'm sure it
will turn up."
"That's great. I feel so much better now that you, with your psychic powers,
have assured me that documents potentially damaging to the President will, in
fact, someday, magically reappear, just because you say so. How the hell do you
know it's still in the building, anyway?"
"I called Rosenthal and Drummond's offices and made sure they didn't have
it."
He turns practically apoplectic with rage. "You called two of our opponents
and told them you might have put politically damaging material right into their
hands and could they please check to make sure they received it?"
My heart sinks. Maybe I could have dealt with the situation differently. "I
asked them to check without asking them to check. I was careful, Josh."
He glares at me. "I don't have time for insane Donna-speak right now."
"Josh," I say, a warning in my voice. He knows I hate it when he makes fun
of the way I talk.
"I mean it. I'm sick of your incessant babbling that makes no sense."
I flinch despite myself. "Josh, look. You haven't been yourself since your
mother died, so I'm going to let that go, but you can't talk to me like that."
"God damn it, Donna, not everything is about my mother or Joanie. This is
about you."
He gets that look on his face he gets when he realizes he's given away more
than he intended to. He swallows and goes on. "Seriously, I've had it up to here
with your meddling. Can't you just keep your nose out of other people's business
for once?"
I sense the need to tread carefully. "I'm just worried- "
"I never asked you to worry," he says angrily. "I never asked you to appoint
yourself my keeper. In fact, I never even asked you to be my assistant. You just
waltzed in and took over without permission. If you could have just minded your
own damn business, I wouldn't have to deal with all these missing files!"
He's not making sense. It's too early in the argument for him not to make
sense. Something is very, very wrong. "Josh, it's one missing file, and- "
"Oh, now it's not important because it's only one missing file," he says
nastily. "Well, let me tell you something. You don't get to decide what's
important around here! That one missing file is an important one. A damn
important one. And you lost it. It's the last straw, Donna. I can't tolerate
your behavior any more."
My insides turn cold. "What are you saying, Josh?"
He looks at me with the coldest _expression I've ever seen. "You're fired."
This is not about you, I tell myself firmly. This is about him being in
pain. Walk with him through the pain."You can't fire me," I say.
"I just did," he says.
I stare at him. He's serious. "You can't fire me," I repeat.
"Newsflash, Donna. I'm your boss. I can do whatever the hell I want."
I shake my head. "You really can't, Josh."
His jaw tightens. "What am I saying that you don't understand, Donna? You're
fired."
I cross my arms under my breasts. "Why are you firing me, Josh?"
He struggles for a moment. "You're- you're not a good assistant."
I'm getting angry now. Grief-stricken or not, Josh is being a bastard, and
he's getting close to crossing a very fine line. "I'm a damn good assistant and
you know it. I work my ass off for you and I put up with crap from you that no
other assistant would."
He's found his line of argument now, and he barrels ahead without
acknowledging me. "You're naive, you're uneducated, you're- you're annoying! You
have horrible handwriting, you're always spouting that inane trivia and you
never shut up about Yo-Yo Ma."
"What the hell is the matter with you?" I explode. "Are you listening to
yourself? You're firing me because I tell you trivia? I made a mistake. Everyone
makes mistakes."
"Well, you've certainly made your fair share of them, haven't you,
Donnatella?" he sneers.
"You can't do that," I say angrily, standing up to face him across the desk.
"Do what? I think we've established the fact that I can fire you," he says
nastily.
I'm livid now. "You can't call me Donnatella while you're firing me."
"Does that bother you, Donnatella?" he taunts.
"Josh, you can either back up your intention to fire me with professional
reasons, or you can fight with me over whatever is bothering you personally, but
you can't do both." I can't stand for Josh to see how much it hurts to hear my
name come out of his mouth with contempt when for so long I treasured hearing it
from his lips because he made it sound like something amazing. "You screwed
up that thing with the Indonesian translator."
I stare at him. "That was four years ago."
His eyes bore into me. "You lied to Congress."
The words are like a slap in the face, the truth of them causing the blow to
sting all the harder. I step back unconsciously. The shadow of my disastrous
dealings with Cliff looms oppressively between us. He should have fired me then,
but he didn't. He's firing me now instead, and I didn't see it coming.
He doesn't let up. "You pretended you were the one who gave that quote to
the Post."
Now it's the idiocy with Jack that hangs between us. I cringe. Old wounds
that I tentatively thought were healing are revealed to be gaping and raw. My
greatest weaknesses exposed, I don't know how much more I can take.
He's merciless. "You lied to me."
I flinch. You'd think that when I'd issued that little ultimatum a moment
ago, I would have remembered that Josh and I have never been able to separate
the personal from the political. And that all my biggest personal fuck-ups have
somehow ended up with colossal political consequences. Shame threatens to
overwhelm me, but I fight the enormous pressure behind my eyes and respond
calmly. "You're right, Josh. I've made a lot of mistakes. Big mistakes. And this
was one more. I'm sorry."
"Sorry isn't good enough. You can't make this kind of mistake. You can't.
You can't break your promise to me!" he rages, slamming his fist down on the
desk.
I stare at him as the sound of his fist meeting wood reverberates into the
silence between us and wonder if he has any idea that he's not talking about the
file anymore.
"What's this about, Josh?" I say.
"This is about you breaking your promise to me!" he shouts. He turns his
gaze on me, and the look in his eyes chills me to the bone. "Just tell me one
thing. Did you make him wait, whoever it was, or did you decide to screw me over
by screwing him on the first date this time?"
All the blood drains from my face. Suddenly, I don't care so much about his
pain anymore. I feel sick and I feel... unclean. I... I have to get away from
him. But I'll be damned if I'll let him have the last word. "Go to hell," I
manage, and then I turn on my heel and leave.

***

I watch Donna walk out the door and fight a wave of nausea. This is what it
feels like to be broken-hearted, I realize. Utter devastation. Complete despair.
Absolute agony. Another, stronger wave of nausea rolls through me. Is it
possible that your heart hurts more when you've destroyed it yourself?
I did the right thing, I reflect as I lean my head against the toilet bowl
ten minutes later. Saying those things may have made me feel so sick I literally
had to sprint to the men's room, but I did the right thing. It may have
physically pained me to watch her walk out that door, but I did the right thing.
God, I almost... I almost hurt her. She wasn't leaving, and I almost hurt her.
She wasn't leaving and I almost grabbed her and pushed her out the door.
I walk out into the corridor on shaky legs, my face pale and sweaty. I walk
down the hall slowly, only to be intercepted by Margaret. Great. She looks
pissed. Word must get around fast.
"Leo wants to see you in his office," she says tersely. "Now."
I follow to the outer office, where she directs me to take a seat. She makes
me wait precisely ten minutes, and then, without knocking on the door or picking
up the phone she looks up and glares at me and says, "You can go in now."
I walk in with my typical confident swagger, prepared to defend my actions.
I did the right thing. I may be quietly dying on the inside, but I did the right
thing.
Leo looks up when I come in and throws his paper on the desk. "What the hell
is going on? People are telling me you fired Donna."
I shrug. "Yeah. So?"
"So? You expose this administration to one of the biggest harassment suits
in recent memory and all you have to say is 'so?' What happened?"
"She wasn't getting the job done. I fired her. It wasn't personal," I say
carelessly.
"It's always personal with you two," he mutters darkly.
"She told me herself she messed up," I say stubbornly.
"Big deal, she made one mistake. She works harder than any other assistant
in the building, except maybe Margaret, and you fired her for reasons no one in
their right mind will believe aren't personal. That is unacceptable."
"She can't break her promise to me!"
"Donna has never broken a promise to you in her life," Leo says scornfully.
"Now you get on the phone and apologize to that girl right now, or you're
fired!"
"Fine!" I shout. "I QUIT!"
It's hard to tell who's more shocked by my words, Leo or myself, but
eventually I decide on Leo. I don't think he could have been more surprised if I
had physically struck him. He stares at me. "What the hell is going on?"
I rake my hand through my hair. "I'm down in that hole again, Leo. But this
time, it's filling up with water and there's an iron chain around my neck."
"What does this have to do with Donna?" he asks.
"Everything," I say flatly.
"So you call and apologize," he says.
"You don't know, Leo," I exhale. "The things I said to her... there's no way
you could ever understand what it means to hurt someone like that."
"Josh, I'm an alcoholic," Leo says. "Nobody knows how to hurt the people
they love more than an alcoholic. Call her and ask for forgiveness."
"She'll never forgive me," I say morosely. It's hard to imagine a worse fate
than being hated by Donnatella Moss for all of eternity. Unless of course it's
the alternative- no Donnatella Moss at all.
"Call her."
"I can't," I say raggedly. "I just- I couldn't take it if she forgave me
right now." If she forgave me, she might come back to me. And if she came back
to me, I can't even bear to think about what might happen to her. "I don't
deserve her forgiveness."
"The thing is... that doesn't matter," Leo says. "People have the most
extraordinary capacity for forgiveness. Especially women. You give her a call,
son."
I'm silent. There's no way Donna will ever forgive me for what I did, even
if I wanted her to, but for the first time, I'm able to think about . I'm still
certain she's better off without me, but now I'm no longer so convinced that I
was right to push her away like that. In my effort to keep her from being
dragged down with me, I may have crushed her myself. "All right," I whisper.
"I'll call her, Leo. Just... not yet." I need to figure out how do deal with
this- this horrible thing that I've done. "Not yet."
He looks at me for a long moment. "All right. I'll give her a call, but
Josh, you're going to have to apologize yourself eventually."

***

I stare at the phone for a good two hours before I finally get the nerve to
dial. Then, of course, I panic and hang up about three times before the call can
go through.
Toby comes by during one of these attempts, carrying a blue folder. He slams
it down on my desk. "Here it is."
"What's that?" I ask.
"The Callahan file."
My stomach sinks. "Where did you find this?"
"It was underneath a pile of papers on my chair."
"How did it get there?"
"I must have set it down after the meeting with Baker."
"But how would you have gotten it from Donna?" I ask blankly.
"From Donna? What do you mean?"
"Donna told me she lost the Callahan file. How did you end up with it?"
"What are you talking about? Donna didn't lose it. I lost it."
"She told me she lost it."
"Why would she say that? She never even had it!"
"She didn't?"
He shakes his head. "She doesn't have clearance for this kind of material.
You know that."
I do know that.
"Well, there's no point worrying about it now. I found it, I'm not going to
lose my job. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter," I say sharply.
He stops. "Why?"
"I told Donna I was firing her because of this file."
His eyebrows climb. "You did what?"
"I fired Donna."
"What the hell- ?"
"She told me she was the one who lost the Callahan file."
Toby starts pacing. "She was covering for me? Why would she do that? It was
completely my fault. It had nothing to do with her."
I laugh harshly. "That's who she is. She covers for her friends."
"And you fired her? You fired Donna?"
"Yes."
"This isn't a joke?"
"No."
"You- " Toby stops. "You fired her because of a file."
I don't answer, and he freezes.
"You said you told her you were firing her because of a file."
"Yes."
"You told her that was the reason."
"Yes."
His voice is quiet. Of course, with Toby, that's when it's most deadly.
"What was the real reason?"
I rub my hand over my eyes wearily. "It's a long story."
He sits down. "Did you apologize?"
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"I'm scared. I... I said a lot of stuff to her."
"What did you say?"
I feel sick again. "I'd rather not repeat it, if you don't mind."
He looks at me. "All right."
"Just imagine I called you a dirty Kike with shit for brains, and that
everything you touched with your pen turned to shit, and that those were the
nicest things I said to you," I say suddenly, just in case he gets it into his
head that I'm worthy of compassion in some way.
His eyes bore into me. "You said that to Donna?"
"Yeah," I whisper.
"Why?"
I shake my head. "I can't- I can't talk about it."
He's silent for a long time. When he finally does speak, it's not what I'm
expecting. "You all right?" he says gruffly.
"Not really."
"You gonna call her?"
I stare at the phone morosely. "Yeah."
He stands. "I'll be around later. Okay?"
"All right."

***

She picks up on the first ring. "If you're calling to apologize, you can
save your breath, because I am in no way ready to forgive you for this."
"I'm not calling to apologize," I say.
"Why are you calling?"
"To let you know you aren't out of a job," I answer.
"I know that. I talked to Leo this afternoon," she says.
"I went to the bank today," she says sharply. I wince. I was hoping she
wouldn't find out about that yet. "There were ten thousand dollars more in my
account this afternoon than there were this morning. You wouldn't happen to know
anything about that, would you?"
"Actually, I do," I say. "I talked to the IRS and they said they owed you a
big refund."
"I know it was you, Josh," she says. "I just don't know why you did it. Were
you trying to make me feel even more like a whore, just in case you hadn't made
your point clear earlier?"
"No," I say. "I wasn't thinking about what I said earlier at all."
"What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking you were out of a job and you might need a little getting
started money," I tell her.
She's silent for a long moment. "I don't understand what's going on. Do you
even know yourself?"
"Sort of," I say.
"Care to share with the class, Joshua?"
"No," I say stubbornly.
"You're still pushing me away?" she explodes. "Can't you be man enough to be
honest about your emotions now, at least?"
I rake my hand through my hair. "I'm... I'm afraid I might hurt you."
"It's a little late for that," she says bitterly. "If you were really
worried about hurting me, you would have kept your big mouth shut this
afternoon."
"No, Donna," I sigh. "I'm afraid I might really hurt you."
Silence. "Josh. You would never do that."
"How can you say that?" I demand.
"Because I know you, Josh," she says. "You would never hurt me."
"I almost did," I insist. "I almost did today."
She actually laughs, albeit bitterly. "I don't believe that for a minute.
Josh, you were so angry today. Have you ever in your life been more angry than
you were today?"
"No," I say grudgingly.
"If you were ever going to hurt me, you would have done it today," she says.
"But you didn't. That's not who you are. Even if you had, though, it wouldn't
have hurt me more than what you said to me today."
This is the part where I'm supposed to say I'm sorry. And I am. I'm so sorry
that I hurt her that it physically pains me, but I remain silent. If I
apologize, she might forgive me, and I am in no way ready for that.
There's a long pause, and then she sighs. "Here's what we're going to do,"
she says. "I don't want to be around you right now, but I don't want to leave my
job, so I am going to take two weeks off. I don't want to talk to you. I will
leave instructions with Carol and Bonnie, and you will not attempt to contact me
in any way. There will be no phone calls, no e-mails, and no drunken visits to
my apartment. At the end of those two weeks, I am going to come back to work, at
which point you will take two weeks off. That is non-negotiable. If there is a
national emergency, the nation is just going to have to manage without you. Do
you understand?"
"Yes," I reply.
"I made an appointment for you with Stanley tomorrow," she says. "Don't try
to blow it off, or I will hear about it."
"Stanley's in California," I protest weakly.
I can hear the frown in her voice. "The other Stanley, Josh."
"You didn't have to do that, Donna," I say.
"Yes, I did," she snaps.
"Why?"
"Because that's what families do," she says tightly. "They take of each
other even when they don't like each other very much."
I swallow. "Thank you."
"You need to do this, Josh," she says quietly.
"Okay," I say meekly.
"Your appointment is at one o clock," she says, and she clicks off.

***

Once I get off the phone with Josh, I stare into space for a few minutes
before picking up the phone again and dialing California.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Sam," I say, swallowing a lump in my throat.
"Donna? Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me," I say.
"Is everything all right? You sound awful."
"I'm fine, Sam. Listen, I... I need a favor."
"Name it," he says immediately. I smile sadly. I love Sam.
"Could you... check in with Josh now and again the next few weeks?"
"Check in?" he says, confused.
"You know, call him every few days or so and make sure he's okay?"
"Why wouldn't he be okay?" Sam asks suspiciously.
"Please, Sam," I say.
"What's going on?" he wants to know.
"Nothing, he just... he needs a friend, and I can't- I can't be that for him
right now," I say, releasing a shaky breath.
"Of course I'll be his friend," he says, confused. "But Donna? Why don't you
think you can be?"
"He doesn't want me," I say miserably.
"What? What the hell is going on?" he asks.
"I don't want to talk about it," I say. "I just need you to call him."
"Oh, God. What the hell did he do to you?" he demands.
"It doesn't matter," I say. "Just call him, okay?"
"I'll call him all right," he mutters angrily. "I'll impress upon him that
he is a jackass of epic proportions and that he can't take out every little
thing on his mind on you, just because you're- he can't do that, Donna. I'll
smack some sense into him."
"Sam," I say sharply. "Don't. That's not what he needs right now. He needs a
sympathetic ear, not someone reading him the riot act." Silence. "Please."
"I'll call him," he says, resigned.
"Thanks," I say.
There's a long silence. "I'm your friend, too, Donna," he says. "If there's
anything I can do- "
"Just... just be his friend, Sam," I say.
"Okay," he says. "Donna- "
"Take care of him, Sam," I say, and hang up.
***
The first week of my vacation, I spend with my family in Wisconsin. I don't
do much. I go for long walks with my father. I eat my mother's cooking. Mostly,
I play with my nieces and nephews, grateful to be dealing with such a
straightforward attachment.
I also spend a lot of time sleeping. In fact, I spend so much time sleeping
my parents think I'm ill, a misperception I encourage, as it yields an
unobtrusive sympathy without bringing up a lot of questions I would prefer not
to think about right now.
For the most part, my mind is blessedly free of the White House Deputy Chief
of Staff. I still watch the news and read the paper avidly, but otherwise, my
mind is blessedly free of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. I'm so tired I
wonder if I didn't need this break even before all this stuff with Josh.
The second week, however, I spend back in Washington. As much as I love
seeing my family, I feel more firmly settled in my own skin the second I step
off the plane at National. My heart beats with the pulse of the city. This is
home now.
I go shopping. I get a manicure. I see friends I haven't seen in months. But
now, too, it's harder to keep my mind off of Josh. I determinedly keep my mind
blank until I go back to work the following week.
Once I get back, though, I start worrying about what it's going to be like
going back to work with him gone, and then again what it will be like when he
comes back. I may have succeeded at excluding him from my thoughts while I was
away, but there is no way I could ever keep him out now that I'm back within the
walls of the White House.
The more I think about it, though, the less I'm able to dwell on the hateful
things he said. I try to recall the exact wording of every hurtful comment he
made, but the thing I keep coming back to is our fight. And his whole comment
about me breaking my promise to him. I feel like I'm missing something important
there, but it's just outside my grasp. What promise?
Don't get me wrong, I'm still pissed, but the anger is almost being
overtaken by an almost overpowering sense of anxiousness. I can't identify the
source of at first. It takes me three whole days to figure out that nail-biting
anxiety is actually me worrying about Josh. What is he doing with himself
without me to take care of him? Is he making it to his meetings on time? What is
he going to do during his enforced time off? Is he eating enough vegetables?
Argh. I can't even not think of him without thinking of him. The schmuck.
What promise?



The Locket
by Arianne
Disclaimer: not mine
Rating: Teen
Notes: Originally I wanted this chapter to be spread out over many chapters,
but my talents were not sufficient to do that and maintain the flow of the
piece, so I threw it all together, for better or worse.

Chapter 3 - Promises


I dutifully show up to my appointment with Stanley, and I congratulate
myself for managing not to bolt before he opens the door. Of course, I only
succeed in not running away like a scared little girl because I'm afraid of
Donna yelling at me again. I know you're thinking she's not speaking to me, I
shouldn't be so worried. But there's no doubt in my mind that she would call me
up and yell at me if I didn't show up to this appointment, regardless of whether
she was speaking to me or not. She's crafty like that.
Of course then I consider bolting just so she'll call me up.
But by that point Stanley's already opened the door. "Hello, Josh."
"Stanley," I reply.
"Come in," he says, gesturing for me to enter.
I do so, reluctantly. "How are you doing?"
"Pretty well," he says. "You?"
All right, except for the fact that I'm obsessed with my assistant and I'm
terrified my doctor is going to cart me off to a cell with padded walls the
minute I open my mouth. "I'm fine."
"You want to sit down?"
"Sure," I say, tight-lipped.
"What brings you here today?" Stanley asks conversationally as we both sit
down.
I blanche and say the first thing that comes into my head. "My mother died
recently," I blurt out. Grief is a nice, normal reason to go to therapy, right?
No need for a padded cell at all.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Stanley says sincerely. "I know you two were
close. Grief is a very difficult- "
I can't do this. I promised Donna I would get help. I have to come clean
about the real reason I'm here. I can't break my promise to Donna. "I seem to
have become... fixated on my assistant," I interrupt.
He looks surprised. "Donna?"
"You know about Donna?" I ask, startled that he knows her name.
"You've mentioned her quite often," he says slowly.
"I have?" I haven't seen Stanley for years. Even back then, I talked about
her enough that he would remember her after all this time? "What did I say?"
He shrugs. "That she's from Wisconsin, and that you don't like it when she
goes on dates."
"I said that?" I say uneasily. I must have fallen down the rabbit hole a lot
earlier than I realized.
He nods. "Among other things."
I decide it's best not to pursue the line of conversation that would
encompass 'other things.' "Oh."
"So, let's get down to this. You say you're fixated on your assistant.
Donna."
I swallow. "Yeah."
"What would you say is the nature of this fixation?"
Um... all-encompassing? "What exactly do you mean?" I stall.
"Would you describe it as a sexual fixation?"
"A sexual fixation?" I say, my voice climbing and my mind taking a
predictable detour.
"Are you sexually attracted to her?" he clarifies.
I stare at him incredulously. "Have you seen Donna?"
"I've never met her, no," Stanley replies cautiously.
"Trust me," I say feelingly. "I'd have to be either gay or dead not to be
attracted her."
"Okay," Stanley says agreeably.
Not satisfied, I say, "Here, I'll show you." I take my wallet out of my back
pocket and take out a picture of the two of us taken at a state dinner about six
months ago. We're dancing; I'm holding her close to me and we're both facing the
camera and grinning. She looks beautiful, flashing that dazzling smile of hers.
I look like a schmuck with my dimples. "See?" I say, holding the picture out to
Stanley.
He takes it. "She's very pretty," he says dutifully. He looks at me. "You
two look very happy in this picture."
"We were," I agree, taking it back and fingering the edge of it.
"Who took the picture?"
"Mm... CJ took it. She was trying to use up her film and caught us in the
middle of that dance. We were both laughing about something, I don't remember
what, and CJ told us to turn around and snapped the photo."
"Was she the one who gave you the picture?"
"No, she gave Donna a copy and Donna stuck it in this wallet when she gave
it to me for my birthday. She said I could show it to all the old ladies who hit
on me at fundraisers and tell them she was my girlfriend to deflect their
attentions, but that I better take it out of the wallet when I went on dates if
I didn't want to get smacked upside the head," I say.
"And do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Take out the picture when you go on dates."
"Uh... I guess I haven't really been on any dates since she gave me the
wallet," I say awkwardly.
"It's a nice wallet," he comments.
"Yeah," I say, relieved that he hasn't decided to pursue the issue of why I
haven't been on a date in over six months because my assistant gave me a wallet.
"It is nice. She always gets me nice gifts." I frown. "Nicer than she can
afford, really. She gave me this watch, too," I say, fingering the timepiece on
my wrist. "I told her it was too expensive, but she insisted that she just got
it because I was driving her crazy being late all the time and knew I was too
lazy to replace my crappy watch myself, and if I was that worried about it, I
should just give her a raise."
"I see," Stanley says cryptically. "And you think you have a sexual
fixation?"
"Well, not exactly," I hedge. "I mean, I guess you could say I've indulged
in the occasional boss/ assistant fantasy," I say guiltily.
"That's perfectly normal, Josh."
"Yes... well. That's not why I'm here."
He frowns. "It's not? Don't you think you ought to spend a little time on
that issue?"
"For God's sake, Stanley, this isn't about sex! This is about something much
bigger than that."
"What's it about, then?"
I guess I ought to at least give him a little background. "I don't know....
a file... a fight... a promise. I... I had a major nutty yesterday."
"A major nutty? Is that a technical term? Because if so, it's one with which
I am not familiar. You're going to have to give me a little more to go on."
I sigh. "I flipped out."
"And?"
"I yelled at Donna. I... hurt her."
"Physically?"
"No. It was worse than that."
"What do you mean?"
I look at him. "Do you have anyone in your life who you trust implicitly?
Someone who knows you better than anyone, that you know in return? Someone you
know so well you know every doubt, every fear they've ever had about
themselves?"
He nods. "Sure. My wife."
"Well, have you ever used that knowledge against her? Twisted her deepest
fears about herself and assaulted her with them in order to deliberately hurt
her as much as you could?"
"No," he says slowly. "I wouldn't abuse her trust like that."
"Well, that's what I did to Donna," I say grimly.
"Why did you do that?"
"I was... I was mad at her."
"Why?"
I fidget. "I thought she had lost a file."
"You thought she had?"
"It turned out later she didn't."
"You thought she had lost a file and it turned out later that she didn't.
Seems like a pretty small reason for such a big argument."
I wince. "Yeah."
"When you found out she didn't, were you still mad at her?"
I don't answer.
"Why were you mad at her?" he asks gently.
"The file... it was important," I try.
"Let me ask you something. If anybody besides Donna had lost that file,
would you still have been as angry?"
I think of my conversation with Toby. "No."
"The file was just what set you off. Why were you really mad at her?"
"I... I wasn't sure I could trust her anymore."
"Trust her to do what?"
I'm at a loss. "To... keep her promise."
"What promise?"
I avoid the question. "I know it's not her fault, but... I'm afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"I'm afraid of something happening to her."
"Why?"
I frown. "Why?"
"Why are you afraid of something happening to her? Do you have any reason to
think she might be sick or hurt in any way?"
I smile wryly. "Other than close proximity to me?"
Stanley looks at me for a long moment. "You mentioned your mother died
recently."
I look up, startled. "Yes. What does that have to do with anything?"
"Was there a funeral?"
I don't understand where he's going with this. "Of course. We had it down in
Florida."
"Did you see much of your family there?"
I shake my head. "No. My family's all gone. There was just me."
"Who was at the funeral?"
I shrug. "A bunch of my mom's friends, mostly."
"Did any of your friends go?"
"Sam came. And Donna, of course. Leo would have liked to go, but he couldn't
get away."
"It must have been a very difficult experience for you."
I shrug uncomfortably. "Well, sure... but Stanley, that's not what I'm here
about."
"Isn't it?"
I stare at him. "What do you mean?"
"Josh, you've lost your mother, someone not only very close to you, but the
last person representing family to you. An event like that is naturally going to
cause some emotional upheaval in your life."
"Yeah... but I've come to terms with it. I mean, I'm sad, sure, but I've,
you know, made peace with it, more or less."
Stanley shakes his head. "I don't think you have, Josh."
"No, seriously, she wrote me this letter and everything."
"What's in the letter?"
I shrug. "She basically tells me not to feel guilty about her death and
tells me she hopes I have as much happiness and joy someday with a wife and kids
as she had. It's typical of my mom. Lecturing me about grandchildren from beyond
the grave. And she tells me to go to physical therapy. It's a nice letter."
"Why do you think she told you not to feel guilty about her death?"
I fidget. "Well, I guess I have a tendency to think it's my fault when bad
things happen to people I care about."
"And have you been feeling guilty about your mother dying?"
"No, I really haven't. I feel bad that I didn't spend enough time with her
before she died. I... regret that. But I really haven't been feeling guilty
about her death," I say honestly.
"Yes, Josh, you have."
"Stanley, I promise, I'm not lying to you- "
He shakes his head. "I don't think you're lying. I think you honestly
believe that. But that's because it doesn't feel like guilt over your mother's
death."
I'm confused. "What does it feel like?"
"It feels like a consuming fear that something horrible is going to happen
to the most important person in your life and it's going to be your fault," he
says gently.
"W-what makes you say that?" I say, my throat suddenly dry.
"Josh, your mother's death has shaken you much more than you're willing to
admit. You loved your mother very deeply. You may not feel like you expressed
those feelings adequately while she was alive, but you felt them nonetheless.
Her death was a terrible blow to you. You shouldn't try to minimize the effect
it's had on you. You've been carrying around this misguided sense of guilt since
Joanie died. I know for a fact that guilt grew exponentially when your father
died. I can only assume your mother's death compounded the effect. But Josh,
this guilt has prevented you from going through the normal grieving process. You
haven't allowed yourself time to grieve properly, because you shifted straight
into damage control. You feel so guilty you think everything is your fault, and
that if you could cause such things from happening, then you have the power to
prevent them as well. You've been so focused on trying to stop anyone else from
being hurt that you haven't fully recognized your
own pain. And so the grief and the guilt and the fear have gotten all mixed up.
You're processing so many thoughts and emotions you don't know which way is up,
and now you've shunted most of them to the side to fixate on a single idea, the
idea that you're to blame for everything bad that happens to people you love.
"With your mother gone, you've been forced to reassess who the most
important people in your life are now. And unless I miss my guess, Donna's
pretty much right up there at the top of the list. That's why you're so tied up
in knots. You've realized Donna is now without a doubt the person closest to
you, and at the same time you're terrified of her death and sick with the
conviction that she is doomed to die from being close to you."
I stare at him. "How... how did you know that?"
He smiles slightly. "You told me."
"Are you sure? Because I don't remember talking that long at a stretch the
entire time I've been here. Do you have a stick you've been using to poke around
my brain and extract information without me noticing?"
"Sorry, no stick. You can just credit my superior ability to put pieces of
the puzzle together at lightning quick speeds given what I know about you
already, you starting off the conversation talking about your mother's death and
mentioning Donna about every other word."
"Well, did I tell you anything else I should know about?"
He smiles slightly. "Funny you should ask that."
I groan. "Oh, no."
He continues, undeterred. "You mentioned a promise Donna made."
"I did?"
"You've referenced it several times."
"Oh."
"You've been saying you're afraid of her breaking her promise. What promise
are you talking about?"
I shift uncomfortably. "I dunno. Any promise, I guess."
He shakes his head. "No, I don't think so. I think you were talking about a
very specific promise. What promise are you afraid Donna is going to break?"
"I don't know," I say, agitated.
"Yes, you do."
I do. I don't say anything.
"Tell me."
I look down at the carpet. "She promised me nothing would happen to her," I
whisper. "She promised me she would be all right."
"Ah." Stanley nods in understanding. "That's where she went wrong."
"What do you mean? Donna didn't go wrong."
"Yes, she did."
"How? She promised me she wouldn't die."
"She should never have promised that."
I shake my head. "Of course she should have. That's the only thing in all of
this that has kept me sane."
"Josh, if you were only given five adjectives to work with, would you really
choose the word 'sane' to describe yourself right now?"
Fair point.
"Listen, I've got news for you."
"What?"
"You didn't really want Donna promise to stay alive."
"Yes, I did."
He shakes his head. "Josh, there's no way Donna can keep that promise."
The mere thought makes me break out in a cold sweat. "Don't even say that,"
I gasp.
"You knew that promise was impossible for her to keep when you asked her to
make it."
Desperation colors my voice. "Then why do I feel like this?"
He shakes his head. "You weren't mad at Donna because you're afraid she
might break her promise. You were mad at her for making it in the first place."
"I asked her to make it. I needed her to make it."
He shakes his head. "No, you didn't. You wanted her to promise her something
entirely different."
"What do you mean?"
"You didn't need to hear that she would never die. You needed to hear that
you would be all right, even if she did."
I turn my head away. "Please, Stanley... I can't... I can't talk about that.
I can't even think about it."
"Josh, the whole problem is that you've been thinking of nothing else, but
trying to avoid it. You need to face the possibility that you might someday be
forced to live without Donna in your life. You can't live your life entirely for
someone else. You can share your life with someone, but you need to be able to
live your life for yourself."
I know he's right. I do. If I were healthy, I would be able to imagine a
life without Donna. It's just that the prospect is so unappealing.
"You need to come up with a coping mechanism to help you deal with grief.
I'm worried that if you carry on in the manner you have been, if something did
happen to Donna, you could start down a path that would destroy you."
"Sounds lovely, Stanley. You sure know how to cheer up a guy."
He looks at me over the top of his glasses. "I have an exercise that I think
will help you."
"An exercise?"
"Yes, and you're not going to like it."
"Fabulous," I say sarcastically.
He ignores me. "This is going to be hard, but I'm asking you to do it
anyway."
I shift uncomfortably. "All right."
"Imagine that Donna dies," he says calmly. "You live."
I jump out of my chair. "Jesus, Stanley! Have you been listening to a word
I've said? I'm hanging on by a very thin thread. You talking about Donna dying
isn't going to help me get over a fear of something happening to her."
"I'm not asking you to not to feel pain, not to feel sad," he says. "I'm
asking you to tell me how you would keep living. Tell me what you would need to
keep you from a life where all you do is wait for death. Tell me what that would
be like."
"It would be horrible!" I collapse back into my chair and bury my face in my
hands. "It would be constant pain and an effort to take every breath. It would
be unimaginable."
I rub my face and am horrified to find tears on my cheek. "God, Stanley, I
don't know what I would do." I say, my voice choked. "If she wasn't here, I
don't know what on earth I would do to keep breathing,"
He looks at me piercingly. "I need you to tell me something. If Donna were
to die, would you be tempted to take your own life to be with her?"
I shake my head violently and scrub the tears away. "No."
"Tell me why that would be a bad idea."
I hesitate. "Do you believe that people who commit suicide go to hell?"
"No," he says. "I don't think God divorces himself from those who are in
pain."
I nod. "Me neither. But I couldn't take the risk."
"Is that the only reason?"
I'm quiet for a long moment. "No."
"What's your other reason?"
"She wouldn't like it," I whisper. "She would be so angry."
"Why would she be angry?"
"She would be angry if I wasted my life wallowing in grief and self-pity.
She would think I had a responsibility to do something more with my life. And...
she would want better for me."
"That's good, Josh. It's good that you can recognize that. What would be
better, for you? What would you do to achieve the ideal of 'better?'"
"Stanley, I don't even know how to get away from 'worse,' let alone how to
pursue the idea of 'better.'"
"Try. Start small."
I think for a long time. "I guess I... I would try to do some of the things
she never got to do. I would take some time off. I would go to Hawaii. I would
learn to ski. I would... I would visit her family, be there for them."
"That's interesting that you should mention that," Stanley murmurs. "What
made you think of it?"
I shrug. "If I had died, before my mom... that's what Donna would have done
for me. So, if something happened to her, I would do the same for her."
"Anything else?"
"I don't know. I would start there and see how I progressed."
"Would you love again?" he asks quietly.
I shake my head. "Not like that. I don't think I could ever love another
woman the way she ought to be loved." I'm silent for a moment. "But I could be a
better friend."
"How?"
"I could be better about calling Sam, and visiting him. I could be better at
supporting CJ, about being there for Leo, and I could be better at, you know,
not bothering Toby."
"What about a family? Don't you think you would miss having a family if you
never got married and had kids?"
I shake my head. "I wouldn't want that with anyone if I couldn't have it
with Donna. Besides, my friends... they are my family. Sure, I would love to be
a father, but if I couldn't do that, I would try to be a part of their kids
lives."
"What would you do to achieve that?"
I smile slightly. "I would spoil them rotten. I would go to all their
baseball games, dance recitals. And when they got older, I would be the cool
uncle who listens to how awful their parents are and lets them crash at his
place when they need to get away for a bit."
"That's a good plan, Josh. A good start."
"You think so?"
"I do. But there's a little more to it than that."
I groan. "I was afraid of that."
"I have an unpleasant truth to break to you, Josh. You have no control over
whether Donna lives. She could die any time."
I flinch.
"She could get sick, or hurt, or die, and there's nothing you can do about
it. Now we're going to imagine something else, and I need you to stay with me,
here. Listen to me. Donna is going to die."
I close my eyes.
"That is a certainty. Everyone dies. And Donna is no different from you, or
me, or anyone else on the planet in that regard. She will die someday."
Please, God, no.
"Now, let's imagine that day is tomorrow."
"No." I practically whimper.
"Yes, Josh. Donna is going to die tomorrow."
I screw up my face in agony. "Please," I gasp. "No."
"If you knew that Donna was going to die tomorrow, and that you were
powerless to stop it, what would you want to do?"
"I... I would want to be with her."
"Why?"
"To comfort her. To tell her not to be scared and that she wouldn't be
alone."
"To make her feel safe?"
"Yes."
"To hold her?"
"Yes."
"To love her?"
I'm silent.
"Josh. You can do all that."
"I can?"
"Everything you just said is absolutely within your power."
If only that were the case. I know better, however. I smile sadly. "Stanley,
you're forgetting something."
"What's that?"
"Donna isn't going to die tomorrow. I'm not going to allow it. And even if
what you're saying was true, there'd be a big problem with that plan."
"What problem?"
"She'd never have me."
"How will you know that if you never even try?"
I shake my head. "I can't try, Stanley. I appreciate everything you've said
today, but imagining things doesn't change reality."
"What reality are you referring to?"
"The reality where Donna could die unless I do something to stop it."
"Josh..."
"I'm serious, Stanley! You were right. I am feeling guilt over my mother's
death, and I was kidding myself that I didn't feel responsible, but that's only
because I didn't want to face the truth. Well, I don't have a choice anymore.
I've got to face facts. Everyone I've ever been close to is dead. I'm the only
one left. I don't know why, and I don't know how, but I do know one thing:
people I care about have a tendency to come to untimely ends. Lacking another
explanation, it's only logical that I'm the cause of that."
"You're deluding yourself."
"No," I say harshly. "I'm facing reality. As tempting as it is to get sucked
into your imaginings of happy endings with D- people, I don't have the luxury of
indulging in imaginings. I have a responsibility to keep the people around me
safe."
He sighs. "Are you going to ask Donna for forgiveness?"
"Absolutely not."
"By your own admission, you hurt her pretty badly- "
"I am going to apologize," I cut him off. "I am going to make absolutely
clear that I didn't mean anything I said, but I am not going to allow her to
forgive me. I can't protect her if she forgives me."
"Josh, you don't have the power to stop death any more than you have the
power to cause it."
"Stanley, none of us knows anything for sure. But there's one thing I'm
almost certain will protect Donna, and I'm going to protect her no matter what
the cost."
"How are you going to do that?" he asks resignedly.
"I have a plan. I have it all worked out. With this plan, I can stay near
her to watch out for her, and make sure nothing happens to her without
endangering her further."
"What's your plan?"
"I'm going to stop loving her."
"Do you really think you can do that?"
"I have to," I say stubbornly. "It's the only way to keep her safe."



The Locket
by Arianne
Disclaimer: not mine
Rating: teen

Chapter 4 - Someone to Watch Over Me

"Does anybody know where the First Lady is?" CJ calls out into the bullpen.
"I need to get her this speech before she leaves for Philadelphia this
afternoon."
I hear her over the ringing phones and my loud not thinking about Josh
thoughts. "She's over in the Residence. I'll take it to her," I call back to
her. I could use the distraction. I've been back at work a week, and my not
thinking about Josh thoughts are a crock, really. I've grown so irritated at
myself for not being able to ignore the not thinking about Josh thoughts that
I've taken to grumbling to myself like Toby and snapping at interns with no
provocation just like... well, you know.
"Thanks, Donna," CJ says with a grateful sigh. "I'd do it myself, but I've
got a briefing in two minutes and Carol's away from her desk..."
I wave my hand at her. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it."
"You're the best," she says.
I head over to the Residence with the speech to find the First Lady holding
up evening gowns to herself in front of a mirror. I knock on the doorframe and
enter. "CJ asked me to give this to you, ma'am," I say, handing her the speech.
"Thank you, honey. Say, which of these dresses do you think I should wear to
the Gala tonight?" she asks.
"The burgundy one," I reply immediately. "You look very good in burgundy."
"I do, don't I?" she muses. "Thanks, Donna." She gives me a warm smile.
"It's good to have you back. How are you doing?"
I shrug. "I'm fine."
"Really?"
"Yeah," I lie, fiddling with my locket. It's a recent habit that has become
almost a compulsion.
"The reason I ask is, you've seemed a little testy this week," she comments.
I bristle. "All due respect, Mrs. Bartlet, but I think I've earned the right
to a little testiness, don't you? Josh said some pretty horrible things to me,"
I say tightly.
She nods. "Sure. That's every woman's prerogative. I just don't think you're
angry at Josh anymore."
"I'm pretty sure I am," I retort.
"No, you're not," she says calmly. "You're angry at yourself."
I'm dumbfounded by this statement. "Why would I be angry at myself?"
"You're mad at yourself for forgiving him. You think that if you were smart,
you would just stay mad at him."
"What are you talking about?" I ask.
"He did something terrible to you- you think that if you were smart, you
would just stay mad at him. You're annoyed with yourself for giving in so easily
after he hurt you and letting him back into your life."
I'm silent for a moment. There's a lot more truth in what she says than I'd
like to admit. "I haven't, you know. Forgiven him, I mean."
"But you know you're going to," she counters.
I sigh. "Maybe."
"It's okay to forgive him, you know. He's a good man. He deserves to be
forgiven, even when he's being a jackass," she says.
"I'm not sure he deserves to be forgiven," I say weakly.
"Yes, you do," she says. "You know why? Because even though you know he can
hurt you more than anyone else, he'd walk through fire to stop anyone else from
hurting you. And I think you know his actions were motivated by noble
intentions."
"It's hard to see what's noble about what he did," I say bitterly. "Even if
he did have good intentions, that's no excuse."
"Yes, but when you do see, you know that's when you're going to forgive him.
You also know that he's hurting a lot more than you are. You know that no matter
how wrong he was, he thought he was doing what was best."
For the first time, I understand what Josh always says about Abbey Bartlet,
and for once, I agree with him wholeheartedly. I hate it when the First Lady's
right.

***

I'm purposely late to work Monday morning. I didn't want to have to wait
around for Josh to show up and deal with distractions. I need to find out if I
can stand being near him before I can do anything else today. I hesitated to
plan the inevitable "Talk" at the office, but ultimately I'm convinced we need
to return to where all the hurting began if we want to heal enough to work
together again. I don't feel bad about using the office for a personal
conversation because this conversation is more about whether we can work
together than anything else. I'm not ready to deal with anything else yet.
Besides, it's still before 8 am and I've worked enough obscure hours in the
past that taking a little time to have what may possibly be the most important
conversation of my life hardly seems like I'm abusing the system. The White
House owes me one.
It turns out I needn't have bothered with the careful timing of my entrance.
Josh is sitting at his desk when I arrive, with his sleeves rolled up, his face
unshaven, and his hair even wilder than usual. He looks up the second I come in,
but he says nothing, merely stares at me, wide-eyed, instead. I can tell by
looking at him that he hasn't been sleeping, and I'm shaken despite myself at
how haggard he looks. It' clear that he is waiting for my cue before saying
anything, however, so it's up to me to initiate the conversation.
"You look like crap," I inform him.
He nods, his voice paralyzed.
I sit down across from him. "I'm ready for that apology now," I announce.
"Okay," he says. He jumps up and starts pacing. "First of all, you should
know that nothing I'm about to say is in any way an attempt to get you to
forgive me."
I raise my eyebrows, but allow him to go on without being interrupted.
He continues. "I want you to know that I've been seeing Stanley regularly
for the past few weeks. I'm going to continue to see him regularly. I just
wanted you to know that before I say what I have to say."
That's good. That's so good. "Okay."
He paces some more. "So, the apology part."
I wait. "Yes?"
"I said a lot of things that hurt you very deeply. For that, I am truly,
deeply sorry. I feel absolutely sick when I think about what I said that day,
actually," he says, swallowing. He actually looks nauseous. He clears his
throat. "Anyway. I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean them."
I despise myself for still valuing his opinion even now. "You must have
meant them on some level," I say in a small voice."Or you wouldn't have said
them."
He closes his eyes. "No, Donna. I really didn't mean them. In fact, pretty
much everything I said that day was a downright lie, calculated to do the most
damage."
"Then why? Why did you say all those awful things?" I ask, hearing the hurt
in my own voice and cursing myself for it.
He's silent for a long time. "Because I knew they would hurt you," he
answers finally.
My eyes narrow. "You knew they would hurt me? That's your answer?" Thank
God, the anger is coming back. I thought I was going to be stuck with the hurt
for the duration of the conversation. I don't think I could have handled that.
He nods.
I take a deep breath. "You sure have a funny way of apologizing, Josh."
"I thought if I hurt you badly enough, you would leave," he explains. "I
didn't want to hurt you, but I thought it was the only way I could make you
leave."
The words strike me like a blow. "You wanted me to leave?" I think this
might hurt more than everything he said to me that day combined.
He nods.
I'm devastated. "Why?" I'm quickly becoming an emotional mess. Well. Even
more of an emotional mess than I have been. Why is it that I managed to hold it
together when he said all those horrible things, but this, this simple
revelation that he wanted me to leave, is the thing that might make me break my
resolve not to cry over anything Josh Lyman has said to me?
He's quiet for a long moment. "I'm having a hard time dealing with some
things about my mother's death. And some of those things have to do with you."
"What things?"
His gaze drops to my neck. "Are you still wearing Joanie's locket?"
My hand goes automatically to the chain around my neck. "Yes. Why?" I touch
it possessively. "Do you... do you want it back?" I ask in a reluctant voice.
He sighs heavily. "No."
"Do you want me to stop wearing it?" I ask, my voice shaking.
He doesn't answer. Finally, with an agonizing deliberation, he shakes his
head slowly.
I'm trembling now. "Josh... is this the reason you're upset?"
Just as slowly, just as hesitantly, he nods his head.
I cry out, and blindly reach for the necklace, intending to loose the clasp
or jerk it free with force, whichever gets it off first.
Josh stops me. "Donna, no!" I feel his fingers graze my collarbone as he
fumbles to prevent me from reaching the clasp. I look up at him, my eyes
swimming with tears, and he adjusts the locket around my neck without looking at
me. "This is my problem," he says harshly. "I'm the one who is responsible for
fixing it. Do you understand?"
I nod blindly, choking back tears. It's a lie. I don't understand at all.
How is it possible that I'm standing here, his hands on my shoulder, angry and
hurt, my heart broken, and know without a doubt that if he keeps looking at me
the way he's looking at me right now- and lets his fingers come up and caress
the sides of my neck, the way they seem to want to, if the way his thumbs are
gently rubbing my collarbone is any indication- I would still be mad, but I
would absolutely sink to the floor in a heartbeat and make tender love with him
until all the anger and the hurt went away.
He steps away. "Anyway, I'm sorry."
You know what? This apology really isn't doing much for me.
I snap back to reality. "Do you still want me to leave?"
He hesitates. Oh, my God, he hesitates. "It doesn't matter what I want."
"I see," I say dully. He still wants me to leave.
"I don't want you to leave. I've prepared my resignation for Leo," he says
seriously. "You say the word, and I'm out of here."
My eyes widen. I think I stop breathing. "You'd resign... for me?"
He avoids my gaze. "I think it might be better if I left."
My heart sinks. "But you don't want us to be together anymore."
He hesitates again. "I think it might be better if I left," he repeats. "I
don't want to hurt you any more. There's nothing in this world I want more than
for you not to be hurt anymore."
"You're not making sense," I say harshly. "Do you want us to be together or
not?"
"I don't want to hurt you," he answers without hesitation.
"Josh," I say tightly. "If you're not going to tell me, that's fine. I'll
just leave." I turn around and have my hand on the doorknob before he speaks.
"Donna, wait." I pause. He runs his hand through his hair, his entire being
radiating tension. "Look. Stanley said I should tell you this. And I'm going to
do it. Despite my better judgment." This last he mutters.
I turn around. "Tell me what?"
He studies his desk intently. "You probably already guessed I've been having
a hard time since my mom died."
I nod silently. I refrain from telling him it wouldn't exactly take a rocket
scientist to figure that out. Josh is under the completely false impression that
he is good at hiding things from me.
He continues. "Well, part of that has to do with... you."
This throws me. "With... me?"
He nods. "See... in my head, you got all mixed up with my mom, and Joanie,
and even my dad, and I got really scared something was going to happen to you if
you stayed near me, and that's why I wanted you to leave."
"You were... worried about me?" I say stupidly.
"To put it mildly."
My brow furrows. "I don't understand."
He sighs, clearly frustrated. "Donna, don't you get it? I wasn't worried
about you getting a parking ticket or something- I worried you were going to
die. I was terrified you were going to break your promise. The only way to stop
it was to make you get as far away from me as possible."
"What does me leaving have to do with dying?" I ask, honestly confused.
"Donna, haven't you noticed the pattern?" he says bitterly. "Everyone close
to me dies. My whole family is gone. Proximity to me is directly correlated with
the rate of death. You're obviously next."
"Josh, don't be ridiculous. You didn't have anything to do with your family
dying."
He snorts disbelievingly.
"I'm serious, Josh. Nothing's going to happen to me."
"You don't know that," he says harshly. "You don't know that for sure.
You're just saying that."
I stare at him. "Of course I don't know it for sure. But it's a safe bet.
There's no reason to assume something is going to happen to me."
"Except for the fact that people close to me die," he says through gritted
teeth.
I shake my head. "Josh, I'm sorry, but you don't have any control over life
and death. You're being ridiculous."
"Excuse me," he says tightly. "It doesn't seem ridiculous when I wake up
every night with images of you bleeding on the pavement playing in my head."
The startling visual he paints in my mind causes any response I might have
been forming to die on my lips. Call me slow- he's been telling me for the past
five minutes everything that I should have known from the beginning- but now,
the impact of what Josh is saying finally penetrates. Josh's massive guilt
complex; me, bleeding... this is all starting to make sense.
I was right. I was right all along. After Joanie's death eating away at him
his whole life, and his father's death compounding it, his mother's death has
been tearing him apart. He's sad and angry and confused, and for whatever
reason, he's focused his fear and anger on me. And now he's caught, trapped in a
cycle wherein he sinks deeper and deeper into himself, doubting himself, haunted
with fear every waking moment. It's the PTSD times a thousand.
I close my eyes. My God, how could I have left him alone while he's like
this? Josh can't handle intense personal conflict by himself. He's just not
capable of it. He spends all his energy battling threats to the people he loves;
he never keeps enough in reserve to fight his own personal demons. He never
seems to understand that the demons inside him are much more dangerous than
anything outside him, that they have every capability of sneaking up behind him
while he is blinded by the enemies in front of him. But he doesn't need to see
them, or be prepared for a surprise attack. That's what he has me for.
I long ago appointed myself Josh Lyman's protector. No avenging angel, eyes
blazing and fiery sword aloft, could be as fierce as I am in the defense of
Joshua's precious heart. He resists my efforts, preferring to think himself
capable of taking on Congress and years of guilt singlehanded, but I think
despite himself, he has come to rely on me to come to the rescue, to pick up the
sword and finish the battle when overextends himself and can't continue. But I
chose this time, when he was on the battlefield beyond exhaustion, to abandon
him, just when he needed me the most.
I see how it happened now. For once, Josh figured out what was going on
before I did, and he panicked. He fumbled the situation trying to cover it up
and ended up exposing himself the way he always does. By opening his big mouth.
He yelled at me to try to divert my attention from the real problem. It might
have worked at first, but he should have known better than to try my own
techniques against me. After all, I am a master of misdirection. It was only a
matter of time before I would figure it all out. And now I have. There's just
one thing I still don't understand.
"Josh," I say softly. "What was the promise you were talking about? You said
something about me breaking a promise. What was it?"
He shuts his eyes. "You... you promised you would be all right. You promised
nothing would happen to you."
I can't for the life of me remember doing such a thing. Why would I have
promised something so foolish? What could I have been thinking, that I would-
My hand comes up to cover my mouth of its own volition. I remember. I
remember being half out of my mind with worry, and being desperate to calm him
down, and I remember saying that. Apparently my efforts to calm him down didn't
really go as planned. In fact, it's now looking as though they've resulted in
what could charitably be called an unmitigated disaster.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have said that."
"Stanley says that's I why I got mad at you," he says timidly. "I told him I
was just afraid of you breaking the promise, but he said I was mad because you
made it in the first place."
"Are you still mad that I made that promise?"
He fidgets.
"Josh."
"Maybe a little," he admits.
"Okay, well, what are we going to do about it?"
He flinches. "Donna... I don't think I should involve you in this."
"It's too late, Josh!" I say angrily. "I'm already involved."
"What I mean to say," he hedges, "is that I don't want to involve you...
further."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means... if you want me to resign, I'll resign. If you think I should
stay, we... keep things professional."
"Professional?" I screech. "You want to keep things professional? Four weeks
ago you called me a whore in this office and now you're lecturing me about
keeping things professional?"
He winces. "No, no, no. Donna, you've got it all wrong. I'm talking about me
needing to be more professional. God, of course I'm not talking about you.
You've been beyond professional. You've been... amazing. I'm talking about me.
I'm saying I shouldn't let my personal problems affect you or the work we do
here."
I look at him with a hard look in my eye. "Josh, you don't get to dictate
terms to me. This isn't about the goddamn job and you know it."
He scrubs his hand over his face. "God, Donna, I know... I just can't do it
any other way. I need to keep you safe."
"Are you telling me you still believe all this nonsense about people dying
because of you?" I ask incredulously.
He looks at me pleadingly. "This is the only thing that makes sense to me
right now."
"I still think you're being unreasonable."
He takes a shaky breath. "It doesn't seem unreasonable to think that if
people who are close to me die, that if I take myself away from them, they will
be all right."
"So you choose to go ballistic and start yelling at anyone who you're afraid
might die because they're in your life?"
His response is measured. "If that's the best way of keeping them safe, then
yes."
I fold my arms over my chest. "All right, fine. But why me? Why haven't you
flipped out on CJ or Sam or Leo?"
He opens his mouth, but seems unable to answer. "I..."
I feel anger rising in my chest. "Damn it, Josh! Why the hell did you agree
to meet me if you're still not willing to be honest with me?"
He ducks his head. "Part of me still thinks the best thing for you to do
would be to walk out that door and never look back, but if you did leave, I
didn't want you to think I thought any of those idiotic things I said were
true."
Infuriating man! "I don't know whether to believe you, Josh," I say
helplessly. "How can I forgive you if you won't even tell me what's really wrong
between us, what made you hurt me like that?"
"I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted you to know I didn't
believe any of those things I said, even as I was saying them." He looks me
directly in the eye. "Not one of them, Donna."
I believe him. I'm angry at him for lying to me. I'm hurt that he couldn't
trust me with the truth. And I'm still mad as hell at him for whatever he's
holding back. But I believe him.
"You're seeing Stanley?" I confirm.
He nods. "Yes."
I stand up. "Okay."
He blinks. "Okay?"
"Okay, I think we can still work together."
He looks flabbergasted. "You do?"
"No more misdirection. I can't make you share whatever it is that has you so
tied up, but I don't want you to lie to me anymore. If I ask you a question, I
expect an honest answer, or I don't want an answer at all. Agreed?"
"Agreed," he says faintly.
"Okay, then." I walk to the door. "You have staff at eight."

***
That night, I'm startled awake by the sound of the phone ringing shrilly. I
fumble for the receiver and put it to my ear.
"Hello?" I say groggily.
"Donna?" a familiar female voice asks.
"CJ?" I squint at the phone, a useless gesture even in daylight, but even
more pointless given that it's pitch black in my apartment.
"Yeah, it's me," she says.
"What time is it?" I mumble.
"It's two am. Listen, about why I'm calling..."
I sit up, suddenly alert. "Are you okay? Is everything all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm calling for Josh."
I clutch my hand to my heart, panicked. "Oh my God. Is he hurt?"
"No, no," she says hastily. "He's fine. Actually, he's worried about you."
"Why?" I ask, confused.
"I'm not sure," she admits. "I think he had a nightmare or something and got
scared you were hurt. He wanted me to call and make sure you were all right."
"Why didn't he call me himself?" I question.
"He said he didn't want to disturb you," she says.
I sigh. "Okay. I'm sorry you're being dragged into this, CJ."
"Don't worry about it. Sleep well, okay? I'm going to call Josh back."
"Okay," I say. "No, wait! Tell him..."
"Yes?"
"Tell him he'd better bring me coffee tomorrow," I say.
She laughs. "He'd better bring us both coffee tomorrow. Good night, Donna."
"Good night, CJ."
The next morning there is a steaming cup of coffee waiting on my desk when I
arrive. I look sadly towards Josh's closed door, and CJ comes up carrying her
own steaming mug. I smile at her tiredly.
She pauses by my desk. "Listen... me and Toby and Charlie are going out to
get a drink tonight. Do you want to come along?"
"Sure," I say. "Is Josh going?"
"I haven't asked him," she says slowly. "I wanted to talk with you first."
"Why?"
"I wasn't sure if you would be comfortable with him along,"she says slowly.
She hesitates. "Everyone knows about the fight you guys had. I mean, no one
really understands what it was about, but everybody seems to agree that Josh was
pretty much a grade-A bastard to you. And I have to say, after what he did to
you, I'm surprised you're not more uncomfortable with him."
"Oh, CJ, no, don't worry about that. I'm fine."
"Well, I just wanted you to know everybody's on your side."
This statement strikes me as incredibly sad. Because if everyone is on my
side, it must mean Josh is alone on his side. "I'm not... you shouldn't worry
about sides, CJ. You guys are friends with Josh, too."
"So I should ask him?"
"You should ask him," I say firmly.

***

That night the five of us, with the addition of Margaret, all head out to a
bar in Adams Morgan together. The six of us slide into a booth together and
somehow- probably through force of habit- Josh and I end up sitting next to each
other. I'm sandwiched between him and Charlie, but while Charlie is relaxed and
happy (particularly after his second beer), Josh is clearly uncomfortable, and
just as clearly, the reason he is uncomfortable is me.
He's stiff as a board, and I can feel the tension radiating from his
muscles. He's so stiff I'm tempted to poke him, just to get a reaction out of
him.
To make matters worse, Margaret, CJ, Charlie, and even Toby keep glancing at
the two of us surreptitiously as though expecting us to start World War III in
the middle of the bar at any moment. I try to ignore this at first, but after
the first round, I'm fed up with the lot of them.
"So, anyway, I told Carol not to let him cross the line..." CJ says, pausing
to glance over at Josh and myself.
"Yes," Toby says impatiently. "You said that. What's the rest of the story?"
This followed by a glance at us.
"Oh... well... I told her he couldn't cross the line... and she said, 'what
line?'" CJ says, trailing off, and glancing back at us.
Toby looks at her expectantly, but she doesn't continue. "That's it?" he
huffs, glancing at us. "That's the end of the story?"
"It's a good story," she says, looking at me. Charlie takes a pull of his
beer, and Josh stares into his drink morosely.
"It's the worst story I've ever heard," Toby says in disgust. They both turn
to look back at Josh and me, and Charlie glances at us out of the corner of his
eye. Margaret has been openly staring for the past ten minutes.
I can't take it anymore. "Oh, for God's sake, people!" I cry. "It's not like
I'm going to attack him in the middle of the bar. It's Friday night. This is
supposed to be fun. So, you four," I say, pointing at CJ, Toby, Margaret, and
Charlie, "get a life, and you," I say, jabbing Josh in the side, "loosen up."
The three across from me all stare at me, and Josh flinches, but otherwise
doesn't respond. I make a vexed sound and stand up. "Come on, Charlie," I order
him. "Let's dance. We're going to have fun if it kills us."
"I hope it won't come to that, but okay," he says easily, sliding out of the
booth and offering me his hand.
He leads me out to the dance floor, but seems content not to talk, for which
I am grateful. After a few songs, I feel myself sliding from irritated to
melancholy. Charlie's a good dancer, and I close my eyes, lean my head against
his shoulder and let him lead.
When I open my eyes, I see that Margaret is chattering away to Toby at the
table, and that CJ has somehow gotten Josh to agree to dance.
CJ is talking nervously, apparently stuck with the uncomfortable burden of a
one-sided conversation. She doesn't stop talking, though. Apparently she's not
up to bearing a weighty silence by herself. Her companion doesn't seem fazed by
it. I lift my eyes to Josh's only to see him looking right at me.
The way he's looking at me... oh, my God. I don't have the words. I would
sell my soul for such a look. That look is absolutely amazing. He's looking at
me with a look of the most incredible longing. He's looking at me like he's
looking at the one thing he wants most in the world and knows he can't have it.
It would be the most romantic thing in the world if it weren't so
heartbreakingly sad.
In case any of you were wondering, that is the exact moment in which I
forgive Joshua Lyman. But instead of feeling like I'm giving up or giving in, I
feel a great weight lifting from my shoulders. Being angry with Josh for a
prolonged period of time goes against my nature. I've been fighting myself. I
don't have that kind of energy.
I assumed this whole thing was about his mom. Directed at me, sure, but
about his mom. But seeing that look, I realize that this has been at least a
little bit about me. The anger, the insults, he meant them personally. And
because of them, he doesn't believe he deserves my forgiveness. That's why he's
looking at me like that, with that look of incredible longing. I gaze at him
from Charlie's shoulder, soaking up the magnificence of the look. I don't want
the moment to end. I want him to look at me like that until the end of time.
Except, you know, without the heartbreakingly sad part.
I need a plan.
I cast my mind about for inspiration, and my gaze lands on Margaret, happily
slurping away at a margarita. That'll work.
I excuse myself from Charlie and head to the bar, where I order a rum and
Coke for Josh and a Midori sour for myself. I admit it's not the most
sophisticated plan, but maybe some booze will at least relax him a little, make
him not so-
"Hi there," says a voice to my right. I glance over to see a guy in his
thirties looking at me appreciatively. He's fairly good-looking, but I'm
definitely not looking for a date tonight, so I try to project my most
disinterested vibe.
"Hi," I say politely, and turn back to the bar, where, fortunately, my
drinks are ready. I collect them from the bar and turn to leave.
"Can I ask you a question?" he says with a slow smile, apparently
interpreting my polite greeting as interest.
"All right," I say warily, glancing over at my table in longing.
"Is it true blondes have more fun?" he asks. "I've always wanted to know."
I barely suppress an eyeroll. Like I haven't heard that one before, buddy.
"Never having been anything but blonde, I don't have much basis for comparison,"
I say pointedly.
"I never thought of it like that before," he says with a grin.
I bet you didn't, I think with disgust. I bet you never rubbed two brain
cells together, either.
The guy fails to notice my irritation. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asks.
"No, thanks, I'm all set," I tell him, indicating the drinks in my hand and
moving to leave.
He steps in front of me and I stiffen. "I'm just going back to my friends
now," I say pointedly, trying to step around him.
"What's your hurry?" he asks, stepping to block my path and grinning at me
with what I'm sure he thinks is a charming smile. He puts his hand on my arm and
Josh is there in a flash.
"Let go of her," he says in a tight voice.
The guy backs off at the venomous tone in Josh's voice. "Whoa, there buddy.
I didn't know she was with you."
"Don't touch her," Josh snarls, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
The guy raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. He has a couple of
inches on Josh, but he clearly isn't interested in a fight, while Josh looks
like he's about two seconds away to ripping into him with his bare hands. The
guy tries a calm, soothing voice. "Look, man, there's no problem here. I didn't
mean to step on any toes."
Josh says nothing, but regards him with a steely gaze, the muscle in his jaw
twitching.
I hand Josh a drink. "Come on, Josh. Let's go back to the table," I say.
Josh takes the drink but doesn't move from his spot. The guy stays still and
watches him warily, like a strange dog trying to avoid a fight with the leader
of a pack.
I tug on Josh's arm, but he doesn't budge. I lean towards him so I can speak
into his ear. "Josh," I say in a low voice. "I need you to take me back to the
table now."
He nods almost imperceptibly, but doesn't take his eyes off the guy in front
of us. I lay my hand on his arm and carefully steer him away from the bar. I
drag him back to our table and we sit down, but I can still feel the tension
radiating from him.
Back at the table, CJ, Toby, Margaret and Charlie all look at us curiously.
"What was that all about?" CJ asks.
I wave my hand dismissively. "Josh was helping me out with some creep at the
bar who couldn't take a hint. No big deal."
"You all right?" Toby asks cautiously.
"I'm fine," I tell him, although I'm not sure I can say the same for Josh,
who seems to still be on the brink of losing control.
"Breathe," I whisper into his ear. He exhales and I feel a little of the
tension drain out of him. "I'm sorry," he says miserably.
I pat him on the shoulder. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Josh," I say
soothingly.
He stares straight ahead. "I was going to hit that guy."
"What happened?" Margaret asks keenly.
"The guy grabbed my arm and wouldn't let me get back to the table. Josh
stepped in and told him to let go, and the guy backed off," I say.
"Smooth," Charlie says appreciatively.
CJ takes a sip of her drink. "I have to say, Josh, I wouldn't normally cast
you as a knight in shining armor, but you certainly seem to fit the bill
tonight."
"A regular Sir Galahad," Margaret agrees.
Josh looks down at his drink. "I shouldn't have done that."
"You did everything exactly right," I tell him.
Josh looks at me guiltily. "You probably could have handled that yourself."
I shake my head. "We don't know that, Josh. Chances are, he would have
backed off once I dumped my Midori sour down his pants, but we can't know for
sure. Personally, I'm glad you made it so I didn't have to find out."
Josh stands up abruptly. "I think I'd better go," he says.
Despite our protests, he insists, and leaves the bar hastily.
"Why was he so upset?" Margaret asks. "He was the hero of the hour."
I look after his retreating figure and sigh. "Guilt has become a habit for
him." So much for my plan. I guess the temptation of a rum and coke wasn't
enough to overcome a quasi-permanent tension borne of guilt and fear. I didn't
really think it would work. I just wish I knew what would.

***
For the most part, I've settled back into working with Josh fairly smoothly.
The truth is, despite whatever is going on between us personally, we still work
together fine. We're too professional, to my taste. Josh refuses to discuss
anything personal or emotional, seems anxious that I'm about to break, and
cringes when he has to ask me to do something. He also takes pains not to annoy
me, which is extremely irritating. But all in all, it's fine. It's just not as
fun. Some might go so far as to call it difficult and painful, but dammit, we're
getting the job done.
Everything else seems pretty normal, except I can't shake an unsettling
feeling that someone is watching me. It's little things; just an urge to glance
over my shoulder when I'm sitting at my desk, a feeling that someone's peering
at me from behind a corner as I walk through the halls. I try to dismiss the
sensation as paranoia at first, but it doesn't go away.
Ironically, as I walk down the hall today, my mind is occupied
elsewhere and I'm completely unaware when the source of the mysterious sensation
finally reveals itself to me.
My heel catches on a turned up corner of the carpet, and my feet go right
out from under me. My first thought is not, for better or worse, of the pain I
will certainly endure from the imminent swift and brutal landing I am about to
experience, but rather, whether or not my health insurance will pay for a
chiropractor if I dislocate my shoulder upon landing, and the complete
mortification I will have to endure when I awkwardly pick myself up to face my
colleagues after I fall on my head in the middle of the West Wing.
I'm so busy contemplating the utter humiliation about to be visited upon me
that it comes as a complete shock when I find myself not flat on my ass, but
caught, mid-flight, and steadied by a strong, warm arm at the small of my back.
Startled, I look up to meet the eyes of my protector, only to see a pair of
familiar brown eyes looking back at me, filled with concern.
"Josh," I gasp.
He searches my face, his own etched with worry. "Are you all right?"
I nod dumbly. "I... I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" he asks worriedly.
He's so... close. "Yes, I... I think so," I say breathlessly.
I'm staring up at him wide-eyed and breathless, and he's looking at me as
though his sole concern in the world is my personal well-being and general
foot-steadiness- which, to be quite honest, is not all that great at the moment-
when it suddenly occurs to me what we must look like to passersby. I'm
essentially at a forty-five degree angle to the floor, clutching desperately to
the lapels of Josh's jacket while he supports my weight with one hand, securing
my balance with the other hand firmly at my waist. We look like we've just
concluded an intimate dance, with him bending me back over his arm as I
surrender my entire body to his scrutiny. It must look as though he's just about
to ravish me, and I'm about to let him. Not that I would object to the ravishing
scenario, but I'm thinking the halls of the West Wing might not be the best
place for it.
"Josh?" I say faintly. "Um... could you maybe... help me stand up?"
He snaps out of the spell. "Yeah, of course." He lifts me up, leaving his
hands on my waist just a beat longer than is strictly necessary to steady me. He
looks me up and down in a way that makes me blush, but his voice is nothing but
concern. "You're really all right?"
I nod. "Yeah. Thanks for... you know, catching me."
He reddens. "Oh, well- "
I look at him with interest. "Seriously, that was pretty impressive. You had
to have moved pretty fast."
He smiles nervously. "Oh?"
"How did you manage it?"
"I- I saw your heel catch on that bit of carpet," he stammers.
I smile. "You must have been watching pretty closely..." I trail off, eyes
wide. He looks away, embarrassed.
Josh is the person who has been watching me. He won't talk to me about
anything that's not office related, but at my desk, in the corridors, even in
the Mess, the eyes that have been following me are his. Instead of feeling
intrusive, this knowledge makes me feel... safe. He told me he was worried about
something happening to me. Well, this is evidence of exactly how worried he was.
And being Josh, he has turned worrying into an art form, wherein he has
apparently designated himself the guardian of my safety. Despite myself, I can't
help thinking the way he has chosen to fulfill that duty is awfully sweet- he's
been watching me closely enough to catch me if I fall.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 5 - The Meaning of Forgiveness

After several weeks of quietly taking in my increasingly disturbed state,
Leo stops by my office and takes a look at me. "Come have dinner with me tonight
at the hotel," he says, and wanders off without waiting for an answer.
"Okay," I say bemusedly to the empty doorway.
I drive to his hotel a little after seven and take the elevator to the third
floor. I ring the doorbell outside the fourth room on the left and wait.
He answers, still in his suit and tie. "Come on in."
It feels a little weird to visit Leo at home; I keep expecting Margaret to
come in and inform us that the President will see us now. I relax a little when
we sit down at his dining room table and his maid comes in and gives us each a
glass of water.
"So, how's it going?" Leo says abruptly after I've taken a sip of my water.
I start and look at him oddly. "Ah, fine." Is he expecting that my level of
fineness has changed significantly in the hour that has passed since I last
spoke to him? "Bryant looks like he might finally get off the fence and get
behind us on 804," I offer finally.
He gestures impatiently. "I'm not talking about work. You. How are things
going with you?"
"Fine," I say again, slowly.
"You're doing better?" he prompts.
I shift uncomfortably. "Yeah."
"Cause you look like shit."
"Don't sugarcoat it, Leo, tell me what you really think," I joke lamely.
"I'm serious, you look bad."
I sigh. "I really am doing better."
There's a long pause. "Listen, if you don't want to talk about it, I'll
leave you alone. But I've gotta tell you, kid, I'm worried about you."
"I know, it's just... it's hard for me to talk about it."
He takes a sip of his water. "How's not talking about it working for you?"
"Not that great," I acknowledge.
"So... talk about it."
"About what, exactly?"
"About whatever." He pauses. "I noticed Donna's back."
I pause with my water halfway to my lips. "She was back before I was."
"Yeah, but she was gone before you were, too."
"Ah-kay."
"The point is, you're both back now."
I take a sip of water. "Yes."
He huffs impatiently. "And?"
"And what?"
"Are you two working all right together?"
I consider his words. "Yes."
He shifts uncomfortably. "And what about... you know."
I look at him blankly. "About what?"
"Are you trying to make this difficult?" he demands.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm just trying to figure out if things are all right with you two outside
of work, as well," he says cautiously.
"Well, why didn't you just say so?"
He throws his hands up. "For crying out loud, I'm not Margaret! I don't know
how to go about poking my nose into the personal lives of my staff where it may
or may not be wanted."
"It's fine, Leo."
He looks at me. "So? Are things getting better between you two?"
I cringe. "Well, she hasn't sued me yet, if that's what you mean."
"And you're... getting along?"
I fidget. "She's still mad at me, but you know, being very Donna about it.
The anger has kind of taken a back seat while she worries about me."
"What about you? You're all right being around her?"
I sigh. "It's hard. It's hard being around her, it's hard not being around
her. But... I'm working on it."
"So everything's more or less all right?" he prods. "You're getting back to
your old selves?"
"Yeah, it's, you know, it's fine. We're keeping things professional," I say.
"You know, that would be a lot more convincing if you didn't look sick when
you said it," Leo comments.
I grimace. "I'm working on it."
"Okay." We sit in silence for a moment and I fiddle with the arm of my
chair. "We should do this more often," he says.
I lift my head up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. We could make it, you know, a regular thing."
"I'd like that," I say sincerely.
"We could have a standing appointment on Tuesday nights," he suggests.
"That sounds good," I reply.
"And once you get over this idiotic thing you're doing, maybe you could
bring Donna along," he adds.
I wince. "Leo, I told you we're keeping things professional. It's better
like this."
"I don't believe that for a minute," Leo scoffs.
"Seriously," I protest. "She must love this. I haven't been shouting at her.
I'm a model of respect and courteousness. Donna's been nagging me for years to
be more polite. Well, now I'm finally listening her. I'm doing what she wants.
There's no way my whole attitude isn't vastly improving her state of mind."

***

Josh is driving me crazy. Not in his usual way, though, when he is loud,
obnoxious, and unreasonable. This is much worse. Instead of bellowing requests
from his office, he comes out into the bullpen and speaks to quietly I have to
strain to hear him. Instead of teasing me, he keeps all his conversations with
me strictly business. Instead of preening when I attempt to shamelessly flatter
him, he looks away. In short, he's being completely insufferable.
By the time Friday night rolls around, he's wearing on my last nerve, so
when my roommate invites me out for drinks that night, I jump at the chance to
blow off a little steam.
Which is how I find myself pounding on Josh's front door at one o clock in
the morning, possibly drunker than I have ever been in my life.
"Joshua Matthias Lyman!" I shout, banging on the door again. "Open the
door!"
He pulls open the door and takes a look at me. "What are you doing here?"
he asks warily.
"I'm drunk," I announce, and sweep past him. Well, I don't so much sweep as
teeter, but in any case, I end up in the living room and sit down on his couch.
"I can see that," he says dryly. "What have you been drinking?"
"Midori!" I cry happily. His eyebrows climb upwards. "You've been drinking
Midori sours? Those things have, like, no alcohol in them."
I lean towards him and say conspiratorially, "Bruce mixed 'em strong for me.
I love Bruce."
"The bartender, I presume? How many did you have?"
I hold up four fingers. "And you say I have a sensitive system," he mutters.
"I may have also had half my roommates rum and Coke and most of her
boyfriend's scotch and soda," I reflect. "Also, Bruce gave me a Bruce's Blitz on
the house."
"Bruce's Blitz? What's that?"
"I'm not sure, but it had a lot of vodka in it," I answer.
He pauses. "So why did you come here?"
I point a finger at him. "You are driving me crazy," I inform him.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"Argh," I moan in frustration, and bury my face in a pillow. "That's the
whole problem."
"What?" he says.
I take my head out of the pillow so my words won't be garbled. "I know
you're sorry. Get over it."
"Get over it?" he echoes.
I nod vigorously. "Yes. It's getting on my nerves. You've been walking on
eggshells around me and it's driving me batty. I'm sick of it. I've been trying
to purposefully annoy you, but you don't get annoyed! You just apologize for
bothering me."
"I'm sorry," he says helplessly.
"Stop doing that!" I yell.
"What do you want me to do? Just tell me and I'll do it," he says
desperately.
"Stop being so agreeable," I snap.
"All right," he says.
"Josh, if you say one more acquiescent thing, I'm going to scream," I
threaten.
"Okay," he says, looking taken aback.
I let out a blood-curdling scream.
"Jesus!" Josh says, shocked. "Shh!"
I scream again.
He waves his hands at me frantically. "Donna! People are sleeping!"
I scream again.
He looks exasperated. "Oh for God's sake!" he exclaims. He gets out of his
chair and sits next to me to cover my mouth with his hand to shush me.
I bite his hand. "Ow!" he cries, yanking his hand away. "What the hell did
you do that for?"
I grin at him. "To annoy you."
"All right! You win! I'm annoyed. Are you satisfied?"
"Not nearly," I grumble. "But it's a start."
"I don't understand," Josh says.
I sigh. "I miss you, Josh."
"How can you miss me?" he protests. "You see me every day."
"Yes, but you haven't been being you," I tell him. "You've been this
horrible groveling stranger."
"I see."
"Do you?" I demand.
He hesitates. "Well- "
"I just want things back the way they were," I say.
He shakes his head. "I can't do that. I'm not the same person anymore."
"Yes you are," I tell him. "You haven't really changed."
He shudders. "Don't say that."
"Hey," I say softly. He meets my eyes. "You have a few new scars to carry.
But you're still the same person. The same person who hired a broken-hearted
girl from Wisconsin to work for the President of the United States out of the
goodness of his heart. That was awfully nice of you, Josh. Thank you for that."
He stares at me. "How can you stand to be near me after what I did to you?"
I shrug. "What can I say? I'm intrigued by your dark and dangerous depths.
I'm a blond girl from Wisconsin. I don't have dark and dangerous depths."
He looks at me for a long moment. "Yes, you do," he says quietly.
I look at him, surprised. "Joshua Lyman, that is the sweetest thing anyone
has ever said to me."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I sigh.
"Josh, I want you to stop torturing yourself over what you said to me. It's
over. I forgive you."
"Donna, please don't say that," he says desperately.
I shake my head. "It's too late, Josh, it's done. I've forgiven you."
"You can't."
"I can, and I have. Josh, you need to let it go, for your own good. Don't
you understand what forgiveness means?"
He's silent.
I reach out and cover his hand with my own. "Forgiveness means I no longer
hold anything you said against you. It means that twenty years from now, if we
have an argument, I can't throw those words back in your face. I've renounced my
claim on them. They aren't important to me anymore. I'm free of them. Now you
need to free yourself. Forgive yourself, Josh."
"I can't."
"You can, Josh," I say quietly. "I have faith in you."
He looks at me again. "For you, I'll try." The moment stretches out, slowing
in the heavy air between us. He's looking at me with that look again. That look
of the most incredible longing. I could die for such a look. He's so close to
me. I'm transfixed by the look in his eyes and the fact that he is so extremely
touchable right now. To hell with the consequences and Josh's volatile emotional
state, I'm just going to kiss the man.
I lean towards him, eyes half-lidded and my heart racing. This is the moment
of truth. I'm finally going to kiss Josh Lyman and it's going to be the best
kiss of my life. I lean into him slowly, savoring the last moments of
anticipation, and I'm just about to make contact with that wonderful mouth when
he decides to crush my hopes, my heart, and my pride in one fell swoop.
He turns away from me at the last second and I'm faced with the unexpected
feeling of the rough stubble of his cheek instead of the long-awaited sensation
of his lips on mine.
Well. You know how when you're drunk, embarrassing situations don't seem as
embarrassing as they actually are? That's not happening right now. I'm suddenly
stone cold sober and I can feel every bit of the mortification I have brought
upon myself. I now know what is more humiliating than having your underwear sent
to your boss and paraded around the White House for all and sundry to see. I
feel more awkward than I've ever felt in my life. I mean, I know I'm notoriously
bad at reading signals in matters of the heart, but come on! I'm obsessed with
you, but not in that way? I'm pretty sure normal people aren't expected to know
that one.
All of my worst fears have suddenly been confirmed. All of this amazing
sexual tension with Josh has been purely imagined on my part. Every wonderful
thing he has ever done for me hasn't been a reflection of his feelings for me,
they've just been an _expression of his generous personality. And the worst fear
of all. He thinks of me as a sister. Some of the pieces begin to fall into
place. Josh's mother dies. He gives me his sister's locket. He's terrified that
I might die, like his sister did. He's become preoccupied with protecting me,
because he couldn't protect his sister.
I sit back, stunned and humiliated beyond belief. "Well," I say, and my
voice sounds horrible and strained even to my own ears. I look down at my hands
and I know my face is about nine different shades of red right now.
"Donna." Josh's voice is apologetic. Something else I don't need. Pity on
top of humiliation and crushing rejection.
I cut him off. "It's fine, Josh."
"Donna," he sighs, but I interrupt him before he can continue.
"It's fine," I say sharply. "Don't worry about it."
"Listen, I- "
I stare straight ahead. "I'm sorry. That was very- " my mouth twists around
the word- "unprofessional of me. I hope you'll accept my apology."
Josh laughs. Wonderful. Nothing like being mocked in the most devastating
moment of your life.
"I'd better go," I say, standing up. "I'm sorry for bothering you."
"Donna, please sit down," Josh says.
I look over at him and reluctantly obey. "Don't laugh at me," I warn. "I
just- I can't deal with that right now."
"I'm not laughing at you," he says soberly. "I was laughing at the irony of
you apologizing for being unprofessional. I mean, I think it would take a lot
more than that before we got anywhere near even in terms of unprofessional
behavior."
"Okay." I'm slightly mollified, but then I remember my recent revelation and
my face clouds over again.
"Donna, look at me," Josh says gently. I meet his eyes reluctantly and they
have that same quiet intensity that takes my breath away. I gaze at him
unhappily, wondering if he knows how painful it is for me to see that look and
know that it doesn't mean anything to him.
"I can't do this," he says.
"Great. Fine. Peachy. I told you it's no big deal," I say, starting to feel
annoyed. I mean, it's one thing to break my heart, but does he need to force me
to sit here and listen why when the reasons are painfully clear?
"Donna," Josh sighs. "You're drunk."
"I know that," I say furiously.
"You're drunk and I'm a mess," he says ruefully.
"You're not a mess," I say. "And I'm not that drunk."
He shakes his head. "No, Donna, I am a mess. I can't take advantage of you
while I'm like this, and especially not when you're even the least bit drunk."
"You wouldn't be taking advantage of me," I insist.
"I can't let you do this because you feel sorry for me," he says.
I stare at him incredulously. "You think I tried to kiss you because I feel
sorry for you?"
He sighs. "I know you, Donna. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking,
'Oh, my poor friend Josh, all alone and sad. You know I've been having...
issues, when it comes to you. Your overdeveloped need to take care of people has
convinced you that I'll get better if I think you want me for a little while. I
can't let you do that," he sighs.
I'm quiet for a minute. "That's not what I'm thinking, Josh."
He rakes his hand through his hair. "What do you want from me, Donna? I'm
just trying to get through each day the only way I know how."
"I want you to let me help you," I say, frustrated. "You think I don't know
how hard this is for you? I see how hard it is for you. You try to hide it, but
I know how much pain you're in. Just let me help you get through this."
He closes his eyes. "I can't. Donna, you have no idea what is happening
right now."
"Are you or are you not in pain?" I demand.
He laughs harshly. "Excrutiating."
"So, I'll help you," I say. "That's what I do."
"Donna, you are the last person who can help me with this," he says tiredly.
I recoil. I feel like I've been slapped. "That's not you talking," I say
decisively. "That's the new, fake Josh talking. The real Josh is nice and
obnoxious and is never acquiescent. I'm tired of the fake Josh. I want to talk
to the real Josh."
"The selfish, inconsiderate Josh isn't here anymore," Josh says. He pauses.
"Well, for the most part, anyway."
"Yes, he is," I say stubbornly. "He's there, inside you. You're just keeping
him away from me."
He looks pained. "It's for the best. I don't want you to be hurt."
I strangle a moan of anguish. "You're making me so unhappy!"
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
"You've locked yourself in a cage for no good reason. Just stop it. Stop
it!"
I pound my fists into his chest, lowering my face so it's just in front of
his heart. "Let Josh out!" I cry.
Josh captures my hands in his and I struggle against him for a moment before
I give up and collapse against him, crying. He hesitates, and then snakes his
arms around me, stroking my back while I sob into his chest. We sit like that
for a long time, me crying quietly and him soothing me gently, until my sobs
dissipate. When I finally stop sniffling, and am just resting my head on his
chest, exhausted, he asks softly, "Do you still want to stay here tonight?"
I nod silently.
"Okay," he says. He pulls me up by the hand and waits patiently while I get
ready for bed. He even lets me use his toothbrush. He gives me a t-shirt and a
pair of boxers and I change in the bathroom. He tucks me into his bed and turns
to leave, but I grab a fistful of his t-shirt and don't let go. I didn't come
all the way over here to sleep alone.
"Stay," I command.
He looks at the bed as though it has snakes in it. "It's not that easy."
"Sure it is. You just get in bed, and don't leave."
He looks at me uneasily. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
"Oh, for crying out loud, Josh," I say, rolling my eyes. "I'm not going to
attack you. Look, I'll stay way over here on my side of the bed, and you stay
over there on your side of the bed," I tell him.
He meets my eyes. "I've been having trouble sleeping."
"We sleep better together," I say without thinking. "Please? Do it for me?"
It's the alcohol talking, I swear.
He sighs and climbs into bed. I immediately roll over to his side and throw
my arm around him. He tenses. "Donna," he says in a stiff voice. I know, I said
I wouldn't attack him. I lied. What's the point of being drunk if you can't get
all cuddly with your boss?
I sigh noisily and retreat back to my side of the bed. At least I can listen
to him breathe. My fingers automatically find the locket underneath my shirt.
That's better than nothing. I yawn. A lot better than nothing.
"Good night, Donnatella," he whispers.

***
Three hours later, I wake up to the sound of someone shouting my name.
I sit up to see Josh sitting bolt upright in bed, chest heaving. "Josh, what
is it?" I say, laying my hand on his arm.
"Donna," he croaks, staring straight ahead, eyes unseeing. I scramble to my
knees to look him in the face.
"I'm here, Josh," I say, touching his face. "I'm right here."
"Donna," he repeats, sounding anguished.
I realize he hasn't woken up from the nightmare.
"Wake up," I urge him. "You're dreaming."
His face contorts in pain, but he doesn't respond.
I shake him, hard. "Josh, wake up!"
He convulses, and then his eyes come into focus and rest on my face. "You're
here," he gasps, crushing me to him. "You're here."
I stroke the back of his head. "I'm here," I assure him.
He runs his hands up and down my sides as though checking to make sure I'm
all in one piece. His hand comes to a stop on my ribs, and my breath catches in
my throat. Instinctively, I reach out and touch his ribcage in the same place.
The place where the bullet entered. "I'm okay," I tell him.
His eyes slide away and he pulls his hand away but I grab it and bring it
back towards me. Very carefully, I lift the hem of my t-shirt and guide his hand
to the place just under my left breast, so he can feel the smooth, unbroken skin
beneath his fingertips. "I'm okay," I repeat.
He lets out a shuddering breath. I see tears streaming down his face and
feel my own eyes pricked with emotion. "You poor thing," I whisper. "You've been
going through hell all alone, haven't you?" He doesn't say anything. Slowly, I
wrap my arms around him and pull him towards me, leaning back so we're both
lying down and I'm cradling his head on my chest with his ear pressed against my
heart.
We lie like that for a long time. After awhile, some of the tension leaves
his body. He moves to pull away, but I tighten my hold on him and I feel him
relax into my embrace. And after a long time, we fall asleep.



The Locket
by Arianne
Disclaimer: not mine
Rating: Teen

Chapter 6 - The Importance of Not Listening to Josh


When I wake up the next morning, I stretch languorously and then notice Josh
is gone. I frown and sit up. I see a note on the bedside table and pick it up.

Donna,
I'm off to work- I didn't want to wake you because I figured you'd have
a rather nasty hangover and would want to sleep in. Make yourself at home.
Things are pretty light today. I left some juice and bagels in the kitchen if
you're hungry and I put some clean towels in the bathroom if you want to take a
shower. There's a sweater of yours in my closet you left... I don't remember
when, if you need to change. Talk to you later.
Josh

I grin. I bounce out of bed. Who could feel the effects of a hangover and
sleep deprivation when they've spent the night in Josh Lyman's bed? I've slept
off the ill effects of the alcohol, and though I was woken up last night, I
still slept better than I have in a long time. And unlike some people, I do not
have a sensitive system.
I go out to the kitchen and pick at one of the freshly baked bagels and
drink some orange juice, and then I wander into the living room. I peruse his
bookshelves, noting the Tom Clancy and Robin Cook novels interspersed with law
books and history books. I see a picture of him and Leo and the President; and
another of the senior staff. I see one of CJ and me looking very hot in formal
gowns for a state dinner. There's a close-up of Josh, Sam, and me, where I think
Sam was taking the picture by holding the camera as far away as his arm could
reach. Our faces are all squashed together, with me in the middle, and we're all
making the most ridiculous faces we can think of. There's also one of me and
Josh at some formal event where he has his arm slung around my shoulder and
we're both smiling and comfortable.
I go into his bathroom and brush my teeth. I open his medicine cabinet to
put the toothpaste away and take out his aftershave and unscrew the cap. I take
a long whiff. It smells great, but it smells better mixed with Josh. I take off
my clothes and get in the shower. When I get out, I dry off and pad back into
the bedroom.
I go into his walk-in closet in search of the sweater he mentioned, grabbing
one of his suit jackets off the doorknob and slipping it on to ward off the
chill while I rifle through his clothes rack. I take my time, reveling in the
scent of Josh emanating from all his shirts and jackets. I note a bunch of boxes
on the upper shelves of the closet, but I leave those alone. I don't mind going
through his stuff and wearing his jacket naked, but I don't want to invade
Josh's privacy.
I locate the sweater in question at last, hung carefully near the back, and
take it back out to his bedroom so I can get dressed, reluctantly hanging his
jacket up, and immediately missing the feeling of the silky lining sliding
against my skin.
Anyway, I get dressed, and about twenty minutes later I stroll into the
White House, feeling magnificent.
I breeze into Josh's office with a brilliant smile. "Good morning," I say.
"Hi," he says, looking surprised. "I thought you weren't coming in today."
"You thought wrong," I say cheerfully.
He smiles at me shyly. "Okay."
"How are you feeling this morning?" I ask him with a smile.
"Not bad," he allows. I take a good look at him.
He looks... rested. I frown. That doesn't make any sense. I didn't come over
until after one last night- we didn't go to sleep until about two. Then he woke
up after a rather disturbing nightmare in the middle of the night. And I'm
betting he was here in the office before eight. He shouldn't look rested.
With a shock, I realize I've grown accustomed to seeing Josh looking haggard
and weary. And now that I think about it, he's lost weight, too. His cheeks are
gaunt, and even though he looks better than he has in a long time, he still has
circles under his eyes. How could I have missed this?
"You haven't been sleeping, have you?" I demand.
He blinks. "What?"
"Sleep. You haven't been sleeping," I accuse.
"I sleep," he says defensively. At my look, he caves. "A little."
I collapse into the visitor's chair and chew my lip. "I can't believe I
didn't... you look awful!" I cry, distressed.
"Gee, thanks," he says dryly.
I have to get to the bottom of this. I stand up abruptly. "I have to go."
"Okay..." he says, looking half amused, half sad.
I go over to Toby's office to find him and CJ eating lunch together.
"Hey Donna," CJ says cheerfully. "Wanna play poker tonight? Tobus and I are
trying to determine which of us has the ultimate poker face and we could use an
objective judge."
I decline and get straight to the point. "When was the last time you guys
did something with Josh?"
They exchange glances. "What do you mean?" CJ asks slowly.
"Outside of work. When was the last time you did something with Josh outside
of work?" I repeat.
They look at each other again. "Well, there was last week when we all went
out to that bar together," CJ says.
When Josh panicked and left alone early, I add mentally. "And before that?"
I ask, my heart filling with dread.
CJ blinks. "I don't know. We were all busy and then he was gone..."
My heart sinks. "Did either of you talk to him while he was gone?"
"I did," Toby says quietly. "I called him a couple of times, but he didn't
say much. He didn't seem inclined to pour out his heart, so I didn't push."
"What about Sam? Did Sam talk to him?" I wonder aloud.
Toby nods. "Sam called. I don't know how much they talked."
I sit down and put my face in my hands. "You need to talk to him."
"About what?" CJ asks gently.
"Anything!" I cry desperately. "He's isolating himself emotionally. You," I
point at Toby. "Take him to a baseball game or something. You," I point at CJ.
"I don't know, make him sing karaoke with you, take him to a concert, I don't
care. Just talk to him."
"Donna," CJ says patiently. "We'll try, we really will, but what if he says
he doesn't want to talk to us? There's a reason we haven't seen as much of him
as we used to. He hasn't been the most receptive to invitations."
"Don't listen to him," I cry. "Do you think he knows what's best for him?
No, you just have to tell him what you're doing and not take no for an answer.
Now, I want to see your faces in Josh's office by the end of the day or CJ, I'll
tell Toby about that night in Miami, and Toby, I'll tell CJ about that night in
Kansas City. Capisce?"
Startled, they both glance at each other for an instant before looking back
at me and nodding hastily.
I march back over to Josh's office and fling the door open. "Get up," I
order him.
"Huh?" he says intelligently, looking up from his report.
"Get up," I repeat. "Get your coat."
He gets up obediently. "What for?"
"You're going to physical therapy," I say tersely.
He stops short. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Donna..." he whines.
"Don't start with me, Josh. You're going."
"But I don't have an appointment," he protests.
"So you'll go to the gym and get one of the trainers to help you with your
exercises," I say impatiently.
"Okay," he says meekly.
I take a deep breath. "All right then. Let's go."

***

Apparently, me bullying Josh was just what we needed to get back to a place
where we can function with some semblance of normality. I say this because after
Josh submits docilely to the regime I impose upon him, miraculously, we are able
to talk again.
I look over at him tenderly as he describes his weekend activities to me
Monday morning, the first non-work contact he's initiated with me for ages,
affecting a casual tone belied by the undertone of excitement in his voice.
I listen attentively and affectionately, but of course, I already know all
this, having interrogated CJ and Toby at length about Joshua's weekend
activities and state of mind. Toby informed me that he and Josh went to a bar
Saturday night, and while little was said, Josh and Toby being, well, men, Josh
seemed almost... relaxed. Then CJ told me with a note of bewilderment that for
reasons passing understanding, Josh agreed to go shopping with her Sunday
afternoon, and that he actually seemed to have fun. He let her drag him into
boutique after boutique, and sat in the chairs outside the dressing rooms and
critiqued, applauded, and occasionally wolf whistled as she came out decked out
in various elements of haute couture.
"Oh?" I reply when he tells me this, feigning surprise and biting back a
smile. "Did you have a good time?"
He nods. A couple of the lines have smoothed out from his face. "Yeah. I
didn't realize how much I missed hanging out with them."
That's wonderful. "I'm glad you guys got to catch up. And you said things
are going well with Stanley, as well?"
He bites his lip. "Yeah. I told him I had a bit of a breakthrough last
weekend," he admits shyly.
I can't stop a brilliant smile from taking over my face, but I don't push
for more detail. "Any plans for this week?"
"I'm having dinner with Leo Tuesday. He says he wants to try to have dinner
together about once a week, make a tradition out of it," he tells me.
I smack myself on the forehead. "Leo! Why didn't I think of him?" I wonder
aloud.
His brow furrows. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," I say, turning my attention back to him with a smile. He's being
indoctrinated back into the world of the living.
This is all well and good, but I'm not satisfied. He's been neglected long
enough; ordinary, day-to-day human contact isn't going to cut it. He needs
special attention, something to make him feel especially cared for. He needs to
feel loved. And I have an idea about how to do it.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 7 - To Be Opened In Case of Emergency

Donna knocks on the door and comes in with a white envelope in her hands. I
look at the envelope with dread. A white envelope can only mean one thing. She's
resigning. I should have expected it. Things have been going well with us. Too
well. I've caught myself wondering if Stanley might be right, that she might not
come to irreparable harm because of my mere presence. I've even let myself start
wishing that she stay close to me, and I've considered the heretic thought that
were something bad to happen to either of us, I would want us to be together.
In other words, I've been getting complacent. Talking to her as though I'm
not a danger to her, letting myself feel something close to happiness when she
smiles at me- I've been allowing myself to indulge in the unforgivable luxury of
hope. But I don't have that luxury anymore. The white envelope will make sure of
that. This is it, I tell myself. This is my punishment. This is the moment
you've been fearing ever since the moment you first laid eyes on Donnatella
Moss. This is the day she is going to quit and leave you. She's going to hand
you that letter of resignation and break your poor, lonely heart.
I straighten my back. Take it like a man, Lyman. You will accept the letter,
thank her for all her years of hard work above and beyond the call of duty, and
you will wish her good luck on all her future endeavors. You will not, under any
circumstances, start bawling like a baby, fall to your knees, and beg her not to
leave you.
I glance at the envelope, feeling little hope that it's not what I think it
is. "What's that?" I ask with trepidation. That, my friend, is the end of your
life as you know it.
"It's for your box," she says.
That's not what I was expecting her to say. My brow furrows. "My what?"
"Your box," she repeats.
"What box?" I ask, confused. Is there a special resignation box?
To my surprise, she blushes. "Your box your mom gave you." Seeing my blank
stare, she says, "You know, the one for emergencies in your car."
Oh. That box. The tension in my face eases and I let out a breath. "What's
in it?"
"A letter."
O-kaaaay. "What kind of letter?"
She blushes again. She's so adorable when she blushes. "A letter from me."
"Really," I say with interest. "Let me see it."
She starts to hand it to me but then pulls it back towards her chest. "Okay,
but you can't open it," she warns.
"Why not?" I ask.
She frowns at me. "Because things in the box are only for emergencies,
Josh." I take the envelope from her and see my name printed on the front in her
distinctively illegible handwriting.
To Joshua-
To be opened only in case of emergency.

I move to tear open the seal, and Donna snatches the letter out of my hands.
"Are you blind or something?" she demands. "It says right there that it's only
to be opened in emergencies."
"I thought I should know what's in it before I put it in my car," I say
mildly. "What if it's really a letter bomb?"
She rolls her eyes. "I don't think you'd be any safer opening a letter bomb
in your office than in your car."
"Fair point," I acknowledge.
"Do you understand what an emergency is, Joshua?" she wants to know.
"Republicans gaining control of the House?" I suggest.
"You being stranded or bleeding from the head," she corrects. "Those are the
type of circumstances that constitute an emergency. Neither of which I envision
happening here at the office or hopefully anytime in the near future. So at the
end of the day, you should take that nice, unopened letter and place it
carefully in the trunk of your car so that, God forbid, something happen to you,
you'll have it with you."
I can't believe she did this for me. She is the sweetest person in the
world. I seriously don't think you could comb through the entire six billion
plus individuals on the planet and ever find one who is even close to being as
kind, as generous, as thoughtful, and as giving as Donnatella Moss.
"Do you understand me, Joshua?" she asks, her hands on her hips.
"Yes, Donna," I say meekly.
***
I'm thinking about the envelope again. It's been six hours since she gave it
to me, three hours since I put it in the box in my car, and two and a half since
I left the box and the envelope in my trunk to come upstairs into my apartment.
In all that time, I've managed not to think about the envelope for a grand total
of about fourteen minutes. Considering that I spent those fourteen minutes
thinking about Donna and how sweet she is, I probably can't really consider them
as time spent on thoughts not related to the envelope.
I should go get it. It's in my car; I could have it in my hands in under
five minutes. I can get it out of the box, and bring it back here. Just to, you
know, keep an eye on it. And maybe, if I hold it up to the light, I'll be able
to make out a few words of what she's written.
I've gone through this argument in my head about fifty times since I got
home. I've made it halfway down the stairs of my apartment about six times. Each
time I turn back, slinking back to my apartment like a failed thief in the
night.
I can't move past Donna's insistence that I only open the envelope in an
emergency. A large part of me insists that this is silly, and that I should just
go read the letter. It's my letter, she wrote it to me, I can read it whenever I
want. Another part of me, however, is rather superstitiously telling me not to
go against Donna's orders. In general, her orders have never steered me wrong in
the past- there's no reason to think that they'd go bad now. In the past, there
would have been no doubt as to which one of these battling aspects of my
conscience would win; I would have ripped through the seal of that envelope the
second Donna's back was turned. Now, however, there is that frustratingly
stubborn part of me that is afraid she'll finally desert me if I go against her
wishes.
I sigh and glance at the clock. Eleven-thirty. Not too late, but I can
already tell that it's going to be a hard night to fall asleep. It's gotten to
the point where I don't even bother trying to go to sleep before one o clock.
I know. I'll go for a drive. You know, to calm myself down before I go to
sleep. And maybe my car will break down and I'll have a good excuse to read the
letter.
I grab my keys and head for the door. I get in excited at the prospect of a
potential break down, but slump dejectedly against the wheel when I look at the
gas gauge and note that the needle points to full. I check my mileage and recall
with a cringe that I had the oil changed and my car tuned up last weekend. Damn.
I consider giving up and going back into my apartment to brood about the
letter some more, but ultimately I decide that since I'm already in the car, I
might as well go for a drive. I turn over the engine with the cheering thought
that someone might hit me, at least.
Once I get out on the highway, however, I realize the flaw in my plan. There
is no one out on the road to crash into. I squint into the darkness, peering
hopefully for some nails or broken glass on the pavement I could blow a tire on.
Alas, the roads are smooth and unblemished. They've been repaved and there's not
so much as a damn pothole.
I vacillate a bit over which direction to drive in, but eventually decide to
drive towards Baltimore. Once I get to the interchange, though, I change my
mind, deciding to head in the opposite direction towards Virginia. When I get to
the exit I had planned to take, though, getting off holds no appeal. I don't
really want to go anywhere too far because, seeing as I have been known to have
a somewhat short attention span, I don't want to get stuck in Pennsylvania or
somewhere when I decide I'm bored with this little venture and have to drive all
the way back. I end up driving in a loop around the beltway, and when I
finish the first circuit I start over again, glancing at the gas gauge in
despair.
Four hours later, after the 'E' light has been on for much longer than I
thought possible, the car finally starts to sputter and protest and I heave a
sigh of relief. I eagerly pull over to the side of the road and leap out of the
car. I pop the hood and glance underneath. Not that I know anything about cars,
but I feel it necessary to make the token manly gesture. Shoot, nothing I can
do, guess I better go see if there's anything helpful in my emergency box to get
me through the long, lonely hours before someone appears to assist me.
Before I can make it the trunk, however, a truck pulls up behind me and a
guy in a baseball cap and jeans gets out. No, no, no. Move on, move on. Nothing
to see here. No need to pull any of this good Samaritan crap when I clearly need
to be alone with my envelope. Can't he just leave a man to be stranded in peace?
"Hey there," he calls. "Car trouble?"
"I'm fine," I respond. "Everything's under control."
"I used to be a mechanic," he says, walking over. Oh, hell. "Want me to take
a look?"
"Really, it's not necessary. It's a little finicky. It just needs a little
rest and then it will be fine," I say unconvincingly.
He glances inside the car. "It's out of gas," he says.
"Oh?" I say with a nervous smile.
"There's a gas station about five hundred meters up the road," he says,
inclining his head in the direction of the gas station and looking at me oddly.
Like it's weird that I apparently haven't noticed the fifteen meter high sign
right in front of me advertising that fact.
"So there is," I say lamely. I'm feeling very discouraged at this point. I
should have driven to West Virginia. Nothing good has ever happened to anyone in
West Virginia. Actually, nothing bad has ever happened to me in West Virginia,
but still. It seems like the sort of place where you could get into a lot of
trouble if you were looking for it. Although, if I'd really been thinking ahead,
I would have packed up my box and gone to Indiana.
"Do you want some help getting it down there?" the guy asks.
I squint at him and wonder what he's doing out on the road in the middle of
the night. "You're not a serial killer, are you?" I ask, feeling a little more
cheerful at the prospect of a possible psychopath ready and willing to attack
me.
He steps away slightly. "No."
"A mugger?" I ask hopefully.
He frowns. "No. I work the night shift at the plant back there," he says,
pointing over his shoulder to... well, a factory of some kind, I suppose.
"Okay," I sigh, defeated.
He looks at me askance. "You sure you don't need any help?"
"Yeah," I say morosely.
He leans against the hood of my car. "If you don't mind me asking, what are
you doing out here in the middle of the night?"
I pause. "It's kind of a long story."
He crosses his arms. "Give me the Cliff's notes version."
I wonder if he'll understand. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Sure," he says warily.
"Do you love her?" I want to know.
"More than anything," he says.
"Does she take care of you?" I ask.
"Yup," he says fondly. "She's a sweetheart."
I nod, satisfied. "Okay. Now, imagine you've been in love with your
girlfriend for say, six years, but instead of being your girlfriend, she works
for you instead, and you never tell her how you feel. You date other women in a
misguided attempt to make her jealous; meanwhile, you're out of your mind with
envy every time she looks at another guy. Then your mother dies, and you're
devastated, but you push everyone away, and take out all your grief and anger on
this woman you love. You say horrible things to her, and she quite rightly tells
you to go to hell. You spend some time apart, and eventually she comes back and
forgives you, even though you don't want her to because you're afraid of
something bad happening to her. Things are awkward, but slowly getting better,
even though you're still terrified that if you let her get too close something
awful will happen to her. Then today, she comes into your office and gives you a
letter, but insists you don't open it unless you're in an
emergency. Naturally, you're dying to see the letter, but you can't bring
yourself to break your promise to her that you'll only look at the letter in an
emergency. What do you do?"
He shrugs. "I dunno."
Clearly, he is not a creative thinker. "Wouldn't you consider driving around
the beltway in the middle of the night until your car breaks down, thus placing
you in a situation where it is absolutely necessary that you read that letter
before returning to civilization?" I say helpfully.
He looks at me. "If I really wanted to read the letter, I'd just open the
damn thing."
"But what about if you're terrified that if you break your promise to her,
she'll finally leave you for good?" I press. "Really, truly for good. No more
small smiles just for you, no more great, hours-long conversations, no more
sweet-smelling shampoo. She's completely gone forever."
Light dawns. "Ah. I guess in that case maybe I'd go for a little nocturnal
drive," he says magnanimously. He looks at me. "Although I'd have to admit I was
pretty far gone if I was reduced to calling an empty tank of gas an emergency
when I was five hundred meters from a gas station."
I smile a little. "Well, that's a given."
"So why is the letter only for emergencies?" he says, intrigued.
I look at him, exasperated. "I don't know- I haven't read it!"
"Well, why would she give you a letter if she didn't want you to read it?"
he asks reasonably.
I sigh. "If I knew why women did anything, I probably wouldn't be in this
mess."
He pushes off from the car. "Well, buddy, sounds like you're in a real
crisis of conscience there. But you know what I think?"
"No. What?" I ask.
He starts walking back to his truck. "Maybe the reason she gave you this
letter in the first place was because she could see that you were in dire
straights. Maybe she wasn't talking about an emergency of the vehicular kind,
but one of a spiritual nature. Obviously she thinks you need help, otherwise,
why bother with the letter at all? Could be she sees you're in some kind of
trouble that you don't. Maybe the letter was her way of staging an emergency
intervention."
"You think?" I ask eagerly.
"I do," he says. He nods towards my trunk, obviously picking up on my
not-so-covert glances in its direction. "I don't think she'd be mad if you
opened it." He gets in his truck. "Good luck."
"Thanks!" I call, staring at my trunk in awe. Wow. At last, the excuse I've
been looking for: I'm having a spiritual emergency. In fact, have probably been
having one... well, let's just say for much longer than I care to think about.
Cool.
I pop the trunk and root around the trunk and rummage around in the box for
the letter, which has fallen into the bottom of the box sometime during the
course of my nocturnal wanderings. I unearth it at last and pull it out
reverently, closing the trunk so I can sit on it while I read my letter.
I sit on the trunk and look at the letter with Donna's hasty scrawl on the
front and then look up at the stars. And in that moment, a feeling of incredible
peace and clarity settles over me.
***
The next day, I go into work in an incredibly good mood. "Good morning,
Donnatella!" I say cheerfully as I pass her desk on the way to my office.
She jumps, and stares at me. "Morning."
I pause. "How are you?"
"Fine," she says, quickly. She seems a little tense. "You?"
I smile at her. "I'm very well, thank you."
"Oh," she says, still staring at me. "Good."
I hesitate. She's acting a little weird. "Okay. I'm going into my office
now."
"Wait!" she jumps up and follows me into my office.
I turn towards her expectantly. "Yes?"
She shifts nervously from one foot to the other. "Um... nothing. I just... I
thought maybe you had something you might want to say to me," she says
uncomfortably.
I look at her blankly. "Like what?"
She looks at her shoes. "I don't know... maybe something... some kind of
response to the letter I wrote you?"
"Oh, that," I say dismissively.
She bristles. "What do you mean, 'oh, that?'" she demands. "I'll have you
know I spent a lot of time crafting that letter, and all you have to say about
it is, 'oh, that,' like it means nothing to you at all? How could you read that
letter and then refer to it as, 'oh, that?'"
"I didn't read it," I tell her.
"Wha...? You didn't read it?" she asks, crestfallen. "What do you mean, you
didn't read it?"
I raise my eyebrows. "You said it was only to be opened in case of an
emergency," I remind her.
"Yeah, but... I didn't think you'd actually listen," she says. "I figured
you'd manufacture some made-up emergency to justify peeking at the letter the
minute I was out of your sight."
She knows me way too well. "So you're saying you wanted me to read the
letter?" I say.
"Well..." she hedges.
"I could go get it," I say, pointing over my shoulder in the general
direction of the parking lot. "It's in my car."
"No!" she screeches. "No, no, no."
"It'd be no trouble," I say. I'm totally baiting her. God, I've missed this.
"I could just go get the letter out of my trunk and read it right here."
"Don't!" she cries.
I grin at her. "I'm getting some mixed signals, here, Donnatella. You write
me a letter, but you don't want me to read it. Then it seems like you're
disappointed I haven't read it, but you still insist you don't want me to read
it."
"I don't want you to read the letter... exactly. I just thought you would
have read it by now," she mumbles. She looks up at me. "Why didn't you read it?"
"Because I promised you I wouldn't," I say. Of course, I damn near went
crazy trying to figure out ways to circumvent said promise without breaking it,
but hey, it's the thought that counts.
She looks at me suspiciously. "You didn't lose it, did you?"
As if I would be so careless as to let the most precious document on the
planet get lost. I briefly consider asking the National Archives if they would
consider employing the same security and preservation techniques on my letter as
they use on the constitution, so as to ensure its safety. They probably
wouldn't. "I didn't lose it. It's in the emergency box in the trunk of my car."
"Are you sure you didn't throw it out with your bills, or something?" she
asks.
"No, I checked this morning," I say offhandedly. What? You never know what
can happen to items in your trunk overnight.
She pounces. "You checked this morning?" Right. I guess some people might
consider it significant that I'm so preoccupied with this letter I need to know
its location every minute of every day.
"Um... I mean, I was looking for my old sneakers in my trunk and happened to
see the letter sitting in the box right where I left it," I say.
"And you didn't... you know, slip, and bang your head on the trunk so you
could say you hurt yourself and read the letter?" she says.
"Of course not." I did consider hurting myself as a means of passing the
Donna criteria for an emergency early on in my obsessive musings about the
letter, but come on. We all know I'm a wuss when it comes to physical pain.
"You didn't even accidentally on purpose nick yourself shaving so you could
claim that you were bleeding from a crucial artery and had to read the letter
before you died?" she says, bewildered.
I shake my head. That actually hadn't occurred to me.
"Weren't you curious to know what I had to say? Even a little bit?" she
says, crestfallen.
I stare at her. "Of course I was. I was up half the night thinking about
it."
Her lower lip trembles a little. "Oh." She looks down. "Well. It's not
important."
Danger, Will Robinson. She looks like she's about to cry. I don't know if
you know this, but I really can't handle seeing Donna cry. Watching her cry, to
me, is... well, frankly, there are no words to describe the incredible pain and
devastation that is the experience of seeing Donnatella Moss shed tears. I get
the shakes when she cries at movies, and even happy tears must be accompanied by
a smile and a reassuring hug before I can tolerate being in their presence. The
few times I've seen her cry real tears, like the ones she looks like she's
gearing up for now, well, getting shot and breaking a window have nothing on
that feeling: those are the moments in my life when I actually felt closest to
dying. Me being the cause of her tears? Absolutely intolerable. I must stop
this.
"I drove around the beltway for four and a half hours hoping my car would
break down on the side of the road," I blurt out suddenly. She looks up. "So I
could say I was stranded," I say to clarify.
She sniffs. "Really?"
I nod anxiously. "Yes. It took forever."
She wipes her eyes. "What happened?"
"I finally ran out of gas and pulled over to the side of the road. This guy
stopped and offered to help and I ran him off. But then... when I got the letter
out of the trunk... I..." I trail off.
She looks at me intently. "What?"
I shrug. "I just realized... I didn't need to read it," I tell her. "As
curious as I was about its contents, I already knew the most important thing
about it."
"What was that?" she asks, looking a little scared.
I pause. "That you cared enough to write it in the first place," I say
finally.
"Oh. Well... okay. So... you're not going to read it?"
"I think I'd kind of like to keep it for an emergency," I say slowly. I
pause. "Is that okay?"
"Sure. Of course," she says, looking down.
"But maybe..."
"What?"
"Maybe you could tell me a little bit about what's in it. You know, so I
have something to look forward to."
"Oh! Um, okay."
I wait expectantly.
"Now?"
"Yeah, why not?"
She flushes. "No reason, I guess." She pauses again.
I raise my eyebrows. "So, did you actually write anything, or was it just a
bunch of white pages stapled together?"
"Of course not. I just... it's kind of hard to know how to start."
"How did you start the letter?" I ask.
Her face softens. "I started the letter with, 'Dear Joshua.'"
"Is it a long letter?"
"Well... I did write it thinking you would be stranded for hours with
nothing else to do... so, yeah. It's pretty long."
"How long?"
"Eight pages, handwritten."
"Ah, you knew it would take me longer to decipher your chicken scratch, and
would keep me entertained longer. Thoughtful of you," I say dryly. "What's the
first part about?"
"Well, at the very beginning I berate you for awhile for having no
self-control and opening the letter the first time you got a paper cut instead
of waiting for a real emergency," she says, blushing.
"What about right after that? What's that part about?"
She looks down at her hands. "Oh... just about how I was lucky to have met
you, and how grateful I was that you gave me a chance. I talk awhile about
that."
"What do you talk about after that?" I say softly.
"Mm... then I talk about how important it is to me to be part of your work,"
she says.
"And then?"
Her voice is soft. "Then I talk about how important it is to me to be part
of your life."
"How does it end?" I whisper.
She smiles. "In the end, I tell you to check your glove compartment because
there's a cell phone charger in there, and if you weren't completely
addle-brained, you would have thought to call for help like a normal person when
you found yourself in an emergency situation, instead of stuffing yourself with
trail mix." She looks down and fiddles with her locket. "And that I'll always,
always be there for you, no matter what."
"And you're the first one I call," I say quietly.
She nods. "I'm the first one you call."



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 8 - The Comfort Suit

I go into Josh's office and stand in the doorway to watch him for a minute.
He's sitting at his computer, reading an email, his _expression darkening as he
scrolls down. He frowns, and runs his hand through his hair the way he does when
he's agitated. He reads a little further and sits up straight to better glare at
the computer. He opens his mouth and for a second I think he's about to bellow
my name, but he snaps his jaw shut and instead he grabs the collar of his jacket
and flips it up, turning his face to the side to inhale deeply and rub his cheek
on the fabric.
"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to hide my amusement.
He starts guiltily. "How long have you been standing there?" he demands.
I shrug. "About a minute or so. Why were you smelling your jacket?" I say
with a grin.
"I wasn't," he says.
"Yes, you were," I reply.
He caves. "Okay, so maybe I was."
"Why?" I want to know. "Is this some kind of new drug fad? Micro-fiber
inhalation?"
"Hey, a man has a right to smell his own jacket if he wants to," he says
defensively.
"Yes, that's true," I say amiably. "I think I remember seeing it written on
the bill of rights, somewhere between free speech and the right to bear arms: A
man may smell his jacket."
"Ha, ha," he says sourly.
I wait a beat. "So why were you smelling your jacket? And caressing your
cheek with it?"
"There was no caressing!" he says indignantly. I raise my eyebrows and he
looks down. "I may have sort of accidentally rubbed my face with it."
"Whatever you say, Josh. Why are you caressing your cheek with your jacket?"
He looks at me for a long time. "Promise you won't laugh?" he says finally.
"Sure," I say easily.
He regards me suspiciously. I wait patiently. "It's my Comfort Suit," he
blurts out.
"Your what?" My brow furrows. "Is that anything like your Joey Lucas suit?"
"For the last time, it was my regular Tuesday suit!" he shouts.
I pause. "So, do you only wear the Comfort Suit on Mondays, or...?"
He sighs. "Yes, Donna, I only wear the Comfort Suit on Mondays."
"No, you don't. You've worn that suit five times in the past two weeks," I
state. "What do you mean it's your Comfort Suit?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "I mean, I feel comfortable in it."
"Hmm," I say. "And yet, you don't name your other suits you feel comfortable
in. Unless you're holding out on me. Do you name all your suits, Josh?"
"Of course not," he huffs. "I don't name any of my suits."
"Except this one," I say helpfully. "And your Joey Lucas suit. Is this the
beginning of a trend? You naming all your suits, I mean. Hey, I could help name
them! I'm partial to Bob, myself."
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Just forget it."
"No," I say quickly. "I want to hear about your Comfort Suit."
"It's nothing, okay? I just- I just noticed that this suit makes me feel
calm."
"You're never calm," I point out.
"Calm-er," he amends. "It makes me feel calm-er. Than normal."
"It makes you feel calmer," I repeat.
He nods. "Yes. And safe."
"So you named it your Comfort Suit," I conclude.
"I didn't really name it," he hedges. "It's just when you asked that was the
only way I could think to describe it."
"Your Comfort Suit. Which makes you feel calm. And safe."
"Yes."
"Josh, please tell me you didn't sew this together out of the scraps of your
old blankie."
"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs. "This suit is wool. My blankie was
cotton."
I burst out laughing and he looks mortified. "Can we just pretend I didn't
just say that?" he asks, chagrined.
I wave my hand at him. "Sure, Josh. I'll give you a freebie on the whole
'blankie' thing. I've got plenty to go on with the Comfort Suit just by itself.
Unless you really annoy me, in which case all bets are off," I giggle.
"You said you wouldn't laugh," he says petulantly.
I raise my other hand from behind my back without stopping the laughing,
showing him my crossed fingers. He groans. "I can't believe you fell for that,"
I chortle.
He adopts the _expression of the long-suffering boss and waits for me to
calm down. It takes awhile. "So," I say at last. "Tell me more about the Comfort
Suit."
"There's nothing more to tell," Josh says with a shrug.
"Oh, I doubt that," I say.
He sighs. "What do you want from me?"
"How is it possible that I've known you for six years and never knew you had
a Comfort Suit?" I say.
"Actually, it only became my Comfort Suit a couple of weeks ago," he says.
"Before that it was just a normal suit. And can I just say I can't believe I'm
having this conversation with you."
"You and me both, Josh. So a couple of weeks ago, huh? You were feeling the
pain of the six game slump the Mets were in, and you couldn't take it anymore,
so you named your suit to make yourself feel better?"
"No," he says vehemently. "I'd been kind of anxious about something, and I
happened to put this suit on one morning, and I just felt a lot more relaxed
when I put it on. I thought it was a fluke, but I tried it on a couple of days
later and the safe, calm feeling returned."
"But you've had that suit for years, Josh," I point out. "Why would it start
to seem comforting to you now, all of a sudden?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. But I think it has something to do with the way it
smells."
"Let me smell it," I say, crossing to where he's sitting in front of the
computer. I bend down to take a sniff and I hear Josh inhale sharply as I lean
over him. I breathe deeply, but whatever scent the jacket may carry is drowned
out because I'm so close to him all I can smell is Josh. "It doesn't smell like
anything in particular to me," I say doubtfully, pulling away reluctantly.
"Yeah, well, it was just a thought," he says. "All I know is, it makes me
feel better."
"Well, you really can't wear it every day, Josh," I remind him. "You have to
take it to get cleaned some time."
He laughs nervously. "Sure, I know that," he says unconvincingly.
I look down at him. "I think that day ought to be sooner rather than later,
my friend. You've got mustard on your pants."
"Okay, I'll get the pants cleaned," he says quickly.
I frown at him. "The jacket, too, Josh. It's starting to move past your
normal rumpled state and move straight into the 'appears to have been trampled
by elephants' stage."
"Aw, Donna," he whines. "Don't make me take it to the cleaners. What if they
take the comfort out of it? It's really the jacket that makes the Comfort Suit."
I look down at him again affectionately and my smile falters. I do a double
take. Is that the...? No. But he said... Oh, my God. The jacket to the Comfort
Suit is the jacket I tried on the morning I spent at Josh's place while he
wasn't there. Two weeks ago.
Is it possible that I made the Comfort Suit... well, the Comfort Suit? Let's
review. He said it spontaneously became comforting a couple of weeks ago. My
face softens. He said it made him feel calm, and safe. That is the sweetest... I
shake my head. Don't go jumping the gun, I tell myself sternly. You don't know
it's because of you.
What else could it be, though? He thinks it's the smell. A smell that wasn't
there previous to the time when I tried the jacket on in his apartment. Naked. I
flush and hope that Josh doesn't notice. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm the Comfort
in the Comfort Suit. And I think I know a way to figure out once and for all.
"I know a place," I say faintly. Josh stares up at me, confused. I clear my
throat. "I know a place you can get it dry cleaned."
He instinctively pulls the jacket closer to his body. "No, Donna. You can't
take it. It's mine."
I glare at him. "Are you sure that isn't made up of scraps of your old
blankie?"
"Okay, fine. I'll give it to you next week," he says.
"Oh, no," I say. "Give it to me right now. I know you. If we wait, it'll
just be excuse after excuse as to why you won't give it up."
"I'll give you the pants now. You can have the rest later," he says, going
into bargaining mode. He quickly reaches for his belt and starts to unbuckle it.
I laugh and lay my hand over his. Which, in retrospect, probably isn't such a
good idea. My breath catches in my throat and he swallows audibly.
"You should probably wait until I leave the room and find you something else
to wear," I say, pulling my hand away and taking a step back, trying to even out
my breathing and regain my composure.
"Yeah," he says. We fall silent. "Donna?"
"Yeah?" I say hopefully.
"You, ah, haven't left the room."
"Right," I say dejectedly. "I'll be back in ten minutes with your extra
suit."
"Okay."
Accordingly, I get him his extra suit and collect the Comfort Suit from a
mournful looking Josh to take to the dry cleaners. An hour and a half later, I'm
racing back to my apartment, the freshly cleaned Comfort Suit in tow. I go into
my apartment and bolt the door, my heart racing. I check all the rooms to make
sure my roommate isn't there, and find a note saying she'll be at her
boyfriend's place the next two nights. Well, that's good. I don't want any
witnesses.
I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm really going to try on Josh's jacket
naked again to see if I'm the reason he now calls this suit the Comfort Suit.
This isn't weird, right? I let my breath out in a whoosh. Of course it's weird,
you psychopath, I tell myself. Get a grip.
Okay, it's weird. No getting around that. But it's for a good cause. Josh
hasn't felt comfortable letting me past his emotional walls to comfort him in
person. If I can comfort him subconsciously with a suit that smells like me, I'm
damn well going to do it.
But this isn't for sure, I remind myself. This is an experiment. I can't
jump to any conclusions just yet. I bite my lip and go to my bedroom. I take off
my clothes and stare at the suit, feeling much more self-conscious about this
whole thing than before. The problem is, it's going to be even weirder if it
actually works.
I suppose I ought to take a shower first. That's what I did last time.
You're supposed to recreate conditions in an experiment, right? I take a shower
and dry off. I hang up the towel on the rack and contemplate the suit again. I
just need to do it. I grab the jacket and put it on. Well, I feel slightly less
ridiculous now that I'm not naked staring at my boss's suit. I relax a little. I
sit on the bed. Now what? Is it done? Have I imparted magic Donnatella comfort
into the suit now? Maybe I should wait a little longer. You know, in the name of
science, and all that.
I go back into the bathroom and dry my hair to give myself an extra ten
minutes, and then I tell myself the effects of the dry cleaning will be rendered
completely moot if I go to sleep wearing Josh's suit. I carefully press it and
hang it back up in the dry cleaning bag with his pants.
The next morning I breeze into the bullpen as though I haven't got a care in
the world. "Morning," I say cheerfully to everyone I pass, smiling brightly as I
make a beeline for Josh's office, trying not to feel like the words, 'I wore my
boss's suit naked' are stamped onto my forehead. I need to put some distance
between me and the suit. I'll just put it in there, and leave. He'll come in in
a half an hour and we'll both forget all about it. I just hope that he wears it
again sometime in the next couple of weeks so I can know for sure if my
experiment has been successful. Otherwise I'm going to burst from the nervous
tension.
Speaking of nervous tension, I jump about a foot in the air when I go into
his office and find him pacing as though he's waiting for me. He looks up
expectantly and closes the door behind me. "Well?" he demands. "Did you bring it
back?"
Or instead of him coming in in a half an hour and us both forgetting about
it, he'll be waiting anxiously to get his Comfort Suit back and we'll find out
if a) I'm sick and delusional, b) he's sick and pathetic, or c) we're both sick
and obsessed. Of the three choices, I'm voting for option c). I smile at him
weakly and hand him the dry cleaning bag. "Yeah. It's right here."
He grabs it from my hand and rips the plastic off the hanger. Great, now
he's going to lay it down somewhere and it'll get coffee spilled on it or
something. He takes the jacket off the hanger and presses it to his nose,
closing his eyes and sniffing a couple of times for good measure.
I hold my breath, watching for his reaction.
"God, Donna," he breathes.
"Yeah?" I say anxiously.
"It's even better than before. The smell from before... it was starting to
fade. It's back now," he says excitedly.
"Really?" I say delightedly. Oh my God. "Let me smell it," I demand. He'd
better not be getting high off the dry cleaning chemicals. I grab the jacket and
smell it myself. It still doesn't smell like anything to me, I think,
disappointed. But then, it wouldn't, I remind myself, if it smelled like you.
"Well? Doesn't it smell good?" Josh says eagerly.
I smile wryly and hand the jacket back to him. "It's called being clean,
Josh."
He stares at it, amazed. "Remind me to clean my suits more often."
"I do remind you," I point out. "Frequently."
He smells it again. "No, my dry cleaning place doesn't make it smell like
this. Where did you take it?"
"What?" I ask, alarmed.
"What dry cleaner's do you go to? I'm going to start taking all my suits
there," he informs me.
Oh, Jesus Christ. Can the man really want to smell me all the time? Think
fast, think fast. "Uh... it's a secret," I blurt out.
He looks up, baffled. "Your dry cleaning place is a secret?"
I nod enthusiastically. "Yes."
"Why?" he asks, confused.
Er... "Because I'm afraid if I tell people about it, everyone will start
going there and it'll drive up the prices," I say confidently.
He shakes his head. "And you think I'm weird. Fine. Will you at least take
my suits to your cleaners for me?"
I can't take that many showers! I try to block out that overwhelming thought
and make an effort to think of a reasonable excuse. "What am I, your maid?" I
demand. "I'm not doing your dry cleaning for you."
He looks abashed. "Right. Sorry."
He looks so crestfallen that I take pity on him. I lay a hand on his arm.
"Tell you what," I say gently. "I'll make an exception for the Comfort Suit.
When you need to have it cleaned, give it to me and I'll take it in with my
things to my dry cleaning place."
He lights up. "Really?"
"You bet," I say.
"Thanks, Donna," he says with a smile. I flash him a goofy grin back,
ridiculously pleased to see a smile on that darling face of his.
His smile fades and he clears his throat. "So, ah, would you mind keeping
all this under your hat? I mean, enough people around here think I'm a whack job
around here without letting the word get out that I have a Comfort Suit."
"Where would be the fun in that?" I tease, privately thinking to myself that
I'm taking the source of the secret ingredient of the Comfort Suit to my grave.
He glares at me. "If you tell people I have a Comfort Suit, I'll tell people
you have a Secret Dry Cleaning Place," he challenges.
"Okay, my lips are sealed," I say, relieved. The less anyone hears about
either one, the better.
He smiles lovingly at his suit again.
I clear my throat. "Would you and your suit like to be alone?" I say,
amused.
He hastily hangs it up. "No, no. Can you tell me about the latest memo from
the GDC?"
Accordingly, I start spouting off the pertinent information from the release
from the Global Defense Council, succeeding admirably in not letting my gaze
stray to the Comfort Suit too often. A suit, which, I may add, I will privately
be calling the Donna Moss suit from now on.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 9 - A Stupid Plan

We have a formal dinner to attend in twenty minutes, and I hum happily to
myself as I head to Josh's office to tie his bow tie for him. I've been looking
forward to this all week. I haven't tied a bow tie in ages, and I'm hoping the
re-establishment of our tradition will help get things back on an even keel.
Plus, I get to touch him.
I go into Josh's office to find him standing by the window with his back to
the door. He hears me come in and turns around, looking wonderful in his tuxedo.
He gives me a small smile but the sight of him makes me stop dead in my tracks.
His bow tie is already tied. It doesn't even need to be straightened.
"What are you doing?" I cry, horrified.
He looks at me guiltily. "Am I late? I was just looking out the window."
I shake my head and swallow a lump in my throat. "I just came back to see if
you needed anything," I say, trying to avoid staring at the bow tie. I fail.
Toby comes in looking agitated. "Josh, I need you to look at something for
me," he says brusquely. "Is Donna done fixing your tie? We need to head over
there when we're through."
"I tied my own tie," Josh says, and I close my eyes against the words. "What
do you want me to look at?"
I stumble backwards in my haste to get away. I slip away without either of
them noticing. I walk blindly in the direction my senses tell me is "away,"
trying not to cry in front of half of the staff of the West Wing. It's not
working. I'm going to start crying, and soon. I see someone walking towards me
and I veer towards the closest door, desperately seeking an escape. I fumble for
the handle and let myself in, closing the door behind me with a sigh of relief.
Thank God there's no one here. I blink the tears from my eyes and take note
of where 'here' is. I know this room. No wonder there's no one here. This is the
room where I spent two weeks of my life sorting through boxes that no one in
their right mind would ever want to look in. This is the perfect place for my
escape.
Very perfect. And alone. No ties here. My face crumples and I feel the tears
start to slide down my cheeks. This is so stupid. Crying about a bow tie is
ridiculous. I sniff. Of all the things I could choose to cry about after what
I've been through in the past couple of months, a bow tie shouldn't even make
the top ten.
But it does. And right now it's number one on the list. I give up my losing
battle against the onslaught of tears and bury my head in my hands to have a
good, long cry. I sink down to the floor and sob for a good five minutes before
the door opens and I'm interrupted. I cry harder, because of course, of course
the one place I think no one will witness my little pity party is being invaded
by some poor, unsuspecting person looking for a file.
"Hello?" A head pokes in the room and I gasp.
"Mr. President!" I say, scrambling to my feet and hastily wiping my eyes
with the back of my hand. "What are you doing here?"
President Bartlet comes all the way into the room and I see he is already
dressed for the evening in his tuxedo. He shuts the door behind him. "Er..." he
says, looking around the room. "I needed a box."
"What for?" I ask skeptically through my tears.
"Donna," he says sternly. "I trust you, but you should know I'm not at
liberty to share the details of everything I do with my staff for reasons of
national security. So we'll just say I needed one of these boxes and leave it at
that."
I snort and wipe my eyes again. "Mr. President, I know what is in every
single one of these boxes. No one in the world could possibly need anything that
is in any of them. Why are you here?"
"Well, since you are being very disrespectful and not believing my box
story, I might as well tell you the truth," he says amiably. "I was walking down
the hall on my way back from a Cabinet meeting when I heard something that
sounded suspiciously like someone was crying behind this door. So, being the
compassionate man of the people that I am, naturally I decided to see if I could
offer any kind words of comfort and wisdom to the unfortunate soul behind the
door."
I sigh. "That, and you didn't want to go back to the Cabinet meeting."
"Got it in one!" he agrees jovially. "So, what seems to be the trouble?"
"It's nothing," I sniff. "Sorry, you have to go back to the meeting now, Mr.
President."
He pauses. "Donna, if I didn't know better, I would say you didn't want me
to offer my kind words of comfort and wisdom."
"Got it in one, sir," I say, choking a bit.
"But Donna, you're crying on the floor of..." he looks around, "...this room
full of boxes... in an evening gown. Surely you don't think I'm so heartless
that I can ignore the plight of one of my favorite staffers."
I feel myself softening despite myself. Dammit, he did that on purpose. He
knew I'd be flattered that he referred to me as one of his favorite staffers. "I
bet you say that to all the assistants," I say weakly.
"Nope," he says cheerfully. "But that's largely because I don't remember
most of their names. So what gives? Why are you crying?"
"I'd just as soon not talk about it, sir. It's really no big deal," I
insist. I'm pretty sure my words are belied by the fresh bout of tears that are
currently streaming down my face.
"Donna, don't make me get the Secret Service in here," he warns.
"Could you get Sy? He's hot," I say, sniffling.
"Sorry, he's off tonight. You're stuck with me. What's going on?"
"All due respect sir, but has anyone ever told you that you're extremely
nosy?"
"Certainly, and I take a lot of pride in that fact. You don't think I could
have gotten where I am today without being extremely nosy, do you?"
"Don't you have anything more important to do than listen to the woes of a
lowly assistant?" I ask, exasperated. Can't a girl cry for five minutes without
being interrupted by the leader of the free world?
"No, not a thing," he answers.
"Are you sure? Cause, you know, you've been in here a few minutes. There's a
good chance that Canada decided to invade Michigan while you've been away. You
might want to look into that," I tell him, scrubbing my face with my hand.
President Bartlet takes interprets this statement as a suggestion to stay
awhile apparently, because he carefully folds himself up and sits on the ground.
"Mr. President!" I cry, horrified. "Don't sit down. Your tuxedo!"
"Do you think any one is going to mention it to me if my tuxedo is a little
wrinkled?" he asks skeptically.
"Well... probably not," I allow.
"Sit down, Donna," he says, patting the spot next to him on the floor. "Tell
me your troubles."
I obey, because that's what you do when the president orders you to do
something.
"Donnatella, was someone mean to you? I could have them assassinated if you
want," he offers.
I smile tiredly. "No, sir, no one was mean to me. It's just a little
personal problem that I was well on my way to resolving before you came in."
He hesitates. "Donna... I'm trying to think of a way to ask this
tactfully..."
"Sir, I don't think there's any point in pretending to be tactful now that
you've ordered me to tell you about my personal life," I point out.
"Does this have anything to do with Josh?" he asks gently.
I sigh. "How is it possible that I say that I'm having a personal problem
and people want to know if it has to do with my boss?"
"Does it?"
"Yes," I admit reluctantly.
"Is this something that has to do with Josh going to prompt you to take
another sudden leave of absence?" he wants to know.
"How did you know about that?" I ask, shocked.
"I noticed you were gone," he says simply. "I sure as hell noticed one of my
top advisors walking around looking like Death on a Triscuit for two weeks. And,
in case you didn't notice, this place is quite the rumor mill," he says, rolling
his eyes. "I had everyone from the sandwich boy to Leo telling me about the
argument you two had."
I pale. If the president has somehow heard about Josh calling me a whore, I
think I might die.
He continues, noticing my consternation. "I believe the highlights had to do
with a cello player?"
I relax. If any one had heard the rest of that argument, you can bet that no
one would have remembered the part about Yo-Yo Ma.
"No... nothing like that, sir."
"Well, then, what is it?" he prompts.
"It's silly. Really, it's nothing for you to worry about," I say. If I stall
him long enough, someone's bound to come and demand that the President blow up
some country half way across the world, and he'll have to leave. Only, now I'm
crying again and he doesn't seem inclined to go anywhere anytime soon. "It's...
(sob) really... (sob) silly." He puts his arm around me. Oh, God. Now I'm crying
all over the shoulder of the President of the United States.
"Sh... sh..." he says soothingly, patting my arm. I finally pull myself
together and he hands me a handkerchief. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose
noisily. I look at the handkerchief and wonder if this could possibly get any
more surreal. The Presidential handkerchief has my snot all over it. He closes
my hand over it. "You just hang on to that, Donna. Tell me why you're crying."
I dab my eyes again. "You won't understand."
"This may come as a surprise to you, Donna, but I'm a pretty smart guy," he
says dryly.
"It's not just that." I hesitate. "I don't want you to think I'm
unprofessional. I mean, I was worried about it before, when I went home and made
Josh take time off. I don't want you to think that I was letting my personal
problems interfere with my job or the administration. Or that Josh was. Because
this job means everything to him. He would never put himself first over the
administration."
"Donna," the President interrupts me. "As far as I'm concerned, two of my
staffers took their first real vacations since they started working for me. And
you're entitled to have personal issues. Lord knows I've had my share since I
took this job. I've never known you to let your personal life detract from your
professionalism. As for Josh... I think it was good for him to have some time
off. I think..." he hesitates. "I think if you hadn't made him take time off, we
might have had to call Stanley Keyworth again." This is the President's tactful
way of saying he thinks Josh might have put his hand through another window. I
shudder.
He continues. "Josh is an invaluable part of this administration. But he has
had a lot of difficult things to work through since he took this job. I'm not
sure if he would have made it through all of them without you to run
interference for him. So if you think the reason you're crying is
unprofessional, well, I think you've more than made up for it by taking care of
Josh after Rosslyn, that Christmas, and after his mom and dad died. Not to
mention by how hard you work while you're on the clock. You don't have to worry
that I'll think you're crying is unprofessional."
"Sir, I promise you, the reason I'm crying is extremely stupid."
He sighs. "Donna, just tell me what Josh did."
"He... (sniff) he... tied his own bow tie," I say, feeling the tears welling
up yet again.
The President waits a beat and then says, "Okay, I might need a little more
to go on than that."
"I told you it was stupid," I say sullenly.
He ignores me. "So, I take it I should infer that Josh tying his own tie is
an unusual occurrence?"
"Yes," I nod.
"Yet, I have seen him wearing a bow tie on many occasions," the President
muses. "All those state dinners and fundraisers, and he has always worn a bow
tie with his tuxedo."
"I tie it for him," I interrupt before he can begin listing every time the
senior staff has been required to dress formally in the past six years.
"I see," the President says, in the way people say that they see when they
have no earthly idea what you're talking about.
"I always tie his bow tie for him," I explain. "It's just kind of a
tradition we have, because Josh doesn't know how to tie his bow tie. I've tried
to teach him, but he could never figure it out, and now, all of a sudden, he
knows how to tie his own bow tie and he doesn't want me to do it anymore."
"Hm," the President says inscrutably.
"So, that's it, sir. That's the reason I was crying. No big deal," I say.
The President stands up and I scramble to my feet. "He wants you to tie his
bow tie, Donna," the President says firmly. "He's just trying to give you space
after... whatever happened between you two happened."
I nod. "I know, sir. It's just..." I trail off. "I want him to know he can
ask. I want him to be his normal demanding self, and he just hasn't been, even
though I told him he could be. He's been so sad and angry and lost since his mom
died and especially since... last month. I thought I was finally starting to get
through to him, and now I just don't know if... he even wants me to get through
to him."
The President kisses me on the cheek. "He does. You'll get through to him.
Now, I have to put in one last appearance at the Cabinet meeting, and then I'm
going to the party. Are you going to save me a dance?"
"Yes, sir," I answer. "Thank you, Mr. President."
"Well, I don't know how much help I've been, but I'm glad we had our little
talk," he says.
"You helped, sir," I say honestly.
"I bet you say that to all the heads of state," he jokes as we walk out of
the room of ten thousand boxes.
I shake my head. "No, sir. Only the ones that lend me their handkerchiefs
and wrinkle their tuxedos for me."
"Good night, Donna," he says as we come to a fork in the hallway. "I'll see
you in a little while."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, again, Mr. President," I say.

***

I fidget and tug on my tie for about the tenth time since I got to this damn
thing. CJ, Toby, and I are at a round table near the middle of the room,
listening to some illustrious speaker drone on about something to which I am not
paying attention. I'm on edge, and I can't quite figure out why.
Where the hell is Donna? I was hoping to trail after her into the event so I
could sit close to her without sitting too close to her, but after informing me
I was late with an _expression I couldn't read, she hightailed it out of my
office so fast I had no hope of extricating myself from my conversation with
Toby in time to follow her. She looked... upset.
I frown. Something must be wrong. She should be here by now. My heart
quickens and a familiar panic sets in. What was she upset about?
I take a deep breath. I need to calm down. Stanley warned me about this.
I've got to stop freaking out every time Donna is outside my line of sight for
more than five minutes. I'm sure she's fine. She's probably off gossiping with
Margaret. Or flirting with some Republican gomer.
I tug my tie again. I really need to stop thinking about things like that. I
can't let the idea of Donna flirting with someone else bother me anymore. It
doesn't fit in with the plan to keep myself distanced from her for her own
protection. Stanley thinks the plan is stupid, but I'm convinced I'm right about
this. Honestly, the best thing in the world for the plan would be for her to get
involved with someone else. If she got married, I could stop worrying. Really.
It would be perfect for the plan. Oh, my God, what is wrong with this tie? I can
barely breathe.
CJ leans over and hisses in my ear. "What the hell is the matter with you?"
"Nothing," I choke out. Listen, I tell myself sternly. There is no reason to
think Donna has eloped in the past twenty minutes. There's plenty of time to
break up the wedding. "Have you seen Donna?"
CJ's frown deepens. "She didn't come in with you?"
I shake my head. "Do you think she met any Republicans on her way in?"
She stares at me. "Republicans?"
"I don't think she's here yet," Toby says, looking deep into his glass of
scotch.
Good, then she can't be engaged. I sigh with relief. I really have to get
over this jealousy thing, though. It's really not helping the plan. Even if the
plan is stupid.
CJ leans back. "What's wrong with your tie?"
"Huh?" I say eloquently. Is it possible the plan really is a stupid idea? It
seemed so logical and well-thought out when I was half out of my mind with worry
and caught up in paranoia that Donna was going to die if I got within ten feet
of her. For the first time, I consider whether Stanley might be right, and I
really am an idiot.
"It looks awful."
I consider Stanley's words. Am I still terrified that Donna might die?
Absolutely. Do I still believe that everyone in my life is doomed to certain
death if I allow myself to love them? Possibly. But as Stanley has frequently
pointed out, there is a possibility Donna might die no matter what I do. Even if
I somehow managed to stop loving Donna, there is no guarantee she will be out of
danger. Course, that's kind of a moot point. I'm obviously incapable of stopping
myself from loving Donna Moss.
"He tied it himself," Toby informs her.
The question is, is it really right for me to even try? It seems sad,
somehow, to try to stop something that started out so unexpected and turned into
something so amazing.
"What! Donna didn't do it? Why?"
If I'm honest with myself, would Donna really be safer if she got married?
Would that really diminish my love even a fraction? I highly doubt it. And if it
didn't, how could it be safer? The whole point of the stupid plan was that I
needed to stop loving her, or she wouldn't be safe. But what if she can't be
safe at all, and I've only been fooling myself this whole time?
If she can't be safe, then she should at least be happy. Is she happy now?
She didn't look very happy when she left my office after not tying my bow tie. I
think it's safe to say my efforts to distance myself from her have not made her
happy thus far. Still, maybe there's someone out there who could treat her
better. Someone who could make her happy. Someone she could love. But is there
anyone out there who could possibly love her more than me?
I stop. No, there isn't.
"Because he's an idiot," Toby explains, as though this is the most obvious
thing in the world.
There is no one in the world who could ever love Donna more than I do. I
mean, really. Is anyone else likely to be driven to the point of madness over
the love of Donnatella Moss? And if he is, is he going to do it with as much
inimitable style and class as me? If not, can that in any way be interpreted as
being anywhere close to a love as strong and unwavering as mine? No, it can't. I
may not be able to keep her safe, I may not be able to keep my foot out of my
mouth, and I may not even be able to become a Republican to fit into Donna's
misguided idea of perfect manhood, but I can love her better than anyone else on
the planet. And if nothing else, doesn't Donna deserve the best love possible?
"Yup," CJ replies.
"There's no longer any doubt," Toby adds.
I bolt upright in my chair. "Oh, my God. I am an idiot."
"Took you long enough to figure that out," Toby mutters.
I stand. "I have to go. I have to go find Donna."
CJ puts up her hand. "Hold on. There's something you need to do before you
go, but despite your valiant efforts, you haven't quite managed it on your own.
Come here."
She stands up. I step forward obediently and before I know what's going on
she is yanking out my bow tie and pushing me towards the door. "Good luck, my
friend."
I think I'm going to need it.

***

After the President leaves me, I go to the ladies room because I'm certain I
must look like a something from an old horror movie after all the crying I've
done in the past half an hour. I comb my hair and re-apply my makeup, and when I
emerge, I don't think anyone could tell I've been bawling my eyes out on the
President's shoulder for the past twenty minutes.
Just as I'm coming out of the bathroom, Josh bursts through the double doors
at the end of the corridor and comes careening into the hallway. He stops when
he sees me and hesitates. Then he takes a deep breath.
"Donnatella Moss!" he cries, striding towards me. Oh my God. The impostor is
gone and Josh Lyman is back. He's even swaggering. And his bow tie is
wonderfully, magnificently, marvelously undone.
He points to his bow tie. "What were you thinking, letting me out of the
office like that? This damn thing fell apart in the first five minutes of the
party."
I choke back a sob of happiness and launch myself at him, throwing my arms
around his neck.
He wraps his arms around my waist and holds me close to him. "If I'd know
I'd get this reaction, I would've- "
"Shut up," I mumble into his shoulder. "Do you want me to fix the stupid tie
or not?" I demand, pulling back and giving him my best fake annoyed glare.
"You'd better," he says. "I can't very well go to a party with the leader of
the free world looking like this, can I?"
"You could always just introduce yourself as Tom Jones," I suggest.
"Tony Bennett," he corrects.
I flip up his collar. "Sorry, Tony."
"I like it when you call me that," he says with a leer as I get started on
the knot. It feels so good to be close to him again.
I can feel him watching me but I keep my eyes focused on the task in front
of me. If I don't look at what I'm doing I'll do an even worse job than him.
"You look beautiful," he says, as casually as though he were announcing the
fact that it is dark outside.
The sincerity of the compliment distracts me, and I feel myself blushing.
"Thank you," I say. I look up at him and I'm sure the longing I feel is
transparent in my face.
Embarrassed, I turn my gaze back to his neck. I drag out the process of
tying the bow tie as long as I can. When I'm finished, I straighten his collar
and spend a good two minutes brushing invisible lint off his shoulders and the
lapels of his jacket.
He waits patiently, and when I finally release him he grins and says, "Shall
we?"
I give him my most dazzling smile and take his proffered hand. "Are you sure
we haven't missed the party by now?"
"Nah," he says. "Everyone knows a party doesn't really start until you and I
get there."
"You're right," I agree. "I'm sure no one cares that the President is
there." We enter the ballroom hand in hand, smiling foolishly at one another.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur. I'm so focused on Josh that my
interactions with other people seem to take place in a bright and indistinct
haze. I'm dimly aware of talking to people, and being complimented on my dress.
I do experience two scenarios with some reasonable level of clarity, however. I
dance with the President of the United States, and witness the following
exchange between Toby and the President:
Toby looks at the President kind of funny, and says, "Mr. President, you're
looking a little... rumpled."
The President feigns deafness. "What?" he says loudly, cupping his hand
around his ear.
Toby raises his voice. "I said, your tuxedo is a little wrinkled, Mr.
President."
"What?" the President says again.
"Your tuxedo is wrinkled and you have a damp patch on your shoulder, Mr.
President!" Toby says, practically shouting.
The President glares at Toby. "Okay, here's how it's going to work. I'm
going to ask you to repeat yourself, and you are going to remember that you are
addressing any comments you have about my appearance to the President of the
United States. Now, what were you saying, Toby?"
"I said, you're looking very handsome as always, sir," Toby mumbles, and
then proceeds to take a very large drink out of his scotch glass.
Mainly, though, what I remember about that night is Josh and I, and the way
we couldn't take our eyes off each other, and the way we danced, and the way we
kept smiling at each other, and the way our hands brushed each other
accidentally on purpose on more than one occasion.
Josh walks me to my door that night and kisses me on the cheek and it is
better than anything I've ever hoped for. Because we are back to normal... and
something more. Nothing has been said, but I think we can consider it official:
we have a thing. Some people might say that Josh and I have always had a thing,
but this is the first time we have ever both been aware of a definite, as
opposed to a potential, thing, between the two of us during the entire time
we've known each other. I'm not sure what the thing is yet, or what exactly it
will become, but I'm content to wait to figure it out.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 10 - Josh's M.O.

We spend much of the next two weeks in a euphoric haze. Josh swaggers around
the building in that adorably insufferable way of his and gets into trouble with
Leo for antagonizing an influential senator on the Appropriations committee, and
I dreamily draft letters of apology. I can't seem to wipe this silly grin off my
face. Bonnie and Ginger keep demanding suspiciously if I'm having wild and crazy
sex without telling them, but I just laugh and assure them that there is no one
new in my life.
The truth is, I'm so grateful that things are back to normal, I'm perfectly
content to maintain the status quo. Things are so good now I don't want to do
anything that will upset the balance of our fragile peace.
So for now, I'm happy to keep going to work and spend my time arranging
Josh's schedule, preparing research for him, watching him swagger around the
building, and most importantly- bantering. I smile to myself at a particularly
good shot I got in this morning right before senior staff as I photocopy a memo
and wait for Josh to come back from a meeting on the Hill.
I see a tall figure out of the corner of my eye and a shy voice interrupts
my thoughts. "Donna?"
I turn around. "Hi, Bradley," I say with a warm smile to the sandy-haired
economics advisor. "How are you doing? Are you getting settled in okay?"
Bradley is a new guy we have working in Research and he's new in town as
well as new to the White House. In addition to his sandy blond hair, he's got
broad shoulders and wears glasses over a pair of rather striking blue eyes. Most
of the female personnel in the building developed raging crushes on him the
minute he turned up, but they gave up on him pretty quickly despite his
unassuming good looks because of his painful shyness. I felt bad for him, so I
tried to watch out for him his first couple of weeks, and as a result, he's
slightly less afraid of me than the other staffers.
He gives me a rueful smile. "I'm going pretty well, I guess. I got turned
around in the OEOB this morning, but otherwise I haven't had any major disasters
this week."
"That's good to hear," I say.
"So, how are you?" he asks. "You're um, looking very well."
My silly grin is back. "I am very well," I sigh happily.
He smiles back. "You have a really nice smile, you know that?"
"Thank you! That's so sweet of you. So, what can I do for you?"
"You've been so nice to show me the ropes around here," he comments. "I was
wondering-"
"DONNA!" Josh's voice drowns out the rest of Bradley's soft request. He
comes up to us and hovers at my right shoulder.
"Hey," I greet him. "How was your trip to the Hill? Did you piss off any
members of Congress today?"
He grins at me wickedly. "Six in one meeting," he announces proudly.
That's my boy. "Do I need to send anybody flowers?" I ask, raising one
eyebrow.
He shakes his head. "Nah, it wasn't that bad. But I need you to pull
everything we've got on HR 801 and cross reference it with every piece of
legislation Senator Harden has ever authored. I'm gonna need some notes, too,
but try to keep it under three pages, okay?"
"Sure thing," I tell him.
Josh looks at Bradley. "Who are you?"
Bradley extends his hand. "Bradley Miller. It's nice to meet you, Mr.
Lyman."
"You're new, right?" Josh says with a frown.
"Bradley's the new guy in Research. He's got a background in economics and
he's helping prepare for the African economic summit next month," I inform him.
"That's nice," Josh says absent-mindedly, thumbing through a file and
clearly not interested anymore. Honestly, can't he just make polite conversation
like a normal person? Right, dumb question.
I roll my eyes and turn back to Bradley. "Don't mind him. Tell me what you
need."
Bradley looks flustered. "Oh, well, it's really nothing. I don't want to
bother you if you're busy."
"Don't be silly," I admonish him. "If you waited until I wasn't busy, we'd
never see each other again. What's on your mind?"
He glances nervously at Josh. "God, this is really awkward."
I smile at him. "Just spit it out, Bradley," I say encouragingly.
He takes a deep breath. "Well, a friend of mine got me tickets to this
concert at the Kennedy Center on Friday, and I was wondering, er, I was hoping,
that is, that you would come with me? And maybe go to dinner with me too?" he
says in a rush.
No, no, no, no. This is not what I need right now. Josh heads snaps up and
my heart sinks. He's staring at Bradley with an _expression I can't read. Poor,
poor Bradley. It must have cost this shy demigod a lot to make that request,
especially in front of Josh. Poor Bradley is new and doesn't seem to have
realized that I'm madly in love with my boss, and here he is, caught in the
cross-fire of my Josh-induced glow. The scared and hopeful _expression on his
face is breaking my heart.
"Oh, Bradley," I say sorrowfully. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I
really prefer obnoxious egotistical maniacs to guys who might actually be polite
and considerate gentlemen. "That's so sweet of you, it really is, but I don't
think I'm going to be able to make it. Josh and I are going to be swamped with
this 801 stuff, and I probably won't be able to get away from here all weekend."
His face falls. "Oh. Sure. I understand. Sorry to bother you," he mumbles.
"She'll be there," Josh interrupts.
My head snaps around so fast I practically give myself whiplash. "What?" I
screech.
"I don't see any reason why you won't be able to get out for awhile on
Friday," Josh says nonchalantly. "After all, I wouldn't want you to give Bradley
here the impression that I'm some sort of evil slave driver," he says with a
chuckle, as though this is the most ridiculous notion in the world. This from a
man who's idea of a two week vacation for his assistant is giving her Sunday
afternoon off.
What the hell is he doing? He's not supposed to be setting me up on dates
with other men. He and I have a thing. A strange and currently undefined thing,
but a thing nonetheless. Doesn't he realize that one of the cardinal rules of
maintaining a successful thing is not setting me up on dates with other men?
Apparently not. Josh scribbles something on a piece of paper and tears off
the corner to give to Bradley. "Here's her cell number so you two can work out
the details of your little outing."
Bradley looks thrilled. "Thanks!"
Josh winks at me. "Sure, Bradley."
"It's really nice of you to let Donna go when you're so busy, Mr. Lyman,"
Bradley says earnestly.
"Not at all," Josh says modestly. I don't say anything, because Josh doing
anything modestly is rather disturbing and frankly I'm a little freaked out.
Josh grins at Bradley. "And call me Josh."
Bradley shakes Josh's hand enthusiastically. "Thanks again, Josh!" He turns
to me, brandishing the scrap of paper with my phone number. "Donna, I'll give
you a call later this week when I figure out what we're going to do about
dinner, okay? I'm so glad you said yes!" he says excitedly. "You won't regret
it, I promise."
I never said yes! I want to scream. And I already regret it! I don't say any
of this, however. Instead, I offer him a tight smile. "I'd probably better get
back to work."
"Of course," Bradley says with a nod. "Me too. I'll see you on Friday!" he
calls as he walks down the hall.
Josh claps me on the shoulder. "Don't say I never did nothin' fer ya," he
says cheerfully.
I sock him on the arm. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Whatever do you mean?" Josh says innocently.
"You just set me up on date with that guy!"
"So?"
So I thought we were finally moving towards something more than just friends
between the two of us, you impossible man! You're supposed to be plotting how
you're going to get me into bed. You're not supposed to be setting me up on
dates. "So, I don't appreciate you arranging my social calendar for me," I say,
exasperated. "Couldn't you tell I was trying to get out of going out with him?"
"I thought I was doing you a favor. You know, like you wanted me to do with
Jack," he says helpfully.
"That was completely different," I grouse. I was trying to make you jealous
and convince myself I wasn't in love with you.
"Well, I didn't want to say anything, Donna, because you seemed to like him,
but he does seem pretty nerdy, now that you mention it."
"He is not nerdy!" I protest.
"I don't blame you for trying to get out of your date with him," he
continues, ignoring me. "I mean, I wouldn't stand for someone using me like
that."
"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.
He looks at me. "You know, to cover up the fact that he obviously, ah, hits
for the other side."
"You think Bradley is gay?" I ask incredulously. "Trust me, he's not. Did
you see the way he was looking at me?"
"Donna, Donna, Donna," Josh sighs. "I hate to break it to you, but he wasn't
looking at you. He clearly has a quite the crush on me."
"You?" I splutter indignantly. "Even if Bradley were gay, which he isn't,
you, of all people, would be the last person he'd ever have a crush on. He'd
have a crush on Leo before he'd have a crush on you."
"You think he has a crush on Leo?" Josh says with interest. "That's a pretty
sad state of affairs, Donna, when you lose a guy to Leo."
"Ooh!" I fume. "You make me crazy!"
He grins. "Have fun on your date."
Impossible man! I stalk back to my desk and ignore Josh. I attempt to bury
myself in work so I won't have to talk to him. I do a pretty good job, I think,
until Toby comes by.
I'm gritting my teeth at a sheet of budget figures when he hesitates in
front of my desk. "Donna? Is everything all right?"
I slam shut the file in front of me and get up to grab another from the
stack. "Everything's fine," I reply testily. I'm just mad at my boss for setting
me up on a date with an incredibly kind and handsome man instead of acting
insanely jealous and hostile like he would if he had any sense of decency.
"You sure?" he says. "Cause you're looking a little... disturbed."
You know things have come to a sorry pass when Toby is trying to comfort
you. I sigh. "I'm fine, Toby. It's just... Josh is behaving a little strangely,
and I'm not really sure what to make of it."
His eyes widen. He steps forward, takes my arm and steers me away from my
desk. "Come on," he says. "We'll talk about it in my office."
I've never seen Toby this solicitous before, but I'm not about to argue. I'm
in the mood to have someone make sympathetic noises while I vent, even if
they're from Toby and disguised as disinterested grunts.
I follow him into his office and he closes the door behind me. He gestures
for me to sit and takes a seat across from me.
"You probably don't want to hear this," I say with a sigh. "I'm making too
much of it. It's probably nothing."
Toby shakes his head. "No, Donna," he says firmly. "I think you should tell
me. God knows we've had enough problems result from not listening to you in the
past."
I'm not sure what he means. I really don't make it a point to unburden my
personal problems onto Toby or the rest of the senior staff, except Josh, of
course. But hey, I'm not going to argue. I always think people should listen to
me more.
"Josh is behaving strangely?" he prompts.
I nod. "Yes, and I have no idea what it means."
"Is it like before?" he asks gravely.
My brow furrows. "Before?"
"You know..." he clears his throat. "That Christmas... this March..."
Oh. No wonder he's being solicitous. He thinks Josh is going into
self-destruct mode again. I shake my head vigorously. "No, no nothing like that.
He's fine, Toby. He's fine." Thank God.
Toby looks confused. "Then what...?"
"Josh set me up on a date," I blurt out.
Now Toby looks like a deer caught in the headlights. I'm sure the last thing
he wants to do is listen to the romantic woes of someone who isn't even his own
assistant, but there's no stopping me now. He asked.
He clears his throat. "Ah... what happened exactly?"
I shrug helplessly. "I don't know. One minute, I was standing by the copy
machine photocopying a memo, and the next minute, Josh is giving out my phone
number to this guy and telling him what time he should pick me up on Friday!"
"Who's the guy?" Toby wants to know.
"Bradley Miller."
"The economics guy?" Toby says.
I nod. "Yeah. He ambushed me today and asked me to go out with him this
weekend. I was trying to get out of it gracefully, but then Josh came along and
ruined everything. I mean, where does he get off, accepting dinner invitations
for me? That's so completely out of line! This guy could be a deranged killer
for all he knows and he's just sending me off with the guy without even asking
if I actually want to go!"
"Hm," Toby grunts.
"I mean, what the hell is he thinking? Josh doesn't set me up on dates. That
isn't what he does. But he just did!"
"What does he usually do?" Toby interjects.
"He usually makes fun of my dates and insults my taste in men," I say. "He
doesn't set me up on dates," I repeat. I hesitate. "This is going to sound
ridiculous, but I could have sworn that he even tried to sabotage my dates once
or twice."
The corner of Toby's mouth twitches. If it were anyone else, I would say he
was hiding a smile. But that's ridiculous. Toby doesn't smile.
I laugh nervously. "I know, it's crazy. I mean, who would be pathetic enough
to sabotage his assistant's dates?"
Toby coughs, and if it were anyone else, I would say he was covering a
laugh. But that's ridiculous. Toby doesn't laugh.
I'm about to start babbling again, when Toby interrupts me. "Donna, calm
down. Listen to me. I want you to ask yourself a question: what is Josh's M.O.?"
"His M.O.?" I ask, confused.
"You know, his mode of operation with women. What does he usually do when
he's interested in someone?"
"I don't know," I say frustrated. I want to talk about my problem, not talk
about Josh and his relationships with other women.
He shakes his head. "Yes, you do. What does he usually do?"
"I don't know, he usually concocts some absurd plot to bring attention to
himself, and then he insults them and acts insufferably arrogant to cover his
fear over whether or not they actually have feelings for him and mask his
confusion over why they appear to like him," I say irritably.
"And what does he do if there's another guy in the picture?" he prompts.
I frown. "He belittles the woman by questioning the guy's motivation for
dating her, and generally mocks him on any grounds he can think of. Oh, and he
usually tries to work in a comment about the guy's masculinity, or lack
thereof," I add as an afterthought.
Toby nods. "Exactly."
"Toby, what does this have to do with anything?" I ask grouchily, when
something horrible occurs to me. I blanch. "Oh my God. Did he meet someone? Who
is she?" And why don't I know about her? I've overplayed my hand. Josh knows I'm
crazy about him and he's trying to let me down gently by distracting me with an
economics hunk so he can run off with some well-connected political diva.
Toby shakes his head pityingly. "Donna, Josh hasn't met anyone new."
He hasn't met anyone new? Then who-? "Oh no," I wail. "Amy Gardner's back in
town?" Why am I always the last to know these things? "Not that I don't like
Amy, or anything," I add hastily. "She's really a very nice person if you like
that manipulative, power-hungry thing."
"I don't," Toby assures me.
"But Josh does!" I cry.
Toby sighs. "Donna, this has nothing to do with Amy Gardner."
"Really?" I say pathetically.
"Really," he says firmly.
Bonnie knocks on the door. "Toby, Senator Kehler's on line one for you."
Toby motions to the phone. "I have to take this."
I get up to leave. "Thanks, Toby," I say morosely.
He shakes his head. "Just- think about what I said. About Josh's mode of
operation."
"Okay," I say resignedly as I leave.
***
Three days later, it's Friday night, I'm on my date, and I'm still mulling
over Josh's bizarre behavior while I try not to be too terrible a date for
Bradley.
We're eating dinner at an extremely posh restaurant in Georgetown, and as I
take a sip of outrageously expensive wine, I make a decision. Bradley is, by all
accounts, a catch. He is handsome, considerate, and a perfect gentleman.
Moreover, based on his complete attentiveness and the effort he has put into
arranging such an extravagant meal, he seems completely enamored of me. So what
if I would have rather nagged Josh for weeks to bring me to a place like this
than be swept off my feet by a blond Norse god? I can't let this evening of
perfection go to waste. I'm going to have a good time if it kills me. I am going
to flirt, I am going to be utterly charmed by Bradley, and Bradley is going to
be so besotted, he's going to spend the entire evening bending over backwards to
please me, and if he plays his cards right, he's going to get one hell of a kiss
good night.
So far, so good. Bradley is gazing at me adoringly, completely riveted by my
rather lengthy explanation of how my roommate acquired her three cats. Frankly,
however, I'm getting bored with my own story, and I'm grateful when he finally
opens his mouth to speak for maybe the third time all night. "You're so easy to
talk to," he sighs contentedly.
I gape at him in disbelief. I'm easy to talk to? He hasn't said two words
the entire night! I've been prattling on for the past hour about every inane
topic that comes to mind to fill the silence. I'm talking about my roommate's
cats, for God's sake! "You think so?" I manage.
He nods enthusiastically. "Most girls I meet I have a hard time making
conversation with. With you, it's easy. Shall we order dessert?"
"Oh, sure, why not?" I say. "It is Friday, after all. I think it's important
to always do something decadent on Friday."
He laughs. "That sounds like a good rule to live by. Do you have sage advice
for other days of the week?"
Of course I do, but what's the point of sharing them if he's not even going
to make fun of them afterward? "I feel like I've been monopolizing the
conversation," I protest.
"No, no," he says quickly. "I like to listen."
"I know, but I'm tired of the sound of my own voice. I want to know
something about you," I insist. Someone has got to drag this guy out of his
shell.
He shrugs. "Not much to tell."
I suppress the urge to groan. "Bradley. Look, you said you were from Iowa,
right? Tell me about where you grew up," I say, taking another sip of my drink.
"I grew up in Green Valley, Iowa," he shrugs. "Pretty typical small town.
Everybody there knows everybody else. Most people there work at the canning
factory."
"Do you miss it?" I ask.
He nods wistfully. "Yeah. It's kind of hard to get used to life in the big
city."
"Have you been working there until now?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No, I worked for the state for a few years, but I
commuted to Des Moines. I did my graduate work in Paris and then I spent the
past three years based in Beijing studying the economic structures of rural
towns in China."
Well, color me impressed. "I had no idea you were so well-traveled," I say.
"Has it been a pretty long time since you've been home?"
"Well, I spent a couple weeks out there when I got back from China before I
came out here," he says.
"Is your family still out there?" I want to know.
He nods. "Yeah."
"Are you pretty close to them?"
He nods again. "Yeah. I don't see as much of them as I'd like, though."
"Tell me about it," I sigh. "I think my parents would have given me up for
dead if I hadn't gone to see them this March."
"Where do they live?" Bradley asks eagerly.
"Wisconsin. I grew up in Madison."
"Do you miss it?"
I pause. "Not really. It's a great town, and I miss my family, of course,
but... I guess I'm just hooked on the pace of this town now. If I lived anywhere
else I'd go through adrenaline withdrawal."
"It is exciting," he agrees. "I guess I'm just not used to it yet."
"You lived in Paris. Didn't you think that was exciting?"
"Oh, sure," he says. "But the French aren't as insane about work as
Americans. They like to sit down and enjoy a nice, leisurely meal with their
families. That was one of my favorite things about France. Great food, and
pleasant company."
"I can see fine dining is important to you," I comment, gesturing to the
restaurant.
He beams. "Yeah. I love to cook."
Damn it if this isn't the perfect man, and he's completely wasted on me.
"So, you're smart, handsome, and you cook? You must have girls breaking down
your door," I say. Josh is going to have some competition from a new fan club
pretty soon.
Bradley turns bright red. "Oh... well... not really. I always get nervous
around women." He smiles at me warmly. "Except you."
Danger, Will Robinson. I drain the last of my drink. "Shall we get to the
concert?" I say brightly.
The concert is wonderful. Josh would have hated it. Bradley and I both love
it, and discussing the pieces the orchestra played carries us through drinks
after the show and the drive to my apartment, where Bradley is to drop me off.
He pulls up in front of my building, and I move to get out. "Thanks for a
lovely evening, Bradley," I say sincerely, my hand on the door handle. "I had a
wonderful time."
"Hang on," he says hastily. "I'll walk you to the door." He jumps out of the
car and hurries around to open my door for me, which no one has done for me
since... well, ever.
"How chivalrous," I comment.
He turns red again. "Old-fashioned, I guess. But, you know, your mother
tells you something ten thousand times when you're ten years old, and it tends
to stick with you."
He walks me to the door.
"Thanks again," I say. "This was really nice of you."
He smiles. It's a great smile. It's one of those smiles that's so warm, it
could melt chocolate. Seriously, what is the matter with me that I am unaffected
by this chocolate-melting smile of his? "It was my pleasure. I had a great
time."
I smile back at him. "I'm glad."
Okay, let's review. Bradley has been, like, the absolute perfect date.
Dating etiquette dictates that such a perfect date can only have one possible
conclusion: a fantastic good night kiss.
"Well, good night," Bradley says, staring into my eyes as though the secret
to understanding monetary policy is within them.
"Good night," I say, inching closer to him.
His gaze drops to my mouth. "Good night," he repeats. Unconsciously, he
leans forward and I close my eyes in anticipation.
I can feel him moving closer tentatively, and I wait patiently for his mouth
to cover my own, but when his warm breath touches my lips, I panic.
"Wait!" I cry, my eyes still closed.
I crack one eye open to see Bradley pause, confused.
I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I can't kiss you."
"Is it too soon?" he asks worriedly.
I shake my head. "No, no. I'm sorry... I... I have feelings for someone
else, and it wouldn't be right for me to kiss you. We're not together, or
anything, but... it wouldn't be fair to you."
He straightens up, looking dejected. "Oh. Well, that's okay."
"I'm really sorry," I say anxiously. "I didn't mean to lead you on. The
whole thing is ridiculous. I shouldn't have a problem with this. It's not like
I'm cheating on him." Thinking of Josh's cavalier attitude to my date with
Bradley, my heart sinks. "He doesn't feel the same way, anyway."
"So... you're not with this guy?"
"No."
"Then can I see you again?" he asks.
I wring my hands. "I'm sorry, no. You're a really great guy- perfect,
really- but... I can't. I'm too emotionally involved with this other person."
"Well, is this guy ever going to make a move?" he asks patiently.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try not to cry. "I have no idea."
He takes my hand. "Listen, I'm not going anywhere, okay? If things don't
work out with him, I'll be here."
"Why? You don't even know me," I protest.
He squeezes my hand. "I really like you, Donna."
"I like you, too, Bradley," I say miserably. "I just- "
He lays a finger over my lips. "Sh. I understand."
I sigh. "Thanks. You're a really great date, you know that? The best I've
ever had, actually. Thanks for that." I stand on tiptoe and kiss him on the
cheek. I smile at him sadly. "Have a good night," I say softly, and let myself
into my apartment.
***
My insomnia has returned. Three hours after my date with Bradley, I'm
tossing, turning, and generally making a mess of the bedclothes fretting over
Josh's bizarre behavior. Why did he set me up on this date? It makes no sense.
Josh is nothing if not possessive and jealous. He even gets jealous of people
who date his ex-girlfriends after they've already broken up, and makes it a
point to belittle any guy he thinks might be interested in them. So the fact
that he was neither jealous or possessive at the thought of me going out with
the quite attractive economics hunk is, well, making me crazy. I don't know
whether to be heartbroken or concerned for his mental health. Basically, all my
tossing and turning has yielded me nothing but confusion.
I flip back over onto my back. Besides all the strangeness from Josh, why
the hell was Toby talking about his M.O. with women? Is that some kind of weird
code they use to talk about women? I like to flatter myself that Josh was pining
away for me the whole time we were away from each other in March, but there's
nothing to say that just because he didn't talk to me or anyone in senior staff,
he spent that whole time without talking to someone. I make a displeased face at
my ceiling. This is seeming all too likely. It would make sense for him to turn
to someone new for comfort when I basically abandoned him to the care of two
emotional recluses like CJ and Toby. It's not like he would have a hard time
finding someone to keep him warm at night. Josh when he's in brooding mode has
this whole American Heathcliff thing going on that can be very attractive.
Toby said he hadn't met anyone new, though. So maybe I'm worrying about
nothing. He didn't completely rule out the idea of Josh rekindling an old
romance, however. He just said Josh's behavior had nothing to do with Amy
Gardner, but that doesn't mean he's not seeing someone else. Josh's list of ex's
is not insignificant. He's dated a lot. Not ever for very long periods of time,
but still, a lot. Mostly before I knew him, though. The most significant
relationships he's had since I've known him have been with Amy, Mandy, and Joey
Lucas. Amy's out, though, and I have a hard time believing that even Josh would
be stupid enough to date Mandy twice. Besides, she's not exactly someone I would
envision as being the most comforting presence during a crisis of conscience, if
you know what I mean.
That leaves Joey Lucas. Both the best and worst option. Joey is smart,
compassionate, and beautiful, and Josh trusts her. On the one hand, she might
actually be capable of offering comfort to Josh when he is in most desperate
need of a friend. For Josh's sake, I almost hope he sought her out during that
time. On the other hand, she might actually be capable of offering him comfort!
Selfishly speaking, I don't like that option one bit.
But Josh hasn't been acting like he's been seeing anyone at all. He's been
walking around morosely and making adorable sad eyes at me. Besides, while I'm
fairly certain the Joey Lucas suit has been retired for good, the Comfort Suit
has been making increasingly regular appearances. Joey's nice, and all, but that
doesn't mean Josh is more interested in her than in me. After all, she hasn't
even inspired one measly little mental breakdown, while I was basically
responsible for a complete meltdown. And remember those looks. You know, the
looks of incredible longing? I ask you, would I be getting looks of longing and
adorable sad eyes if he was interested in someone else? I think not.
I'm getting off track. Toby insisted I think about Josh's M.O. with women.
Toby insisted. There's got to be something I'm missing here. Josh's M.O. is to
belittle whomever he's interested in, and to plant subtle barbs against the guy
she's seeing as part of an elaborate scheme to bring attention to himself. What
does Josh's M.O. with women have to do with me and Bradley? Except for calling
Bradley gay and suggesting he wanted to date me to cover up an attraction to
Josh himself, Josh hardly insulted him at all.
I sit straight up in bed. Oh, my God. Is it possible the man is trying to
woo me?
***
"What in God's name could you possibly want right now?" Josh sighs when he
picks up the phone.
"Good evening, Joshua!" I singsong into the phone.
Silence. "Donna?"
"That's me," I say cheerfully. "How are you doing this fine evening, dearest
boss of mine?"
"Donna, it's two o clock in the morning."
"Were you asleep?" I demand.
"No," he admits grudgingly.
"Me neither," I announce.
"Obviously," he mutters. "What do you want?"
"I was just calling to thank you," I say sweetly.
"For what?" he asks suspiciously.
"For setting me up on that date with Bradley. We had a wonderful time."
"Oh, was that tonight?" he says, feigning disinterest. "And how was Bradford
this evening?"
"Bradley was very charming," I tell him. "He was quite the gentleman."
"Well, I'm glad to hear old four-eyes has something going for him," Josh
says snarkily.
"I think guys with glasses are hot," I say. "Makes them look intellectual
and sensitive. And Bradley's glasses bring attention to those gorgeous blue eyes
of his."
"Yeah, well, tall, weedy guys like that need to emphasize their good
features so you're not focusing on the fact that they're ninety-eight pound
weaklings," he sniffs.
"He weighs 190 pounds and benches 250. He's hardly a weakling."
"Hmph. How long did it take him to work that little tidbit into the
conversation?"
"He didn't work it in. I asked him after I saw his gym membership card in
his wallet when he paid for dinner at Alberto's."
"Well, if your date went so well, why are you calling me at two in the
morning instead of spending the night with Brighton?" he says with a smirk in
his voice.
"I told you, I'm calling to thank you," I say smoothly. "If it weren't for
you, I would never have learned that Bradley speaks fluent French and Cantonese
and was recruited as a male model when he was in college at Northwestern."
"You know that the rate of homosexuality among male models is like 85
percent?"
"You made that up, and besides, he never became a model. He considered it to
help pay for college, but ultimately he decided to take a job working as a kids'
counselor at the YMCA because he loves children and he wanted to give back to
his community," I say smugly.
"Well, sure, that's what he'd tell you, but I bet if you looked in his
security file, you'd probably see that his parole officer had him doing
community service to get him out of doing time for a felony or something."
I raise my eyebrows. Don't worry, he can hear the raised eyebrows over the
phone just as well as I can hear the smirk. "You think the White House is in the
habit of hiring dangerous criminals?"
"Well, it was probably nothing dangerous," Josh allows. "Clyde there
wouldn't have the stomach for anything really serious. He was probably an
accomplice in some petty thievery or something."
"Well, did you see anything incriminating in his security file?" I ask
slyly.
He sighs. "No, the guy's a damn boy scout. Literally. He was in the Boy
Scouts until he graduated from high school. How nerdy is that?"
"Josh. You didn't."
"Didn't what?" he says, confused.
"You looked at his security file?"
Silence. "See... it just kind of found its way to my desk."
I play along. "That's strange. You normally only get to look at security
files if you specially request them from the Secret Service. But they just
happened to put the file of the man I went out with tonight on your desk today?"
"Mm, no, actually, it found its way to my desk the same day I met him,
funnily enough."
"I see. And everything's okay?"
"So it would seem."
"Is there anything I should know if I decide to go out with him again?"
"He asked you out again?"
"Of course. I'm a very attractive woman, you know."
"Are you going to go?"
"I haven't decided."
"But I thought he was so amazing and you had such a wonderful time you
couldn't possibly resist his charms."
"I think I could possibly resist his charms if I found out the Secret
Service had marked him as a deranged killer in his file."
"Let me check the deranged killer page. Nope, there's a little check next to
'no' in the deranged killer column."
"Good to know."
"Donna, I can't believe you thought I would overlook 'deranged killer' when
determining whether this guy was acceptable dating material."
"Well, details have never been your strong suit."
"Donna, I would never let you go out with anyone if I thought he might hurt
you."
"That's pretty patronizing of you, Josh."
"Possibly."
"Also rather sweet."
"I'm very sweet."
"You have your moments."
"Well, I maintain that looking over Buford's file was one of my sweet
moments, not one of my patronizing moments."
"After perusing Bradley's file, did you finally determine to your
satisfaction that he is good dating material?"
"No."
"No?"
"He's rotten dating material."
"What makes you say that?"
"When his local newspaper did a profile on him after he got back from China,
he revealed that he is a Cubs fan."
"So?"
"So, you can't possibly date someone with such absolutely terrible taste in
baseball."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Good."
"Josh?"
"Yes?"
"Go to sleep."
"All right."
"Good night."
"Sleep well, Donna."
"You, too, Josh."
Now, I fall asleep easily. Somehow, sleep comes much easier when you're
being wooed.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 11 - Donna Moss and the Cake Stalker

Unfortunately, Josh goes out of town the next day, so we don't get to bask
in the afterglow of our phone conversation. I have to wait three weeks before
I'll see him face to face.
When I get to work on Friday, I see a large chocolate cake and I'm still so
excited by our phone conversation that for a split second I think it's from
Josh. I come to my senses, however, and furrow my brow as I consider the cake
and how it came to be on my desk.
"What's that?" Margaret says from behind me.
I shake my head as she steps up next to me so we can both get a closer look
at the confection on my desk. "You have a cake on your desk," she states.
"Yes."
"Where did it come from?"
"I don't know."
"Is it someone's birthday?"
"Well, it's not mine, and I didn't bake it. It could be someone's birthday.
Maybe I'm supposed to pass it on."
She peers at the cake. "It's homemade."
"Is it?" I say, surprised. "How can you tell?"
She points. "It's on a Corningware platter. And the frosting clearly isn't
from a bakery."
"Huh," I say, bemused.
She leans forward. "There's a note."
She hands me a tiny card in an envelope, and sure enough, my name is
scrawled on front of it. I open it and Margaret looks over my shoulder and reads
it aloud. "To Donna- Happy Friday. Yours, Bradley."
My heart sinks. This is terrible.
Margaret turns to me with wide eyes. "Is this from Bradley the economics
guy?"
"Apparently so," I say gloomily.
"Have you been holding out on me?" she demands. "What's going on with you
and Bradley?"
"Oh- we went out last week," I say uncomfortably. "Josh set us up."
"Last week! And you didn't tell me until now?" She stops short. "Wait. Did
you say Josh set you up?"
I nod unhappily.
"Why?" she says, aghast.
I shrug.
"Josh Lyman set you up? On a date? With Bradley the economics guy? A
good-looking, smart, successful man who apparently bakes chocolate cakes? And he
didn't, you know, sabotage it?"
How does Margaret know about the sabotaging? I thought it was a figment of
my imagination. "He didn't call to interrupt once."
"Well, it must have been a pretty nice date if he's baking for you a week
later," Margaret says leadingly.
I shake my head. "It wasn't like that."
Margaret looks disappointed. "He wasn't a good date?"
"No, he was the perfect date. We had a good time."
"Then are you going to see him again, or what?"
I shake my head. "Let's just say I made it very clear at the end of the
evening I didn't expect him to bake me any chocolate cakes."
Margaret opens her mouth to respond when a shy voice interrupts from behind
us. "Hi, Donna."
We both turn. "Hi, Bradley."
I'm rewarded for this greeting with that chocolate-melting smile of his.
Margaret looks like she's going to swoon.
"How are you doing this morning?" I ask him.
He beams. "Fine."
"Hi, Bradley," Margaret pipes up.
"Good morning, ma'am," Bradley says without taking his eyes off me.
Margaret makes a motion to leave. "I'm just going to... check on something.
For Leo."
I glare at her for abandoning me with the economics hunk, but she just
shrugs and retreats to the opposite side of the bullpen where she can eavesdrop
unobtrusively.
Bradley notices neither the glaring nor the abandonment. "Did you get my
cake?" he asks eagerly.
I glance at the chocolate monstrosity on my desk. "I did. It was very nice
of you to bring it to me. You really shouldn't have gone to all that trouble,
though. Did you bake it yourself?"
He blushes. "Yeah. But it was no trouble. I bake all the time."
"Bradley..."
"Seriously. I was going to bake it anyway. I normally give the stuff I bake
to my neighbor Mrs. Fieldstone and she feeds it to her cats, but since it's
Friday, I thought I would give it to you."
Bradley is a really bad liar. I have no doubt he really bakes for his
neighbor and her cats, but I'm equally certain he never intended this particular
cake for feline consumption. "Since it's Friday?" I say skeptically.
He grins at me. "Because you should always do something decadent on Friday."
Oh, man. I would be falling so hard for this guy right now if I hadn't, you
know, already fallen hard for my egomaniacal boss. "Bradley, that's very...
sweet. But I don't think I can accept this from you."
His face falls. "Oh."
"I appreciate the gesture, I really do. I just don't think it would be right
for me to take it."
"Donna, it's just a cake."
I'm at a loss. "Still."
"Donna, I understand what you're saying, I promise. I have no expectations
of you. I just wanted to bake you a cake."
I look at the cake. "It does look good."
"I remembered you like chocolate."
I wince. "See, Bradley, that's why I feel like I shouldn't take it."
"Because I remembered you like chocolate?"
"No... yes... I don't know. I just feel like you've invested a lot more into
this cake than I'm willing to give back to you."
"It's just a cake," he repeats. "All I invested was four bucks for the cake
mix."
"Liar. This didn't come out of a box."
He sighs. "All right, I made it from scratch. Are you happy?"
Not really. "Well..."
"Look, Donna, I had a great time the other night. I'll be honest. I have a
bit of a crush on you, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping you'd forget
all about his guy who clearly doesn't appreciate you and go out with me again.
But I'm new in town, and regardless what happens with the other thing, I still
want your friendship. And I want you to have this cake."
I hesitate.
"Come on. I already baked it. Please accept this cake as nothing more than a
token of my friendship and... esteem."
Well, when he puts it like that... who am I to refuse free chocolate? "I
guess that would be all right," I say reluctantly.
He smiles triumphantly. "Shall we eat a piece?"
"Now?"
He shrugs. "Why not?"
"It's eight-thirty in the morning!"
"But it's Friday," he reminds me.
He has a point.
"Come on, you know you want to."
"I do," I admit. "My mouth has been watering ever since I first laid eyes on
it."
"That's because my grandmother's recipe is so enticing."
I watch hm as he produces two paper plates, a knife and two forks and begins
cutting the cake.
I lay my hand on his arm. "Bradley. You're a good man. I would greatly value
your friendship," I say truthfully.
There. If that didn't cement the message, I don't know what will.
By the way he beams at me in response, I'm sensing the message isn't quite
as cemented as I'd like. I watch his face light up as I take the first bite of
cake. I have a bad feeling about this.

***

Much to my relief, no more baked goods appear on my desk in the next few
days, so I'm hopeful that my "friends only" message took root a little more
firmly than I thought, and I cautiously agree to eat lunch with Bradley in the
mess on Wednesday.
This turns out to have been a bad idea, however, because that Friday I'm
graced with a cheesecake on my desk first thing in the morning.
I only allow myself a single bite of my absolute favorite dessert in the
world before I disburse it among the other assistants, who are all to eager to
take it off my hands. Especially Margaret, who sees this entire courting via
cake as excellent fodder for office gossip, and takes to referring to Bradley as
the Cake Stalker.
The next Friday, Margaret is waiting for me at my desk when I arrive in the
morning, already holding a card aloft for my inspection. "The cake stalker
strikes again!" she says gleefully. "This week he made red velvet cake," she
announces, handing me the card.
I open the card. "I'm still here," I read aloud.
Margaret sighs. "Isn't that romantic?"
"No," I say irritably. "I told him last week not to bake any more or I would
give it all away."
"Maybe he thinks you're just playing hard to get," she says, in a way which
makes me believe she thinks that as well.
"Morning, ladies."
Margaret and I both jump and turn to see Josh sauntering up to us, his
familiar swagger in place.
My man! He's come back to save me from Margaret's matchmaking and all the
amorous bakers of the world. He's been gone for almost three weeks. This is the
first time I've seen him since he got back. I have to physically restrain myself
from throwing myself into his arms. "Hi, Josh."
"Morning, Josh!" Margaret says brightly. "How was the trip?"
"It was fine." He tears his eyes away from me and looks at Margaret. "What
are you two fine government employees gossiping about this morning?"
Margaret holds up the card from Bradley. "Donna has a cake stalker," she
announces.
Josh pales. "You have a stalker?" He swallows visibly. "Where... where's the
phone? I need to call the police," he says shakily.
"It's not what you think," I assure him hastily. "I don't have a stalker.
Margaret's just kidding. Margaret, tell Josh you're just kidding."
"Of course, he's not a real stalker," Margaret confirms, oblivious to the
minor nutty I'm trying to head off. "He just brings Donna cake every week. He's
more like a secret admirer. Except he's not a secret, so cake stalker works
better."
Josh looks at me pleadingly. "Donna?"
"I don't have a stalker, Josh," I tell him quietly. "I'm perfectly safe."
He releases a long breath and glances at Margaret anxiously. "Who is she
talking about?"
"Bradley the economics guy," Margaret replies. "Did you know he has a big
crush on Donna?" She points to the red velvet cake. "Look what he made her."
Josh's look of panic is replaced by one of confusion. "Bradley the economics
guy made you a cake?" He's so flummoxed he forgets to call Bradley by the wrong
name.
Margaret nods. "This is the third one in a row."
"Bradley baked you a cake," he repeats. His eyes narrow. "He's not supposed
to bake you cakes."
I arch an eyebrow. "Not supposed to?"
"No, he's not supposed to," he snaps.
I shrug. "Yet, he has."
"Why is he baking you cakes?" he says shrilly.
"Isn't it obvious?" Margaret says.
He stares at her. "No."
"He's wooing her."
Josh gapes at her. "Wooing- wooing her?" he splutters.
"Yes, wooing her," Margaret says matter of factly.
"Wooing her! He can't woo her!" he cries.
It's Margaret's turn to raise an eyebrow. "He can't?"
"No. There will be no wooing," Josh says flatly.
"No wooing?" I cry piteously. I was looking forward to the wooing. Not
Bradley's wooing, but still, I thought I was finally going to get some wooing in
my life nonetheless.
He hesitates. "There will be no cake wooing," he amends. "No cake wooing of
any kind."
Margaret crosses her arms under her breasts. "Why not?"
He ignores her. "He's baked you three cakes?"
I nod hesitantly.
He looks as though he's about to tear his hair out by the fistful. "What the
hell is his obsession with cake?" he says despairingly. "Why couldn't he be
obsessed with flowers or chocolate or something else easier to compete with?" He
stops short, realizing what he's said and trying to backpedal. "I mean... I
mean... dammit, why the hell is he so fixated on cake?"
I shrug uncomfortably.
"When they were on their first date, Donna told him as they were ordering
dessert she believed one should always do something decadent on Fridays. So
Bradley has brought her something decadent each Friday since their first date,"
Margaret explains.
Josh's eyes practically bug out of his head. "First date? As in one of
many?"
I roll my eyes. "As in the first and only, Josh. For God's sake, keep
yourself together."
"I'm trying," he mutters. "Cake," he says darkly, in the same tone of voice
he usually reserves for the word "Republicans." "He's wooing you with cake."
"We don't know that for sure. Maybe he just wants to be friends," I suggest.
Josh and Margaret both snort in disbelief.
Okay, I didn't really believe that either.
He turns to me. "Something decadent on Fridays? One of Donna Moss's rules to
live by?"
I lift my chin. "That's right."
He shakes his head. "You really are rather adorable in an insane kind of way
sometimes."
I hide a pleased little grin. "Yes, I know."
"Donna, get me the number of Bradley's supervisor. I'm making a call."
I glare at him. "No."
He stops short. "No?"
"No," I repeat. "You're not calling up that poor man's supervisor and using
your position of power to abuse a White House employee just because he likes to
bake and you feel threatened."
"But that's what I do," he whines. He pauses. "And I don't feel threatened."
"Nonetheless," I say firmly. "You are not to yell at Bradley or his
supervisor."
"Fine," he fumes. "But I'm taking the cake."

***

Josh eats every last bite of the cake, grimacing every time he takes a bite,
and when Bradley comes by to get my reaction to the red velvet cake, Josh
informs him offhandedly that the chocolate tastes funny and goes back to work
after loudly announcing to me and the bullpen at large that I'm unavailable for
lunch or dinner until, you know, the end of time.
That's the last I hear about the cake for the next week, but soon enough,
Friday rolls around and there's something waiting for me on my desk when I
arrive at work.
In fact, there are two somethings. I stop short. Off to the side, there is a
golden-crusted pastry with a small white envelope carefully balanced on top. In
the center of my desk, however, there is a Ziploc bag full of what appear to be
about a dozen burnt chocolate chip cookies.
What the hell? Is Bradley trying to hedge his bets by baking twice as much?
That makes no sense. Thus far, every cake Bradley has given me has been artfully
arranged on a plate or a platter. Something tells me that when wooing, Ziploc is
not Bradley's usual style. Plus, chocolate chip cookies seem a little mundane
compared to red velvet cake and a homemade cheesecake. And they're burnt. Let me
make clear that when I say burnt, I don't mean a little singed around the edges.
I'm talking charred here. I take one out and inspect it. It's roughly the color
and consistency of charcoal.
Bradley's note offers no insight to the origin of the cookies. He just tells
me to enjoy the pie and talks about how my smile always lights up his day, blah,
blah, blah, with no mention of burnt cookies.
I go into Josh's office, still deep in thought, to turn the lights on and
start up his computer for him, only to be startled by a loud snoring noise and
the sight of Josh with his head on his desk, mumbling in his sleep.
"I beat him," he mumble to his blotter, and then turns his head and starts
to snore again.
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Josh."
He smiles goofily in his sleep. "Donna."
I shake him a little. "Josh, wake up."
He stirs and looks up at me blankly. "I beat him."
"Beat who?" I ask curiously. I glance at his desk for some clue as to what
he is talking about. "Senator Allen?"
He stares at me. "Senator who?"
It's worth mentioning that Josh is not generally at his best first thing in
the morning. "Senator Allen. Did you figure out what to do about his
reintroduction of the bill about intercessory prayer?"
He yawns. "No."
I give up. "Okay."
He puts his head back down on the desk. "What time is it?"
"It's seven," I inform him.
"It's too early," he grumbles.
I frown. Josh's hair is not its normal color. "Josh, what's that in your
hair?"
He opens one eye. "In my hair?"
I nod. "You have white stuff in your hair."
He sits up. "I do?"
I peer at his head to get a closer look. "I think you might have dandruff."
"Dandruff?" he says indignantly. "I do not have dandruff."
"I think you do," I say dubiously.
"Donna, I repeat, I do not have dandruff."
He rubs his hands through his hair and puffs of some white substance I can't
identify emanate from his head.
I stare. "You're right. You don't have dandruff. I don't know what the hell
you have, but it's not dandruff."
"You admit I don't have dandruff?" he says skeptically.
"Josh, when you get dandruff, the dandruff comes off in flakes. Whatever you
have is coming off in clouds."
"Clouds?" he says, horrified.
I reach forward and tentatively touch my fingers to his hair. "Josh... is it
possible that you have... flour in your hair?"
"Flour?" he says blankly. "How would I have gotten flour in my- " He stops.
"Oh."
I raise my eyebrows. "Oh?"
"Oh."
"Josh, do you have flour in your hair?"
He looks at me intently. "Did you get my cookies?"
My eyebrows shoot up. "Your cookies?"
"Yes. My cookies. I made cookies."
"You made cookies?"
"Yes," he says proudly. "I'm thinking of becoming a chef."
"You're thinking of becoming a chef? You make one batch of burnt cookies and
now you're Julia Child?"
"They weren't burnt," he says indignantly.
I snort. "Josh, they make your preferred style of hamburgers look like
calves still mooing on the farm."
"I'll have you know I worked very hard on those cookies and I don't
appreciate you maligning them when you haven't even tasted one," he sniffs.
"I apologize for maligning your burnt cookies," I say dryly.
"Well, I bet they're better than whatever the Pillsbury Doughboy brought in
this week."
"Ah, so that's what all this is about."
"What all what is about?"
"Why you made me cookies."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says stiffly.
I grin. "You made me cookies because you're jealous of Bradley."
"No, I didn't," he protests weakly.
"Are you threatened by his master culinary skills?"
He scowls. "No."
"Why did you make me cookies, then?"
He avoids my gaze. "You know, for Assistant Appreciation Day."
"Assistant Appreciation Day?"
"Yeah."
"Is that even a thing?"
"Sure it is."
"I've never heard of it."
"It's a thing."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, if it's not, it should be."
"I see. Today is Assistant Appreciation Day?"
"No, but I missed it this year. I'm making up for it now."
"Josh, in the six years I've worked for you, you've never once done anything
for me on Assistant Appreciation Day, and you choose today to celebrate it?"
"Yes."
"By making me burnt cookies?"
"You always get mad at me when I get you flowers."
"That's because you get me flowers to be mean."
"Okay, first of all, I don't get you flowers to be mean. I get you flowers
to express my deep and abiding affection and appreciation for you. Second of
all, I don't think you have ever fully appreciated that I remember our
anniversary every single year, despite the fact that you never seem to recognize
the importance of the occasion."
"I'd appreciate it a lot more if you remembered the right date," I mutter.
"Well, that's neither here nor there. Besides, Assistant Appreciation Day is
completely separate from our anniversary. I needed to find a different way of
marking the occasion. Thus, I generously decided to take the time to bake you
cookies."
"You mean after six years of being neglected on Assistant Appreciation Day,
all I'm worth is one measly batch of cookies? I don't even merit some jewelry?"
"You like cookies."
"And this has nothing to do with Bradley?" I say skeptically.
"Of course not, except for the fact that I was in here at 5:00 with my
cookies and he was in here at 6:33 this morning with his stupid pie."
Ah, Josh's nocturnal rambling is starting to make sense. "You sure beat him,
didn't you?" I say slyly.
"You're damn right I did," he says smugly.
"You brought me cookies at five in the morning?"
"That was when the first batch that turned out was done."
"You think those lumps of carbon qualify as a batch that turned out?"
He makes a face. "Compared to the ones that came before, yes."
"The ones that came before?"
"The first three batches were awful. The fourth one wasn't too bad, but I
forgot the flour."
"How do you forget the flour?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know, but that batch turned out a lot better
than when I forgot the sugar. And then I had to go to the store because I ran
out of chocolate chips. Anyway, by the time the last ones were done, I didn't
dare start another one because it was so late."
"And it was important to have a timely delivery of cookies at five in the
morning?"
"Donna, I told you, he was in here at 6:30 with that pie. I had to make sure
he wasn't going to get in here before me. I mean, seriously, what kind of freak
gets to work at 6:30 on a Friday morning?"
I raise my eyebrows. "The same kind that stays up all night to bake one
batch of burnt cookies?"
He scowls. "Not funny, Donna. I'm very sensitive about those cookies. I
invested a lot of time and effort in them. Aren't you even going to try them?"
I make a face. "You mean I have to eat them?"
I force Josh to eat one of his own cookies before I consent to try them, and
then I send him off to a meeting on the Hill.
***
I give the pie to Toby, and over the course of the next seven days, I eat
every last one of Josh's blackened cookies. The following week, I give Bradley's
tiramisiu to a gleeful CJ and grimace my way through a pan of the gluiest lemon
bars on the planet. The week after that, I find Josh snoring on his desk again
after delivering a batch of brownies of a questionable nature.
I watch him sleep for a minute with a soft smile on my face, and then head
out to the bullpen to try to think of a way of getting rid of the brownies
without having to, you know, actually consume them.
Bradley shows up at ten after seven, sans cake. "Hi, Donna."
"Morning, Bradley."
"What have you got there?" he asks, leaning against the frame of my cubicle.
"Brownies," I say. It's not as obvious as it sounds. They don't really
resemble what one would normally recognize as brownies.
"I've noticed you've had a lot of... pastries in your life recently."
I laugh weakly. "Well, you know what they say. It never rains, but it
pours."
"Well, in light of all the pastries crowding your desk, I'm going to stop
pestering you with baked goods."
I try to hide my relief. "Well, your baked goods are magnificent. They
should go to someone who will properly appreciate them."
"That's nice of you to say."
"Seriously, you make the best cheesecake in the world. If it weren't for,
you know, all the other pastries in my life, I would be very tempted to make a
serious commitment to your cheesecake."
"So. All these other pastries in your life. Are they from the guy?"
"What guy?"
"The guy who is the reason you won't go out with me."
"Oh- yeah." I blush. "They are."
"I'm happy for you, then."
"Thanks, Bradley."
He pushes off from his position leaned against the frame of the cubicle and
stands up. "I'd better get back to work."
"You want a brownie for the road?"
"I'd better not."
"Good decision. They're pretty awful."
He smiles at me. "But you love them anyway, don't you?"
I gaze at the unappetizing concoction before me. "Yeah. I really do."



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 12 - Meet the Parents

I'm typing up a memo when the phone rings. "Josh Lyman," I say cheerfully.
"Hey sweetie, it's me," says a familiar female voice.
"Hi, Mom."
"How are you, darling?" she asks.
"I'm good," I say. "We're pretty busy putting together a new piece of
legislation that toughens emission standards in the auto industry. It's going
pretty well so far. How are you?"
"I'm fine," she replies.
"How's Daddy?" I ask.
"He's good. We've got some big news, honey."
"What is it?" I ask. "Is Rosanna having another baby?"
"No, nothing like that, although she and Tim are trying. This has to do with
you."
"With me?" I repeat blankly. "What do you mean?"
"Your father and I are coming to visit you!" she squeals excitedly. I hold
the phone away from my ear until the shrieking subsides.
I put the phone back to my ear. "I'm sorry, did you say you and Dad are
coming to visit me?" I say with a feeling of dread. This is bad.
"Yes!"
I should say something so my mom doesn't think I don't want her to visit me.
"Oh."
"I'm so excited!" Again with the squealing.
"I don't understand," I say. "When I visited in March you didn't even
mention you were thinking of coming to DC for a visit." I'm a terrible daughter.
My parents want to visit me and I'm already trying to get out of it. I can't be
this sort of terrible, ungrateful child. I can deal with this. I love my parents
and I want to see them. They probably won't be coming at least for a couple of
months anyway. By that time, certain situations with certain people who shall
remain nameless should be resolved, I won't be this psycho person who obsesses
over every move her boss makes, and I will be perfectly capable of behaving like
a normal human being who welcomes visits from her kind and loving parents.
"Well, it was all very last minute," she explains.
A feeling of dread spreads throughout my body. "Last minute? When are you
guys planning on coming here?"
"This weekend!" she cries.
My heart sinks. "This weekend?" Since when do my parents do anything on
impulse? Their idea of spontaneity is deciding to drive to my sister's house in
the next town over a week before they go. My parents have visited me in
Washington exactly once, and that was three years ago. Josh and the rest of the
Senior Staff was out of town with the President, so they haven't really seen
what life is like for me on a day to day basis, because when the President is
gone, and especially when Josh is gone, my life is much quieter. "The thing is,
Mom, I'm not sure this is a good time. Everything's crazy around here, my
apartment's a mess, and I don't think I'm going to have a lot of time to show
you guys around."
"You're always busy," she pouts.
I sigh. I really am a terrible daughter. "I know. But maybe in a couple
months..."
"No, we're definitely coming this weekend," she interrupts. "I know you're
busy, but your father won a free trip to Washington on the radio, and the plane
tickets are for this weekend."
"He won them on the radio?" I ask, bewildered. The idea of my father calling
in to a radio station for any purpose strikes me as extremely out of character.
I can practically hear my mother nodding over the phone. "Yes. Apparently,
he heard them advertising a contest on the way to work and he's been wanting to
visit you, so he just called in on a whim and he ended up winning. You could
have knocked me over with a feather when he told me," she says. "I mean, can you
imagine your father calling in to a radio station?"
"No," I say with a laugh.
"He misses you, Donna," she says softly. "We both do."
Dammit. I feel myself getting emotional. That guilt card works every time.
"I can't wait to see you guys. What time does your flight get in?"
"Ten am Friday morning, and we fly out at six o clock on Sunday night," she
replies.
I get the flight information from her and promise to pick them up at the
airport on Friday morning before hanging up with one thought running through my
mind. Josh is going to freak out.
***
I'm reading a briefing memo when Donna knocks on the door and comes in
looking worried. "I need to talk to you," she says somberly.
Little warning bells start going off in my head. "What is it?" I ask with
dread, already imagining the worst. "Did Kehler bail out on us?"
She shakes her head. "No, it's personal."
I immediately grow worried. "Is everything all right? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, everything's fine," she says. "Look, it's no big deal, but I
wanted to warn you ahead of time... my parents are coming to town this weekend."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Your parents are coming
into town?" I say shakily.
She nods. That's it? That's the reason she came in here looking so serious
and worried and got me all anxious? So her parents are coming to town. No big
deal. I take a deep breath. After all, it doesn't really have much to do with
me, does it? I might not be their favorite person in the world, but that's all
right. It's just my assistant's parents. If they don't like me it's no big deal.
I can live with that.
Only I can't. I need Donna's parents to like me.
Maybe it's not as bad as it seems. Maybe they'll meet me and think I'm
impressive and charming and totally deserving of their daughter despite all the
things they've probably heard about me. I mean, there's no reason to think they
won't be won over by my arrogance and my singular ability to put my foot in my
mouth when they actually meet me just because I have a slightly stalker-like
obsession with their daughter and monopolize all her time so she can't visit
them and hurt her more than anyone has ever hurt her before. I take a deep
breath. Oh, God, Donna's parents hate me.
"Josh." Donna's voice sounds very far away.
"Yeah?" I squeak.
"You're hyperventilating."
Oh. I try to moderate my breathing and fail. Donna rubs gentle circles on my
upper back and I manage to calm down a little. "Your parents hate me."
"Josh, they've never met you," she says.
"Yeah, but..." I trail off. "I never let you go home."
"They understand this is the White House and what we do is important."
I might as well come clean about my real fear. "Donna... March."
She looks at me. "Josh... I didn't tell them anything."
I shake my head. "You must have said something."
"Josh, what happened was between us. I didn't tell anyone about it," she
says. "I told Sam he needed to call you, but other than I didn't breathe a word
about that day to a single soul."
Really? How could she do that? When I said those things, I would think she
would have railed on about me to anyone who would have listened. I can't believe
she protected me even then, after what I did to her. I take her hand. "I don't
deserve you."
"You're stuck with me," she whispers.
"Thank God," I say.
"Everything's going to be fine," she says, but I still feel a niggling bit
of doubt.
"Donna... they must know something. I know you. You can't hide your feelings
from people who love you. They must have known something was wrong when you
stayed with them."
She ducks her head. "They thought I was sick. I didn't mention you once,
Josh, I swear it."
I nod. "What time does their flight get in?"
"Ten am on Friday," she says.
"What time do we need to leave here to get to the airport in time?" I ask.
She looks surprised. "You're coming with me to the airport?"
"Is that okay?" I ask nervously.
She bites her lip. "Well... it's a little weird, isn't it?"
Way to calm me down, Donna. Now I've moved on from mild anxiety to complete
panic. "What do you mean?"
She stumbles over the words. "I mean... why would the Deputy Chief of Staff
take time off work to pick up his assistant's parents from the airport?"
She has a point. "I've never met them before. You spoke to my mother every
week. There is a severe imbalance here. I need to get embarrassing stories about
you as soon as possible to re-establish the balance."
She shakes her head. "My parents would think it was weird. Not to mention
Leo."
Inspiration strikes me. "Hey, doesn't your car need a major overhaul at the
shop?" I ask excitedly.
"My car needs a new engine," she says sourly. "Which I would be sorely
tempted to invest in if the rest of it wasn't falling apart."
"So you'd better take it to the shop. I'll pay for it, because I need you to
drive... somewhere... next week, for... the thing," I say urgently.
She frowns. "It's still weird. Why couldn't I just take a cab?"
I think for a moment. "Hey! Don't I have a meeting in Arlington Friday
morning that desperately requires your presence?"
She narrows her eyes. "No."
I ignore her. "Call Earl Posner and set up a meeting with him at nine o
clock on Friday. I need to talk to him about H.R. 55."
She raises her eyebrows. "You need to talk to a low-level lobbyist about a
bill that passed with overwhelming bipartisan support and the President is about
to sign?"
I jut out my chin mulishly. "Yes."
She grins. "Okay."
She leaves and I let out a sigh of relief. Step one of Operation Impress
Donna's Parents has successfully been implemented.
***
We spend Friday morning in Arlington, talking to a group of bemused
lobbyists. Fortunately, Donna had the presence of mind to find an actual issue
that needed to be discussed before I suggested the meeting to Leo. Anyway, we
spend the morning talking about some obscure women's issue that happens to be a
pet project of Donna's, which I don't really know a lot about. I suppose it
would be more accurate to say that Donna spoke to the lobbyists and I tried not
to hyperventilate in my chair from the anxiety of meeting her parents. I only
almost blacked out twice.
Now we're at the airport and it's precisely ten am, and I am, as Donna would
put it, having a nutty while pacing back and forth in front of the arrivals
gate. What was I thinking? I work for the President and I took time off from
work to pick up people at the airport whom I've never even met. These people are
going to think I'm insane. I'm starting to hyperventilate again. I loosen the
tie around my neck and continue to pace.
"Josh," Donna says tiredly. "Stop pacing."
I stop in front of her and run my hand through my hair. "I know. I'm just
worried..."
"About the education bill passing?" she offers with a smile.
I nod. "Yeah. That." And the fact that Donna's parents chose the worst
possible time to come visit her. Why couldn't they have come six months ago,
when things were normal between us, or six months from now, when hopefully, we
will have figured out what the hell we are doing together?
"Come here," she orders.
I obediently step forward and she fixes my tie and straightens my collar. I
unconsciously lean forward to smell the comforting scent of her shampoo. Our
eyes meet and I'm suddenly extremely aware of how close we're standing, when-
"Donna!" a woman shrieks happily from about two feet away from my ear. I
leap away from Donna as quickly as I can when I look up and see a beaming woman
and a somber looking man standing before us. I stare. The woman is a few inches
shorter than Donna, and plumper, with dark hair, but she has Donna's full mouth
and brilliant smile. The man is tall, a couple inches taller than me, and
slender, with broad shoulders, iron grey hair and a stern face.
They both have blue eyes, and I can't decide which one of their pairs of
eyes looks more like Donna's eyes: Mrs. Moss's warm, trusting eyes, or Mr.
Moss's shrewd, perceptive ones. I look back and forth between them and realize
it's both. Donna is her parents. These two people together made Donna. I love
them instantly. But I'm still afraid of them.
Donna smiles and steps forward to embrace her mother. "Hi, Mom. How was your
flight?"
"Oh, it was fine," Mrs. Moss says excitedly. "We saw the Capitol and the
Washington Monument right before we landed. We didn't see that the last time we
came." The Mosses have visited Donna in DC once before, three years ago. They
met Leo and Sam, but the rest of the senior staff was traveling to Italy with
the president, so I didn't get to meet them.
"That's because we flew into Baltimore before," Mr. Moss says. Donna goes to
him and he opens his arms to her. "Hi, Daddy," she says shyly, standing on
tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.
He wraps his arms around her and kisses her on top of the head. "Hey, baby
girl," he says softly.
Mrs. Moss is looking at me curiously. She glances over at Donna and raises
her eyebrows. "And who is this young man?" she asks with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Donna says. "Mom, Dad, this is Josh Lyman. Josh, I'd like
you to meet my parents, Bill and Elizabeth Moss."
"It's nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Moss," I squeak. I reach forward to
shake Mr. Moss's hand and almost punch him in the gut in my enthusiasm.
Thankfully, he intercepts my hand before I can do any major damage. He grips it
firmly and I try not to wince.
"Josh Lyman. You're Donna's boss, right?" he asks warily.
I nod nervously. "Yes, sir."
Mrs. Moss's mouth falls open as I turn to shake her hand. "You're Donna's
boss? But you're so young and handsome!"
"Did Donna tell you to say that?" I ask suspiciously.
She looks confused. "No."
Mr. Moss is frowning at me. "Why did you come with Donna to pick us up?" he
asks bluntly.
I'm seeing spots. "Uh..."
Donna breaks in smoothly. "We had a meeting in Arlington this morning, and
since my car is in the shop, Josh was kind enough to offer me a ride."
"Donna, you shouldn't have imposed on Mr. Lyman like that," Mrs. Moss says
severely. "I'm sure he has much more important things to do than come to the
airport to pick up a couple of complete strangers."
"No, I don't," I say quickly. "And it's Josh. When people call me Mr. Lyman
I always feel like I should be turning around to look for my father."
Mr. Moss frowns at me. "The White House Deputy Chief of Staff doesn't have
anything better to do than drive to National Airport in the middle of the day to
meet his assistant's parents?"
I gulp. "Of course I have better things to do. Wait, I don't mean I have
better things to do, I mean I have more important things to do. Not that this
isn't important. It is. But I have other things that are very important too."
"Which you are neglecting to chat with us," he finishes.
Oh, hell. "What I mean to say is... it's no trouble. I don't mind at all," I
say lamely.
Mr. Moss looks at me like I'm crazy, which, let's face it, is probably not
an unreasonable conclusion to make based on my behavior thus far. Mrs. Moss
glances between the two of us. "Well, I think it's very sweet of Josh to come
pick us up," she says diplomatically.
"Do you need to pick up anything from the baggage claim?" Donna asks.
Mr. Moss gestures to two bags at their feet. "We've got everything right
here, so I guess we're ready to go."
"Great," says Donna.
Mrs. Moss picks up her bag and I reach forward to take it from her, silently
willing Donna not to make a joke about chivalry and me voluntarily carrying
luggage. "Allow me, Mrs. Moss," I say.
She looks at me doubtfully. "It's kind of heavy."
"I insist," I say, but my gallant declaration is somewhat spoiled by the
weight of the suitcase practically wrenching my arm out of its socket. I grit my
teeth and manage not to drop the bag with great effort.
Donna looks highly amused at my difficulty. I can practically hear her voice
in my head telling me this wouldn't happen if I actually practiced by carrying
my own luggage instead of making her carry it all the time. I can tell she wants
to, but thankfully, she refrains. "We're down this way," she says mildly,
setting off towards the parking lot.
My hand finds its way to the small of her back to guide her, as it is wont
to do whenever we walk somewhere together. Mr. Moss's eyes swivel towards my
hand and linger there, measuring. I yank it back as though it's been burned, but
when Donna looks over her shoulder at me and frowns, I reluctantly put it back
under the heat of Mr. Moss's penetrating gaze. I hope Donna can't feel through
her blouse how sweaty my hand is. I glance nervously at her dad, but he merely
raises his eyebrows and says nothing. Oh, yeah. This weekend has gotten off to a
great start.


***

We drop the Mosses off at their hotel so they can rest for a little while
before going sightseeing this afternoon. Meanwhile, Donna and I go back to work.
I work frantically the rest of the afternoon in an effort to clear my desk by
the end of the day. I'm determined to get everything finished so Donna can spend
the entire weekend with her parents and not have to come into the office at all.
That's right, I am Josh Lyman, boss extraordinaire. Of course, when I point this
out to CJ, she is unimpressed, saying that giving my assistant one weekend off
in the six years she's worked for me hardly qualifies me for boss of the
century. I was going for boss of the millenium, but who's counting?
I proudly close the last briefing memo at seven, and drop Donna off to meet
her parents for dinner at seven thirty. I drop about nine different hints trying
to get myself invited to dinner, but Donna doesn't pick up on them, and now I'm
sulking. How is Operation Impress Donna's Parents going to get off the ground if
I don't have unfettered access to her parents? Besides, given Donna's freakish
ability to anticipate my every move, I am deeply suspicious that she did pick up
on my hints, and ignored them, which has sent me into a tailspin trying to
figure out if this is her way of gently telling me not to come on too strong in
front of her family, or if she's actually telling me she doesn't want me within
a hundred miles of her family, and that if I make a nuisance of myself she'll
finally take that last step and take a restraining order out on me. Like I said,
I'm sulking.
However, I am determined to be a charming, considerate boss in the eyes of
all Mosses this weekend, so I bite my tongue and concentrate on projecting my
best understanding, thoughtful boss vibe as we pull up in front of the
restaurant.
"Have a good time," I say with forced cheerfulness. "Give your parents my
best." What? Just because I'm considerate and understanding doesn't mean I'm not
going to keep dropping hints until the last possible moment. I thought you knew
I wasn't serious about biting my tongue.
"Thanks, Josh," she says distractedly, looking out the window. She opens the
door, and then pauses and looks back at me. "It's not that I don't want you to
come. I just think it would be weird for them. They wouldn't understand."
Isn't it freakish how she knows what's going on in my head without me saying
a single word? I sigh with relief, thanking God there's no restraining order in
my immediate future. "Sure. Your parents probably want you to themselves for
awhile. I just want you to have a good weekend with them." Charming,
considerate, check.
She smiles. She's on to me. "Thanks, Josh. Give me a call if you need
anything, okay?"
"Go. Have a good time. I'll see you on Monday."
***
Despite the fact that my desk is clear for the first time in, well, months,
possibly years, I head in to work the next morning anyway to make sure I don't
get blindsided by anything. Also, I think Donna might bring her parents by for a
tour this afternoon, and I'm hoping I'll get to advance Operation Impress
Donna's Parents. I'm thinking I'll automatically be more impressive in the White
House than at the airport. I'll just take care to stay away from the press
briefing room.
This plan goes wonderfully until about eleven o clock in the morning, at
which point CJ comes in and informs me she got a tip that there's a problem with
S. 907. Crap. There goes my nice, peaceful day of plotting.
Things get a little frenzied over the next couple of hours. I'm starting to
feel a little overwhelmed when Toby comes in and glances around. "How's it
looking so far?" he asks.
I shrug helplessly. "I'm struggling. Those guys in Kovic's office don't like
me."
"Why not?"
"Because I said something rude about his golf swing. How the hell do I
know?"
"Where's Donna?" he asks gruffly. "Doesn't she usually manage to smooth over
things like that?"
"She's with her parents this weekend," I tell him. "They're in from out of
town and I don't want to disturb her."
"Give me the phone. I'll talk to 'em for awhile," he says. He sees my rub my
eyes again. "Take a break. And get Donna in here."
I sigh. So much for the Operation. I'm now going to cement the image of
myself in her parents' minds as her deranged slavedriver boss. I call Donna, and
tell her I'm going to pick her up.
I drive over to the Smithsonian, where she and her parents were spending the
morning. I park hurriedly and jog up the steps to the entrance. I find the three
of them standing by the big elephant in the Natural History Museum. I slow when
I see them. "I'm so sorry about this," I apologize. "This health care package
the President has been trying to get through Congress for the past three
sessions is about to blow up in our faces, and I really need Donna to help me
bang some heads together on this one. I mean, negotiate a compromise," I amend
hastily. I look at Donna. "I really am sorry about this."
"It's okay, Josh," she says. She turns to her parents, who are looking a
little bewildered. "Are you guys going to be all right?"
Her mother nods. "Of course."
"When will you be done?" Mr. Moss wants to know.
"We should have it cleared up by the end of the afternoon one way or
another," I tell him. "Listen, I feel really bad about this. Why don't you guys
let me take you all out to dinner tonight to make up for it?"
"That's really not necessary," Mr. Moss says brusquely.
"We don't want to inconvenience you," Mrs. Moss says earnestly.
"Please. Donna's saved my life a thousand times over. It's the least I can
do," I say sincerely. Mrs. Moss is looking at me with Donna's 'awww' face. One
down, one to go. I look at Mr. Moss. "What do you say, sir? I'd be indebted to
you if you could let me repay Donna in some small part by taking you all out to
dinner tonight."
Mr. Moss glances at Donna, who looks back at him with a pleading
_expression. He sighs. "Very well."
I let out a big breath. "Thank you, sir."
***
Donna and I head back to the White House while her parents head over to the
National Portrait Gallery. Donna goes smoothly into motion, orbiting around me
with messages, index cards, and suggestions, and I remember this is one of
Donna's personal passions. I know this because it's becoming apparent that she
knows more about some parts of this than me. I'm remembering that on slow days
when the other assistants are shopping on Ebay, Donna has been reading up on the
HHS budget and getting her trivia fixes from the AMA and the American Red Cross.
I drag her into the Oval with me at four o clock for a last minute meeting
with senior staff. We made some headway earlier in the afternoon, but we want to
close the thing before Kovic goes on the morning shows the tomorrow. However, we
quickly realize that we have an information gap in the section about benefits to
registered nurses and nurses' aides.
"Doesn't anybody know anything about this?" the president muses.
Donna pokes me in the arm. "Ow!"
The president looks over at me. "Josh?"
Donna pokes me in the arm again. She scribbles something down on her notepad
and passes it to me. I frown at the piece of paper. "Reedy MacEnenny?"
"Rhonda McClintock," Donna hisses.
I frown. "Who?"
"Ahem." The president clears his throat. "Care to share with the class, boys
and girls?"
Donna looks at me expectantly. Unfortunately, I have no idea what she wants
me to say. "Go ahead," I tell her.
She gulps and turns back to the rest of the senior staff. "I was just
reminding Josh that Rhonda McClintock from the American Red Cross had some
interesting thoughts on this section when I talked to her a few weeks ago. I
have an outline prepared if anyone wants to take a look at it."
CJ takes it and scans it. "This looks good," she pronounces.
"Give us the bullet points, Donna," Leo says.
"Ah... okay," she said. "The focus of the design is to increase the number
of qualified nurses in certain targeted regions. The problem is that we've been
treating this as the same problem all over the country, when the nature of the
issue is inherently different in rural towns than in metropolitan areas. This
woman, Rhonda McClintock suggested offering tuition incentives in rural southern
areas, better pensions in California and Oregon, and overall pay increases in
the Midwest. The other thing she was concerned about is the issue of the way
doctors treat nurses."
"What do you mean?" the president asks with a frown.
Donna takes a deep breath. "Rhonda says that a lot of the nurses she's
spoken to from all over the country get fed up with the attitude of doctors
towards RN's. A lot of doctors treat nurses like lackeys, instead of the trained
professionals they are. We're losing nurses because of that attitude. People
quit or decide not to go into nursing at all because of it. And beyond that, the
patients are losing a critical part of their care, because nurses are the ones
in most direct contact with the patient the majority of the time and doctors may
not assign the proper weight to a nurse's opinion. I'm not saying all doctors
are like that," she says quickly, "but it is a significant issue."
"Well, how are we supposed to fix something like that?" the president wants
to know. "You can't legislate human behavior."
"What about having experienced nurses teach certain classes in med schools?"
Donna suggests. "I'm not sure how the government would influence the curriculum,
but it seems like that would be a good way to show young doctors the value of
the nurses' knowledge."
The president nods. "All right. We'll put some thought into that. For now,
let's get this Rhonda person on a conference call with Kovic. Toby, you and Josh
take charge and get this done. Donna, sit in on the call and make any
suggestions you feel necessary."
"Yes, sir," she squeaks.
We execute the play perfectly. Actually, this woman that Donna knows pretty
much bullies Kovic into agreeing to our provisions for us. Donna interjects with
a couple of carefully timed suggestions while Toby and I basically keep our
mouths shut, only expressing our thanks politely at the very end while
simultaneously giving each other high fives.
I'm dancing around and doing my usual victory celebration by the time Donna
calmly gets off the phone. I throw my arms around her, unable to contain myself.
"You are amazing," I tell her. "You are a goddess of legislative affairs, a muse
of executive negotiations." She rolls her eyes at me, but she can't hide a
pleased little grin.
"Good job, Donna," Toby says gruffly.
"Thanks, Toby," she says, beaming. Oh sure, I call her a goddess and she's
rolling her eyes, and Toby's miserly compliment has her beaming. There is no
justice in the world. But I'll accept it because anytime she smiles like that,
I'm not going to complain.
"So where are we going to celebrate tonight?" I ask her.
"I hadn't really thought about it," she admits. "Do you have some place in
mind?"
"Pierre's?"
Her eyes widen. "You want to take my parents to Pierre's?"
"You like Pierre's."
"I know, but..."
"But, what?"
"It's really expensive there," she says worriedly.
"Donna, don't worry about it. I meant what I said before. One dinner at
Pierre's is hardly a fraction of repayment for everything you do for me," I tell
her.
She starts to look misty-eyed. "Josh."
"You aren't going to get all girly and emotional on me, are you?" I say
uncomfortably.
"I can't help it. You just say the sweetest things sometimes when you aren't
being you," she says. She hesitates, and then leans forward and gives me a peck
on the cheek. Take that, Toby.

***

I meet Donna and her parents at the restaurant, since Donna insists that she
isn't fit to be seen at Pierre's in her perfectly respectable skirt and blouse.
And this, predictably, is where Operation Impress Donna's Parents goes to hell.
I approach them from behind, they all turn to greet me, and my eyes
practically fall out of my head. Donna is wearing a blue gray dress with a
silvery wrap, and she looks gorgeous. I stare at her as I approach, desperately
trying to recall the key points of the Operation. Fortunately, I practiced, and
my mouth goes on autopilot while my brain takes a detour in a sea of blue dress
and blue eyes. "Mrs. Moss, you look lovely," I say automatically, my eyes not
leaving Donna, who is smiling at me.
"Thank you, Josh," Mrs. Moss says dryly. "I've never really been sure if red
is my color. You think I'm pulling it off all right?"
"Absolutely," I say dazedly, still staring at Donna.
Mrs. Moss laughs, and whispers something to her husband. I look up when I
hear him grunt in response and frown. "You aren't wearing red," I accuse.
She arches her brow. "No, I'm not." She seems to be stifling laughter.
Crap. I knew there was a fault with that whole autopilot plan. Time to back
track. "I'm sorry. You really do look lovely," I say sincerely.
"Thank you. It's sweet of you to say so."
I turn to Mr. Moss. "How was your afternoon?"
"Fine," he says curtly. O-kay. I can see cracking him is going to be the
hard part of the Operation.
"Shall we go in?" Donna says brightly, bringing my attention back to focus
on her.
"Sure..." I say dazedly. She turns to walk into the restaurant, and I find
myself riveted by the back of her neck. Her hair is swept up into a French
twist, and these little tendrils are resting at the nape of her neck in the most
alluring... ouch. That's when I run into the first door of the evening. Things
go downhill from there.
We sit down at our table, and I remember to hold Donna's chair for her, but
then she distracts me while I'm congratulating myself on my smoothness by
smiling at me, which causes me to miss my chair with my ass and land on my butt
in one of the fanciest restaurants in town. I scramble up hoping somehow that I
can play it off without anyone noticing what a bumbling klutz I am. That plan
pretty much gets shot to hell when I collide with a waiter carrying about a
hundred dollars worth of steak on my way up.
When I finally get myself seated I attempt to gather my dignity and ignore
the smiles all three Mosses are trying to hide behind their menus. I need so
badly to be smooth right now. The rest of the evening depends on it. I clear my
throat. I can do this. "So, ah... there's this lobbyist who's trying to get me
to get a couple extra million bucks for the NEA. He gave me some tickets to a
concert at the Kennedy Center, so I thought maybe you all might like to go with
me as my guests, seeing as I have three extra tickets." Aren't I clever? Instead
of telling them that I had to practically mortgage my soul to a guy I know at
the Kennedy Center to get good tickets to this sold out show at the last minute,
I decided to act like the tickets just kind of fell in my lap and really didn't
have much value to me. I figured if I said that someone else gave the tickets to
me, it would seem like no big deal for them to accept.
Mr. Moss says mildly, "You accepted a bribe from a lobbyist?"
Oh, fuck.
"Dad!" Donna cries, shocked. "It's not like that at all!"
He grins. "I'm just kidding."
Great. Hilarious. I'll just finish quietly dying over here. I'm sure that'll
bring down the house.
"So," I say weakly. "Do you want to go?"
"What's playing?" Mrs. Moss wants to know.
"Mm... the DC Symphony, I think. It's a tribute to American composers."
Mrs. Moss turns to Mr. Moss, her eyes shining. "The symphony, Bill. The DC
Symphony, at the Kennedy Center." He looks at her face for a long moment and
then sighs. Oh, yeah, we're going.

***

Donna has thwarted my plans of being smooth and charming. I keep thinking of
witty remarks, but they die on my lips every time I glance over at her.
Seriously, that dress is doing something to her eyes. Making them smokier,
making them bluer. I wait until her parents are engaged in a conversation about
their plans for the next day and lean over to her.
"Did you have to wear that dress?" I hiss.
"What's the matter with it?" she demands, offended.
"I'm trying to be clever and impressive, but every time I catch a glimpse of
you in that dress, I'm momentarily struck dumb," I tell her irritably.
She opens her mouth to retort, but then the implications of what I've said
sink in and she flushes instead. "I- really?"
"Yes. It's very annoying," I say grouchily. "All my plans have gone to
hell."
She doesn't seem too sympathetic. "Well, what do you want me to do, take it
off?"
I groan. "That would definitely not help matters."
She flashes me a brilliant smile. That's when I miss my mouth with my fork
for the fourth time.

***

Donna's father continues to watch me suspiciously throughout the meal, which
makes me even more agitated, and results in me spilling two glasses of water and
a glass of wine. I finally relax enough to relate an amusing anecdote involving
a senator from Ohio and a barrel of fish, when he suddenly interrupts me to say,
"How long have you been Donna's boss?"
I swallow. There are two reasons this question is cause for concern. The
first is Mr. Moss calling attention to the fact that I'm in a position of
authority over his daughter. The second is that I'm pretty sure he knows exactly
how long I've been her boss. "Six years, sir."
"Hmm," he says cryptically.
"I can't believe it's been that long. Feels like just yesterday to me," I
say weakly. Actually, I feel like Donna's been a part of my life forever. I can
barely remember a time when she wasn't pestering me with useless trivia, and
when I do remember those days I think upon them with a shudder.
His eyes bore into mine. "And how old are you?"
"Dad," Donna admonishes. "That's a terribly rude thing to ask."
I keep my eyes on his as I answer. "Forty, sir."
"Donna's twenty-eight," he comments with a pointed look.
"Dad!" Donna cries. We both ignore her.
I swallow. "I know, sir."
"You're twelve years older than she is," he says significantly, in case I
failed to make that crucial connection.
"I'm aware of that, sir," I respond, still not breaking eye contact.
"Josh is one of the youngest people ever to hold the position of White House
Deputy Chief of Staff," Donna says desperately.
Her father doesn't seem impressed by this information. "You went to law
school, didn't you?"
Oh, no, is he one of those people who hate lawyers? "Yes, sir, but I'm not a
real lawyer," I assure him.
He frowns. "Did you not graduate?"
"Oh, no, I graduated in '86," I hasten to correct him, lest he think I'm a
failure.
"'86, hmm?" He turns to Donna. "Donna, what were you doing in 1986?"
"Oh, well, I don't remember... exactly," Donna says weakly.
He turns back to me. "Donna was graduating the eighth grade in '86."
So maybe he's doesn't so much hate lawyers as he is still stuck on this age
thing. "Well, you certainly seem to have an impressive faculty for dates, sir."
He raises his eyebrows and says mildly, "Are you a smart ass?"
"No, sir," I squeak. Donna raises her eyebrows at me and I feel compelled to
say, "Well, I am a smart ass, but I wasn't trying to be a smart ass just then."
Donna's mother pats my hand. "Sometimes it just comes naturally, doesn't
it?"
"Yes, exactly," I say gratefully. She laughs, and I realize what I've said.
Oh, hell. I'm glad someone is having fun with this.

***

We finish dinner without any other major disasters, unless you count me
practically setting the restaurant on fire anything other than a minor mishap.
Why the heck was that candle so close to my elbow in the first place, that's
what I want to know. I blame the entire incident on incompetent table setting.
Anyway, after dinner, the women excuse themselves to go to the ladies room,
and Mr. Moss and I step outside to wait for them.
He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Mind if I smoke?" he asks.
"No, not at all," I say.
He takes a cigarette from the pack and pauses. He meets my eyes. "Don't tell
Elizabeth."
"My lips are sealed," I promise fervently.
He lifts the cigarette to his lips and lights it. He takes a long drag, and
then he turns towards me and fixes me with his full attention. "Are you in love
with my daughter?" he asks without preamble.
I stare at him. He's dead serious. Well, of course he's serious. That's not
the sort of thing fathers joke about with their daughters' bosses. "What makes
you ask that?" I ask nervously, trying to buy some time.
He fixes me with a look. "Josh. I'm not stupid. I've been watching you with
her for the past couple of days, and you don't treat her the way a boss treats
his assistant. Now, I'm going to ask the question again, and you're going to
forget that you're a politician and give me a straight answer. Are you in love
with my daughter?"
I draw myself up to my full height and take a deep breath. "Yes," I reply
firmly, looking him straight in the eye.
He nods. This is the first time I've actually admitted this to another human
being. Stanley doesn't count. He knows, but I've avoided the words and he's
bound to silence by professionalism and an oath. I can't believe it. I'm in love
with Donna Moss and the first person I've told is her father.
"How could you tell?" I ask. I thought I was being so sly. Course, in
hindsight, it could have been the lovesick staring, or, you know, my compulsive
need to be in her presence at all times.
"You have the same look on your face that Jimmy Johannsen had on his face
when Donna invited him over for dinner when they were fourteen. And your voice
keeps getting really high like his did, too."
"Does it?" I say, my voice, of course, going freakishly high at that precise
moment.
He looks over at me. "Don't worry about it, Josh. I like you."
"Why?" I ask, dumbfounded.
"Because you're not smooth. With Paul, it was all easy smiles and smooth
talk. He was utterly convinced he could win us over. He didn't seem to realize
what was at stake. I always thought that if he really understood that Donna's
love was at stake, and if he understood what that meant, he wouldn't have been
so casual and confident. He would have been a falling down, bumbling wreck."
"Yeah..." I say. I wouldn't necessarily call myself a falling down, bumbling
wreck... exactly. Okay, fine, I guess that about sums it up. I pause. "Wait.
Paul? Are you talking about Dr. Freeride?"
He looks puzzled. "Dr. Freeride?"
"You know, Donna's asshole med student ex?"
"Oh." The light dawns, and he laughs. "Dr. Freeride? That's perfect."
"You know him?" I ask eagerly.
"Sure, I met him a few times," he says.
I grab his arm. "Please, please tell me his name. I've been trying to get
Donna to spill for six years, but she hasn't cracked yet."
"His name? His name is Paul Thatcher. Why do you ask?"
I grin wolfishly. "I've been wanting to sic the IRS on this guy for years."
"Donna won't let you?"
I shake my head. "She thinks it's an abuse of power. I think it's poetic
justice."
He shrugs. "I guess that's between you two."
He has an unreadable _expression on his face. "Mr. Moss," I say hesitantly.
He turns back to me. "Yes?"
"I want to say something. About me and Donna."
He looks at me. "What is it?"
I swallow. "I get the sense that you're concerned about the fact that I'm
Donna's boss."
"Donna's a grown woman," he says gruffly. "I respect her decisions."
"I'm sure you do," I say. "But I want to allay any fears you might have
about the nature of our... relationship."
He watches me warily. "Go on."
I clear my throat. "I understand some people might think there's an
imbalance of power in a relationship between boss and employee."
"Are you telling me there isn't?" he says skeptically.
"Normally, there is," I allow. "But not between me and Donna. And if there
is an imbalance, I can assure you it's been shifted in her favor for quite some
time."
"What are you talking about?" he says crossly.
"See," I say nervously. "Donna isn't really my assistant."
His eyes widen. "She's not?"
"Well, technically, she is," I concede. "On paper."
His eyes bore into mine. "On paper?"
"Yes. Look, everyone thinks I'm the Deputy Chief of Staff, right?"
He shrugs. "I suppose. Are they wrong?"
I can see he thinks I've lost touch with reality. I'm not deterred, though.
I have enough people look at me like I've lost touch with reality every day not
to be too bothered by it. "Yes," I say confidently. "I'm not really the Deputy
Chief of Staff and Donna's not really my assistant. I'm more like... half the
Deputy Chief of Staff. Donna's the other half."
He frowns. "How does that work?"
"Well, she does the background work for most of the legislation that passes
through my portfolio. I propose a strategy and she critiques it. She organizes
and prioritizes my meetings and priorities, and she takes a lot of the small
stuff off my desk. She has an exercise in diplomacy every day, deciding who I
take meetings with, who gets bumped off the list, and smoothing over any
unpleasant confrontations I might have." I pause, thinking. "But that's not the
most important part of what she does. She challenges me. She's passionate about
public service and dedicated to making this country a better place, and doing it
responsibly and honorably, and she won't accept anything less from me. She's...
invaluable."
"Considering all that, don't you think she ought to get a raise?" he says
dryly.
I smile weakly. "Probably."
He takes a drag on his cigarette. "How long have you been dating my
daughter?"
I look at him in surprise. "I'm not dating your daughter."
He frowns. "You're not?"
"No. Donna and I have never dated."
He pauses. "Am I missing something? Didn't you just tell me you're in love
with her?"
"Mr. Moss, I'm twelve years older than your daughter. I'm her boss. We work
for the President of the United States. On the face of it, dating her seems like
the worst idea in the world. Consequently, I've been trying very hard not to
fall in love with her for the past six years." I sigh. "Course, I've never
failed so thoroughly at anything in my entire life."
He blows a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth. "You don't seem to
be trying anymore."
"I reached a turning point," I admit. "I realized it was hopeless to fight
it any more. I had lost the battle the minute she walked into my office."
"What kind of turning point?"
I never wanted to get into this discussion with Donna's father, and now it
looks like there's no way of avoiding it. I'm quiet for a long moment. "I...
hurt her, very badly. This March. I was having some personal difficulties, and I
thought it would be better for her if we were apart, if I removed myself from
her life. I said horrible things to her hoping to drive her away. And for a
little while, I thought I might have succeeded."
I stare out into the street. "My sister died when I was eight. I have
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I've been shot in the chest and I've had open
heart surgery. My father died of cancer and this past winter I lost my mother,
the last of my family. And the worst thing I've ever experienced were the days
when I thought Donnatella Moss wasn't going to be a part of my life anymore.
I've been falling all over myself trying to impress you and your wife this
weekend because I realized I was going to do everything in my power to keep her
in my life until the end of my sorry existence."
"That was quite a speech."
"It's the truth," I say honestly.
He exhales."You want her in your life until the end of time, huh? So...
what? Are you asking me for her hand, or something?"
I'm pretty sure I have what Donna calls my "deer in the headlights look."
"Er..."
"Because Donna makes up her own mind," he interrupts me before I can finish
my thought.
"No kidding," I mutter.
He smiles.
"I'm not asking for her hand. I'm just... letting you know what my
intentions are. Because I'm sorry, but if she'll have me, there's no way in hell
you or anybody else is going to stop me from being with her every single day for
the rest of my life," I tell him honestly.
He considers this. "You'll take care of her?"
"Sir, I swear to you, I want the absolute best for her. I'm going to do
everything in my power to make sure that she has that. And if my best isn't good
enough, you can beat me up and I'll sic the IRS on myself," I promise.
He looks at me thoughtfully. "I believe you will."
I smile weakly.
He puts out his cigarette. "So, the symphony, huh?" he asks me skeptically.
I sigh heavily. "I know. It's going to be awful."
"But they'll like it," he says, resigned.
"Yeah," I say morosely.
"That's what's important," he declares.
I couldn't agree more.

***

I can never go to the Kennedy Center without being accosted by a dozen
members of Congress, and tonight is no exception. Normally, this is something I
detest, but in light of the several disastrous incidents earlier in the evening,
I'm grateful for every important seeming politician who wants to shake my hand.
Operation Impress Donna's Parents could use a bit of a boost.
"Donna, all those Congressmen know you," Mr. Moss says in a quietly
impressed voice after we're stopped for the eighth time. Every single person who
has paused to say hello has made a point to greet Donna warmly (more warmly than
they greet me, I might add. What can I say, we all know everyone likes Donna
better than me).
"Well, they all have to talk to me if they want to get to Josh," she demurs.
A deep voice booms out from behind us. "Donna Moss! How's my favorite
cheesehead?"
The four of us turn to see none other than Wisconsin's giant of a governor,
Mick Thatcher, approaching us with his arms outstretched, all ready for a hug
from Donna. She obliges him, and he turns to me to shake my hand. "Josh. How are
you?"
"I'm fine, sir," I tell him.
"And who are these fine looking people you're with?" he asks curiously.
"Governor Thatcher, I'd like you to meet Donna's parents, Bill and Elizabeth
Moss. You'd better suck up," I say to him with a nudge. "They're constituents of
yours."
"Is that right?" Thatcher says with interest. "It's nice to meet you folks.
What brings you to this neck of the woods?"
"We're here visiting Donna for the weekend," my mother replies, a little
starry-eyed. "Josh was kind enough to get us tickets to the performance
tonight."
Thatcher grimaces. "I'd rather be at a Packers game, myself."
"Tell me about it," Mr. Moss mutters under his breath. His wife glares at
him. Ah, the power of the Moss woman glare. Mr. Moss falls silent.
"It is supposed to be a good show," Thatcher concedes. "If you like that
sort of thing. My wife loves these fancy to-dos. Speaking of which, I'd better
try to find her before she runs off with one of the musicians because I'm
neglecting her," he says, glancing around for a glimpse of his wife, Millicent.
He shakes hands with Donna's mother and father again. "Nice to meet you both."
He slugs Donna on the arm. "See you later, cheesehead."
She winces and rubs her arm. "Nice to see you, Governor."
"Why does he call you cheesehead?" Mrs. Moss asks Donna curiously.
"Donna has a special place in Governor Thatcher's heart because she slips
him scores in the middle of meetings if there's a Packers game on," I explain.
"Last year, he had to meet with the President on Super Bowl Sunday. He was
fidgeting the entire meeting, but then Donna comes in with a giant cheesehead
hat, and doesn't say a word, but just puts the thing on his head and leaves. He
was speechless for an entire minute, sitting there with a cheesehead hat on his
head in the Oval Office with the President of the United States, the White House
Chief of Staff, the White House Communications Director, and the White House
Deputy Chief of Staff, but then he just started roaring with laughter. He
couldn't calm down for like, five minutes. He grabbed the hat off his head and
looked at the scores Donna had scribbled on the underside of the thing, and then
jammed it back on his head and continued the rest of the meeting with a huge
grin on his face."
Mrs. Moss's eyes widen and she addresses Donna with mixture of reproach and
awe. "You put a cheesehead hat on the Governor of Wisconsin in the Oval Office?"
She shrugs. "Josh cleared it with the President for me."
Her dad starts to laugh. He puts his arm around her. "That's my girl."
I grin. Operation Impress Donna's Parents is finally looking up. Now all I
have to do is wait for tomorrow to execute Phase Two. I'm really looking forward
to Phase Two.

***

"Mr. President," I whisper.
"Mmm," he mumbles.
"Mr. President," I whisper again.
"What?" he growls.
"I need you to wake up," I whisper urgently. I'm bending over his bed, my
hands resting on my knees as I attempt to get as close as possible to him
without actually touching him.
He opens one eye. "What day is it?"
"Sunday."
"Why are you here?"
"To wake you up?"
"Is the country under attack?"
"No. It's just time for you to get up."
"What time is it?"
"Six o clock," I answer, bouncing on my heels. "Rise and shine!"
"I was up until two because of that banquet last night. Why do I need to get
up at six o clock on a Sunday?"
"Donna's parents are coming today," I say excitedly.
He frowns. "I thought they were already here."
"They are."
"Then what- "
"They're coming to the White House today," I say impatiently.
"What does that have to do with me?" he grouses.
"You're the President!" I exclaim. "You need to meet them."
"I do?"
"Yes. Now, there's no time to waste. Get up."
"Are they coming right now?"
"You never know with people from Wisconsin," I say wisely. "I think they're
early risers."
"Why do you think that?" he asks, confused.
I shrug. "You know, life on the farm, and all that."
"Are Donna's parents farmers?"
"No. Her father works in a bank and her mom used to be a teacher. But they
live, you know, near a farm."
"How did you get in here?" he wonders.
"Charlie let me in," I tell him.
"Why?"
"He owed me a favor."
"Why did he owe you a favor?"
"Because I got him his job."
"Which he's going to be losing shortly," the President mutters.
"Well," I say fairly. "He wouldn't let me get you up at five."
His eyes widen. "Five?"
I pause. "Are you getting up?"
"No."
"Mr. President! You have to be ready when they get here."
"When are they getting here?"
"They could come any time! Donna just said they would stop by sometime
today. They were supposed to come yesterday afternoon, but they couldn't because
we were working on the thing and so they're coming today but I don't know what
time," I say in a rush.
"Is it really likely that they'll be here before seven am on a Sunday
morning?" the President asks skeptically.
"Better safe than sorry! Now, are you getting up?"
"How is it possible that I've never fired you?" he grumbles, throwing the
bed clothes off.
I hold his robe out for him. "I honestly don't know, sir."
"So what's the big deal with Donna's parents?" he asks with a yawn, taking
the robe and putting it on.
"What's the big deal?" I screech. "The big deal is, they're seeing where
Donna works for the first time!"
He frowns. "I thought they came to visit a couple years ago."
"But I wasn't here! And you weren't here! That's not where Donna works. She
works where I am, and where you are, not where I'm not and where you're not."
He shakes his head. "You really can't do things like that with the English
language before I've had my coffee."
I ignore him. "So, here's what I need you to do for me."
"That's funny, I've always been under the impression that you worked for
me," he mutters under his breath.
"Mr. President!" I scold. "Are you going to help me or not?"
He sighs. "What do you want me to do?"
"Okay, here's the plan..."

***

Josh is waiting for us in the lobby when we arrive, two visitor badges in
hand. "Good afternoon!" he says, beaming at us.
"Hi," I say in surprise. "How did you know when to come out here? I didn't
know exactly what time we were coming."
"I was watching for you out the window," he says breezily.
I melt inside. Out loud, I say, "Hard at work, huh?"
"It's a slow day," he says confidently.
My parents look at us a bit askance, but say nothing.
Josh holds out the visitor badges to my parents. "Here, Mr. Moss, Mrs. Moss.
Keep those with you and Fred here will sign you in."
Normally, signing in is quite a process, but apparently, Josh has already
filled out all the paperwork (of which there is a lot) and spoken to the Secret
Service, and all they have to do is produce their Ids before Fred waves them
through. I didn't even know Josh knew how to get a visitor's badge.
There's something weird going on. He's bubbling over with a sort of barely
repressed excitement that I usually only see if the Mets make the playoffs or,
very occasionally, on my birthday.
Josh ignores my questioning look and turns to my parents. "How was the hotel
last night? Did you guys sleep all right?"
"Oh, yes, it was such a nice place," my mother gushes. "The bed was more
comfortable than the one we have at home. Thank you for recommending it."
"Good, I'm glad to hear it," Josh responds. "And did you have a good
morning?"
She nods. "We walked around the tidal basin and went to the Jefferson and
FDR memorials."
Josh smiles at her. "Two of my favorites."
My mother looks around the lobby. "I think this is my favorite."
"Well, would you like a tour?" Josh says. I look at him oddly. Since when
does Josh play tour guide? When his mother came to visit he made her take the
public tour. It was only when I offered to show her around that a major parental
disaster was averted.
"That would be lovely," my mother comments, looking thoroughly charmed. I
roll my eyes.
Josh leads the three of us into our bullpen, his hand finding its way to the
small of my back as he gestures for my parents to precede us.
"Here's Donna's desk," he announces proudly, as though it's a historic
treasure equal to the Mural Room.
My parents nod. They've seen it before. I watch as my dad takes note of the
framed picture of Josh and me on my desk, but doesn't comment. I don't know why
he's complaining, there's one of him and Mom on the desk, too, although I grant
you it's a little further back and slightly behind the one of Josh and me.
"Josh's office is right over here," I say hastily, moving to open the door
and hoping to distract them. I push it open and stop dead in my tracks, causing
my mother to bump into me from behind.
"Donna?" my mother says questioningly. "Is everything all right?"
I nod dumbly, but don't move.
Josh clears his throat. "Donna?"
I step into the room, and my mother and father come up on either side of me
while I stare at the sight before me in awe. Josh's office is as I've never, in
six years of working for him, seen it looking before. Josh's office is clean.
There are no takeout containers or coffee cups littering the surface of the desk
or visitor chair, or anywhere, for that matter; he's even taken out the trash.
Gone is the evidence of our latest paper airplane war and our improvised version
of Go Fish with index cards and faxes. The pictures on his wall have been dusted
and all the frames have been straightened. I glance at his bookshelves and do a
double take. The books and binders have been completely reorganized from top to
bottom, in a manner such that live burial is no longer a foregone conclusion in
case of an earthquake. Strangest of all, there are no haphazard, teetering piles
of folders and briefing memos obscuring ninety-five percent of his desk.
My parents don't seem impressed by this seemingly impossible feat, and busy
themselves looking at the pictures on his wall, my mother lingering on one of
Josh and Joanie when they were little and my father looking with interest at one
with me, Josh, Leo and the President.
My mother looks up. "Has this been your office the entire time you've worked
at the White House?"
"Yup," Josh says proudly. "Donna helped me pick it out. She said we should
get something close to the lobby so we would know anytime anyone important came
into the building. I wouldn't have thought of it, but you'd be surprised how
much of an edge it gives us when someone shows up unexpectedly. Keeps us from
being blindsided."
My father looks at me with approval, and there's a knock on the door.
"Hello," grumbles Toby.
"Toby! What are you doing here?" I say with surprise. "I thought you were
taking the day off."
He glares at Josh. "I had stuff to do. Important stuff. Stuff that is more
important than watching the Yankees cream Boston for the first time this
season."
"Well, I'm glad you're here. I'd like you to meet my parents, Bill and
Elizabeth Moss. Mom, Dad, I want you to meet Toby Ziegler, the White House
Communications Director."
My father shakes his hand. "It's nice to meet you. Donna thinks very highly
of you."
Toby turns a little red. "Well, I think very highly of her, too." I stare at
him. I love Toby, but since when does he admit to liking people in front of
complete strangers?
"What a sweet thing to say," my mother says warmly.
"I'm very sweet," he mumbles uncomfortably. Josh coughs loudly and tries
unsuccessfully to hide his dimples behind his hand.
"You were the one who wrote the speech about early childhood education,
aren't you?" my father says to Toby. "Elizabeth was very impressed by that
speech. She used to be a teacher, you know."
"Donna mentioned that to me at the time, actually," Toby says. "Did you know
Donna helped me with that speech, Mr. and Mrs. Moss?"
"Donna, you didn't tell us that!" my mother says reproachfully.
"I just did some research for a small section of the speech," I protest. "I
didn't really do anything."
"That section was the cornerstone of the whole speech," Josh says proudly.
"And you contributed the background for all the major points of the section."
"I think that's a bit of an exaggeration," I say skeptically.
"It was good work, Donna," Toby says quietly. "It was an important part of
the speech."
I'm at a loss. "Thank you, Toby."
He turns back to my parents. "Are you guys getting the tour?"
"That's right," my father replies.
"Speaking of which, we seem to have gotten stuck in my office for some
reason," Josh interjects quickly. "Shall we move on?"
Toby clears his throat. "I should probably get back to work. But I think
CJ's around if you want to go say hi."
"Good idea," Josh says.
We troop over to CJ's office together, leaving Toby in the hall to make his
way back to the Communications bullpen.
CJ is sitting at her desk, engrossed in what appears to be a very tricky
game of Solitaire.
"CJ, I thought you had a big shopping trip planned today," I say by way of
greeting. "What happened?"
She quickly closes her laptop and glances at Josh. "I'm coming into some
money later today and I decided to postpone it until I collected my unexpected
windfall."
"Really?" I say with interest. "Did you win a bet?"
"Let's just say I suddenly found myself in a most advantageous bargaining
position," she says with a smirk. For some reason, this comment causes Josh to
glare at her. She turns to my parents with a bright smile. "Hi. I'm CJ Cregg.
You must be Donna's parents. I've heard so much about you."
My father extends his hand. "Bill Moss. My wife, Elizabeth."
CJ shakes my father's hand, and my mother's. "I'm pleased to meet you both.
I understand you're taking a tour today?"
My mother nods. "That's right. We're just looking around. We really didn't
mean to distract anybody."
"Nonsense," CJ says breezily. "El casa es el casa, n'est-ce pas?"
My parents frown at this garbled statement, but both their faces light up
when she continues brightly, "Do you guys want to see the press room?"
CJ proceeds to charm their socks off, as only CJ can, keeping up a personal
and witty commentary about the history of the press room and how everything
works on a day to day basis, including everything from the camera positioning to
the seating arrangements to the organization of a briefing.
"Donna, I need to ask you a favor. I'm trying to get Rhonda McClintock to do
Mason's show to promote 907, but she seems a little reluctant. She seems to have
taken a shine to you- I think maybe if you said you'd prep her, she'd agree.
Would you mind?"
"No, of course I'll call her if you think it would help."
"Great. Can you work with my office sometime this week?"
"You bet."
"Thanks, Donna, you're the best."
CJ leaves us, and before I can say a word, Josh takes up the role of tour
guide. He takes us through the Mural Room, giving a complete history of the
room's art and origins, peppered with anecdotes from Lincoln's time to
Johnson's, right up to the moment Josh almost set the White House on fire. I
stare at him in a daze as my parents chuckle at the image of Josh and Sam trying
in vain to start a fire and I swear my mother and father look at me almost
reproachfully when they hear of my impertinent refusal to gather dried leaves
for them. You have to understand how strange this is. Josh knows even less about
the White House and its history than Sam does. Yet here he is telling amusing
historical stories and being charming and utterly un-Josh-like. What on earth
has come over him?
"How did you learn so much about the history of the White House?" my mother
asks admiringly.
I swear Josh blushes. "Oh, you know... here and there." He looks at his
watch and changes the subject quickly. "Would you guys like to see the Roosevelt
Room?"
We set off for the Roosevelt Room, Josh explaining en route the background
of how it got its name. Before we arrive at our destination, however, we
unexpectedly run into Abbey Bartlet in the hall.
"Mrs. Bartlet!" I say in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I do live here, Donna."
"Oh... of course," I say foolishly. "I meant... I wouldn't have expected to
see you in the West Wing on a Sunday afternoon."
"I'm just stretching my legs," she says, winking at Josh for some reason.
"Now, why don't you tell me who these fine people are with you, and maybe I
won't chastise Josh for dragging you in here on a Sunday afternoon yourself."
"Sorry," I say, flustered. "Mrs. Bartlet, I'd like you to meet my parents,
Bill and Elizabeth Moss. Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet the First Lady of the
United States."
Mrs. Bartlet shakes both my parents' hands in turns. "Bill. Elizabeth. It's
a pleasure to meet you both," she says graciously.
My parents are both awestruck. "It's... it's a pleasure to meet you, too,
Mrs. Bartlet," my mother stammers.
"Are you here for the weekend?"
"Oh, yes," my mother replies. "Josh and Donna picked us up from the airport
on Friday, and then Josh took us out for dinner at this wonderful restaurant
called Pierre's last night and got us the most wonderful seats at the Kennedy
Center for the symphony." You notice she didn't mention going out to dinner with
me on Friday night or spending the morning with me at the Smithsonian yesterday.
Clearly those events are not significant in comparison to everything Josh the
wonder child has done.
"Did you enjoy the performance?"
My mom nods eagerly. "It was beautiful."
"So you're here for a tour today?" the First Lady prompts.
My mom nods again. "Yes, Josh was just showing us around." Again, what am I,
chopped liver?
"Well, I'm sure Josh is doing an excellent job with the West Wing tour, but
I'm afraid he'd be absolutely useless for the Residence tour."
"That's not true," he protests. "I worked very hard this morning and I can
handle the Residence tour."
She raises her eyebrows. "Don't be ridiculous, Josh. I decorated the
Residence. I think I know a little more about it than you do. Come on, I'll show
you around."
She strides off and before I know what's happening, my parents are being
treated to a tour of the White House Residence by the First Lady of the United
States.

***

I'm a little dazed, but I'm not so out of it that I don't find it a little
odd that Josh and the First Lady are arguing about the next stop on the
Residence tour.
Josh clears his throat in the middle of Mrs. Bartlet's soliloquy about all
the famous guests who have stayed in the Lincoln bedroom over the years. She
ignores him, and he clears it again.
She frowns at him. "Yes, Josh?"
"Mrs. Bartlet, don't you think the Mosses would enjoy seeing Edith Wilson's
tea set sometime this afternoon?" I glance over at him, but he doesn't seem to
realize that aliens have taken over his body. Edith Wilson's tea set?
"Josh, I'm in the middle of telling a very fascinating story about Adlai
Stevenson. Do you think it's a good idea to interrupt me right now?" Mrs.
Bartlet says sweetly. Of course, when I say sweetly, I mean in the tone of voice
she uses when she's about to kill someone.
Josh's face falls. "No, ma'am." He knows the sweet voice. It's often
directed at him.
"As I was saying," Mrs. Bartlet continues. "Mr. Stevenson was a very
particular man- "
Josh can't seem to contain himself. "Mrs. Bartlet!"
She glares. "What now, Josh?"
"I just want to make sure we all get a chance to see that Austrian glassware
in the China Room before it's too late," Josh says significantly.
See, that right there is suspicious. Josh has referred to the China Room as
the Dish Room the entire time I've known him. Now he suddenly knows the history
of every China pattern from Martha Washington to Abigail Bartlet? He must have
studied. He's up to something.
She frowns at him and he raises his eyebrows at her. She glances down at
her watch and her eyes widen. She turns to my parents and smiles brightly.
"Bill, Elizabeth, would you like to see the China Room next?" The China Room
isn't anywhere near the Lincoln Bedroom. What the hell is going on?
"We'd love to," my parents say eagerly. It doesn't seem to occur to them to
resist. They can clearly tell you don't just talk back to Abbey Bartlet. Too bad
that isn't a genetic trait. In my own defense, if you turned Canadian for no
good reason, you might find yourself doing crazy things like call out the First
Lady of the United States too.
We set off and Josh heaves a sigh of relief. What it is he's relieved about,
I have no idea.
When we get to the China Room, the President is there, standing in front of
the display case with his hands in his pockets.
"Good afternoon, Mr. President," I say, surprised. I wonder what he's doing
in the China Room on a Sunday afternoon?
"Good afternoon, Donna. Josh. Hello, sweet knees," he greets his wife.
She crosses the room and kisses him on the cheek. "Jed, I want you to meet
our guests. This is Bill and Elizabeth Moss, Donna's parents. They're visiting
for the weekend."
He shakes each of their hands in turn. "Hello, I'm Jed Bartlet. It's
wonderful to meet you both. I've heard so much about you."
My mother's knees buckle slightly. I can tell she is fighting the urge to
curtsy. I felt the same way when I first met him, too. "Pleased to meet you, Mr.
President," she says, her voice fortunately much steadier than her knees.
"It's an honor to meet you, sir," my father says, shaking his hand.
"What brings you here this fine afternoon, Jethro?" Mrs. Bartlet asks.
"Oh, you know. Just hanging out in the Dish Room."
She arches an eyebrow at him, amused. "Just hanging out?"
He shrugs. "Yeah. I often hang out in the Dish Room on Sunday afternoons."
He turns to my parents and rubs his hands together in anticipation. "Listen,
I've been in here awhile. You guys wanna walk around a bit with me and see a
little more of the place?"
"Really?" breathes my mother.
"What about the Dish Room?" Josh interjects.
He waves a hand dismissively. "Who cares about the Dish Room? Most boring
room in the White House. Never spend time there if I can help it."
Josh is at a loss. "But... we didn't do the tour."
The President points at the display case. "See there? There are some cups.
And over there, there are some plates. There you go, now you've had the tour of
the Dish Room."
Both Josh and Mrs. Bartlet look highly disapproving, but my parents follow
the President out of the China Room with expressions of wonder and awe.
We set off on a familiar path, and as we get closer to our destination, I
realize where we're headed. Josh nudges me with a wink and I share a delighted,
if surprised, smile with him.
The President stops. "Hang on. I've got to step in and get something. It
might take me a minute to find it; you'd better come in."
Josh holds the door and my parents dutifully follow the President in. My
mother gasps and clutches at my father's hand.
The President turns around and faces them. "Bill, Elizabeth. This is the
Oval Office."
"Wow," is all my father can come up with in response. My mother says
nothing, apparently dumbstruck with awe.
The First Lady tuts. "Honestly, Jed. You're such a show-off."
"I'm the President of the United States. I can show off the Oval Office if I
want to," he says indignantly.
"It's very impressive, sir," my father tells him.
"Thank you, Bill," the President says graciously.
My mother wanders over and trails her fingers along the President's desk.
"This is amazing."
"That's Eisenhower's desk, you know," President Bartlet informs her.
"Really?"
"I wanted FDR's desk, but Abbey said it clashed with the couches."
My mother traces the wooden edge of the desk. "Eisenhower was my favorite
president."
The President nods at her. "Go ahead. It's a great desk. Sit down and get a
feel for it."
My mom stares at him. "What?"
He gestures to the chair behind the desk. "Have a seat."
She looks back and forth between him and the desk. "You're joking."
He shakes his head. "I insist."
"Well... all right," my mother agrees reluctantly, loath to refuse an
invitation by the leader of the free world.
She sits down gingerly in the President's chair and folds her hands on the
desk. "Bill, how do I look?"
He smiles at her. "You look great."
A slow smile breaks out over her face. "I feel great," she admits.
"It's nice to see a woman behind that desk," Mrs. Bartlet comments. "You
know, I think I'd sleep better if a woman really sat there."
"Hey!" the President says indignantly.
"In a couple years, Jed," she amends placatingly.
Mollified, the President turns back to my mom. "How does it feel?"
"Not bad. Do you have any executive orders I can sign?" she jokes.
He smiles. "I'm afraid I don't have any on hand at the moment."
"Well, even so, you're giving Eisenhower some stiff competition on my list
of favorites," she tells him.
"I bet you say that to every President you meet," he replies.
She laughs. "Not at all, Mr. President."
The President turns to my dad. "Bill, you want to have a go?"
My dad's smile disappears and he takes a hasty step back. "No. I mean... no
thank you, Mr. President."
"You sure? It's the chance of a lifetime."
"Thank you, but Moss women are much better suited to positions of power than
Moss men. I'll just stand back and admire my wife."
"All right, but I want it on the record that I offered," the President says.
Josh leans close to me and whispers in my ear. Not for any of the more
pleasant reasons I can think of for him to do so, though. Of course not. This is
Josh. He whispers in my ear to complain. "He never offered to let me sit in his
chair."
"Well, you're very clumsy," I whisper back to him. "He's probably worried
you'd break something."
He glares at me and opens his mouth to reply, but my mom glances at her
watch and cuts him off before he can get started.
"Goodness! I didn't realize it was so late."
My dad looks at his watch, as well. "We'd better get to the airport if we're
going to make our flight."
"Oh, you're leaving so soon?" Mrs. Bartlet says, sounding genuinely
disappointed.
"I'm afraid so," my mother says wistfully.
"Well, thank you so much for coming."
"Thank you for having us," my father replies politely.
"You should be very proud of your daughter," Mrs. Bartlet says. "She's a
gem. We love her dearly around here."
"We're very proud, ma'am," my father says, well... proudly. My eyes sting a
little. I know my parents are proud of me. I do. But no matter how old I am,
hearing the words touches me deeply. There's something about hearing them spoken
out loud... there's nothing like it.
President Bartlet reaches out to shake my father's hand, and then my
mother's. "Bill, Elizabeth, thanks for coming to visit. It's been a pleasure to
meet you."
"Likewise, sir," my dad replies. "It's been an honor and a privilege."
The President turns to me. "Donna, I want to thank you for coming in
yesterday while your parents were in town. It was above and beyond the call of
duty, and I appreciate it."
"She was probably glad for a break from us," my mother pipes up.
The President smiles. "I doubt that. You two are both very important to
Donna. And I want you to know she's very important to us around here. She's an
invaluable member of this administration and I want to thank you for raising
such a wonderful daughter."
My parents share a long, heartfelt look before my father turns back to the
President. "It was our pleasure, sir."
Okay, I'm definitely crying now.

***

After Donna calms down and we leave the Oval Office, I'm hard pressed to
control my dimples. Phase Two went off with hardly a hitch. Of course, it
involved begging and pleading, listening to hours of boring historical trivia,
and generally lessening myself as a man in front of the President and Toby, but
given the _expression on Donna's face at the end of it all, it was completely
worth it.
My hand rests comfortably on the small of her back as we walk out to the
main lobby and we all stop at the security desk to say goodbye.
I start walking back to my office, but before I've made it ten steps Donna's
voice stops my progress.
"Josh." I turn and look at her questioningly, and she detaches herself from
her parents right by the door and hurries towards me.
Before I know what is happening, she throws her arms around my neck and my
arms find their way around her waist. She holds me tightly. "Thank you," she
whispers.
I smile into her hair. "For what?"
She pulls back a little and meets my eyes. "You did this. Thank you."
"Did what?"
Her eyes fill with tears. "You cleaned your office," she says with a
sniffle. "And you (sniffle) learned trivia. For me."
I smile shyly. "I don't know what you're talking about. My office is never
anything less than impeccable. And I'll have you know I am a fount of useful
knowledge of all kinds."
"Josh, I'm serious. You... I don't know how, or why, but you arranged for my
parents to get the best tour of the White House in the entire world."
"Well, naturally. I'm well known as a master tour guide."
She shakes her head. "It's not just that. You got Toby and CJ in on their
day off."
Of course I did. I'm three hundred bucks poorer for it, too. "Are you
kidding? I would have kept them away if I could have. They tend to scare
civilians."
"The First Lady gave my parents a personal tour of the Residence," she
whispers.
I just want to say up front that I so could have handled the Residence
tour. After the President spent three hours drilling White House trivia into my
head as punishment for waking him up, I could have given a historical tour to
Abe Lincoln. But when the First Lady returned from Ann Arbor at ten and heard
about the Operation, she would not be deterred. I told her what I was planning
and she got that misty emotional look many women get that never fails to make me
uncomfortable beyond reason, told me I was very romantic, and patted me on the
cheek. If I said I wasn't a little disturbed by the entire interaction, I'd be
lying, but be that as it may, she insisted on doing her part to advance the
Operation. I was a little disappointed not to show off my recently acquired
knowledge about Thomas Jefferson, but I'll grudgingly admit that a private tour
of the Residence from the First Lady is a tad more impressive than one from a
middle-aged Jewish guy from Connecticut. Still, she almost
screwed up the plan completely by getting too involved in her little tour and
forgetting to meet the President. However, I think I'll forgive her. She made
the President stop picking on me and is part of the reason Donna has her arms
around my neck right now.
"My parents spent part of the afternoon in the Oval Office with the
President of the United States."
"Yeah, their neighbors are probably never going to hear the end of it, are
they?" I comment.
Donna draws back and fixes me with her wet, blue eyes. "You did that." Her
eyes drop. "And you did it all to make me look good in front of my parents."
"Don't be ridiculous," I say with a grin. "You always look good."
"That's not what I meant." She smacks me lightly on the chest, but she
blushes slightly and I can tell her heart isn't in it because she gently
smoothes my tie down and leaves her hand resting on my chest. It should be noted
that I haven't taken my arms from around her waist and she's made no move to
step out of them.
"Anyway," she whispers. "Thank you."
My grin widens. "I didn't do a thing."
She pulls away reluctantly. "I have to get back. We need to get to the
airport."
"Okay."
She walks over to them, casting long glances at me over her shoulder. When
she reaches them, she graces me with a perfectly beautiful smile. Mr. Moss winks
at me and Mrs. Moss gives me a friendly little wave. I smile and wave back to
them.
I watch them go and I smile to myself. Overall, I'd say the Operation was
quite a success.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 13 - The Ultimate Source of Comfort

The next two weeks are even more hectic and draining than usual. I've spent
so much time on the phone my voice has gotten hoarse and I'm so tired my whole
body aches. And today is Sunday, which means that I have yet again managed not
to get any rest for the whole weekend and am doomed to start the new week
grouchy and exhausted. But that's tomorrow. Right now, I just need to focus on
the task at hand, which is briefing Josh for tomorrow's meeting with the
AFL-CIO. If only my voice weren't so scratchy, I'm sure I could get this done in
no time. As it is, I have to pause frequently to swallow painfully and try to
summon moisture into my mouth.
"Remember, Senator Burton wants to talk about migrant workers in California,
so remember to skim through these numbers on immigration and migrant housing I
went over with you this afternoon," I croak. "And ask him about his kids."
Josh runs his hand through his hair. "Why do I have to ask him about his
kids?" he asks.
I close my eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness. "Besides the fact that
it's what any normal person would consider polite, past experience has
demonstrated that sucking up to Senator Burton yields a much greater rate of
success and cooperation than you being... you does."
"Hmm. Okay, can you go over to Toby's office and touch base with him?" he
says.
"Sure," I say tiredly. I stand up and feel lightheaded all of a sudden. I
move to step away from the chair but I falter and have to grab the edge of the
desk to keep from falling.
"Donna?" Josh asks worriedly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I say, nodding. Ohhhhh... nodding is a bad idea. My head hurts.
Josh comes around the desk and takes my arm to steady me. He touches my
cheek and then moves his hand to my forehead. "Donna!" he exclaims. "You're
sick."
"What?" I say. "No, I'm just tired."
"You're burning up," he says. "Sit down." He pushes me gently into the chair
without waiting for a response. "Stay there," he orders. He leaves the room and
comes back a minute later carrying my things.
"Come on. Let's go," he says, holding my jacket out for me.
"Where are we going?" I ask as he helps me into my jacket. "Did Burton want
to meet tonight instead?"
He rolls his eyes. "I'm taking you home and putting you to bed," he says.
"You're in no condition to be working right now."
"But we're nowhere near finished," I protest.
"You're finished for tonight," he says firmly, guiding me out of his office
with his hand at the small of my back.
"I'm really fine, Josh," I insist, letting my head drop to his shoulder as
we walk down the darkened corridors.
"If you were fine, would you be snuggling up to me in the hallways of the
White House?" he asks skeptically.
I jerk my head away from his marvelously comfortable shoulder. "I'm not
snuggling!" I cry. Ow. I really should try to remember I have a headache before
I go jerking my head around like that.
"Shh, it's okay," Josh says soothingly, gently pushing my head back onto his
shoulder.
I rub my forehead on his shoulder and bury my face in his neck. "Not
snuggling," I mutter.
He drives me home and gets me some aspirin while I change into my rattiest
old pajamas. They have sheep on them. It's a testament to the sad state I'm in
that I'm letting Josh see me in them. They're pretty embarrassing.
"Do you want anything to eat?" he asks from the doorway of my bedroom. I
simply shake my head. I'm already climbing into bed.
He comes over to my bed and puts a glass of water and a couple of pills on
the night stand before tucking the covers around me securely. He strokes my hair
and looks at me with worry in his eyes. "Do you need anything?"
"I'm fine," I insist. "You're making a big deal over nothing."
"Donna, you almost fainted in my office."
"I did not."
"Yes, you did. Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" he wants to
know.
"Because I'm fine. I'm just tired," I tell him again.
"You were so tired you didn't notice that you had a sore throat and a raging
fever."
"I don't have a raging fever."
"Yes you do."
"Are you going to keep nagging me all night or are you going to let me sleep
so I won't be so tired at work tomorrow?" I ask.
"You're not coming to work tomorrow," he says firmly.
"What? Of course I am. You need me. Otherwise you'll mix up the numbers and
piss off Burton."
"Well, he's just going to have to be pissed off," he says bravely. "You're
taking tomorrow off and resting."
"No, I'm not," I say. "Listen, your meeting is at eight and you have Senior
Staff at seven fifteen, so I think we ought to be at the office by six thirty.
That way I can go over that extra polling data with you one more time."
"I'll check in on you in the morning, but you're not coming to work," he
says, kissing me on the cheek before he moves to leave.
"Ha," I mutter. "You'll check in on me? If I don't call you in the morning
to get you out of bed you'll sleep through your first five meetings of the day."
He ignores me. "Good night, Donnatella. Sleep well," he says softly, closing
my bedroom door behind him.
"Arrogant bastard," I mumble sleepily, touching my fingertips to the spot on
my cheek where he kissed me.
***
The next morning, predictably, I feel a lot worse. However, I manage to drag
myself out of bed and into the shower regardless of the fact that I feel like a
piece of heavy machinery has chewed me up and spit me back out. I go into my
bedroom and get dressed, although pulling my arms through my sweater has become
a difficulty of immense proportions. I'm just about to pull on my coat when
there's a knock on my door and Josh comes in.
I'm so surprised I practically fall over. "What are you doing here?" I
splutter.
"I came to check in on you," he shrugs.
"Why?"
"You're sick."
"No I'm not," I say weakly.
"Yes you are," he says, pulling my coat off me and retrieving my pajamas for
me.
"How did you get in here?" I demand.
He grins. "I stole your keys."
My eyes narrow. "Why did you feel the need to do that?"
"I knew you would try to leave if I left them here."
"So your plan was to strand me in my apartment because you have some
delusional notion that I'm ill," I say flatly.
"Yes," he says. "Except I'm not delusional, and you really are ill."
"Why didn't you just call?" I say reasonably.
"If I called, you would have said you were fine and come in to work even if
I told you not to," he counters.
This happens to be true. "No I wouldn't, and I am fine," I insist.
"No you're not," he says.
"How do you know I'm not fine?"
"You look like death warmed over," he says.
"You sure know how to charm the girls, Josh," I say sarcastically. I'm
weakening in my position, though. I'm just too tired to expend the kind of
energy it takes to argue with Josh.
Josh, of course, notices this. Damn his perceptiveness. "You know I'm right.
You're about to pass out just from talking to me," he says. Insufferable man. He
throws my pajamas at me. "Put these on," he orders as I grab at them.
I glare at him and stalk past him to change again in the bathroom.
When I come out he's gathered his things and has his jacket on. "I have to
go," he announces. "I left you some breakfast."
My eyebrows shoot up. "You brought me breakfast?"
"Yeah. It's just some toast and fruit. I didn't know how your stomach was
feeling so I figured I'd just make sure you had something mild."
Who is this man and what has he done with Josh Lyman? "Thanks," I manage.
"Okay, I'm gonna take off," he says, crossing to give me a hug.
We do good-bye hugs now? When did this happen? Oh, well, I'm not
complaining. "All right. I'll be in this afternoon," I say, leaning into his
embrace.
"No you won't," he says, patting me on the back.
"You need me to do that report about the transportation bill," I yawn,
laying my head down on his shoulder.
"You're staying home today," he says.
"Whatever," I reply wittily, moving a little closer to him.
"Okay, I'm really going now," he says, making no move to release me.
"You'll be late," I agree, putting my nose to his shoulder and inhaling his
scent.
He sighs contentedly. "Yeah," he says huskily, stroking my hair.
This isn't weird, is it? This hug doesn't mean anything. He's just
comforting me. Because I'm sick. Everyone needs to cuddle when they're sick.
He's just being a good friend... boss... whatever... and hugging me in my
flannel pajamas with sheep because I'm sick. "Call me when your meeting's over?"
I say pathetically.
"I'll be sure to let you know how it goes," he promises, reluctantly
releasing me from his arms only to take my hands in his. He's smiling at me.
Dimples and everything. I'm feeling light-headed again. "Feel better," he says,
leaning in and pressing his lips to my temple.
"'Kay," I murmur contentedly. Two kisses in two days. I ought to get sick
more often.
He leaves and I go investigate the food he left me. He's right, I don't have
much of an appetite, but I force down the toast and half a slice of melon
because I don't want to let his gesture go to waste.
Resigned to my fate, I curl up on the couch and watch the news, and then
flip the channel so I can watch CJ's morning briefing. CSPAN broadcasts a
hearing after that and I fall asleep on the couch while mentally reviewing
Josh's schedule for the afternoon.
The phone wakes me up about an hour later. "Hello?" I answer groggily.
"Hey Donna," CJ says cheerfully.
I groan. The only reason I can think of for CJ to be calling me at home
right now is if Josh let his temper (or his mouth- take your pick) get away with
him and she needs me to come in and do damage control. "What did he do?"
"Nothing," she replies. "I just called to make sure you were still
breathing."
My brow furrows. "Why?"
"Josh was in Senior Staff this morning bragging that he let you stay home
sick. He said he made you stay at home, so Toby and I figured that meant you
were in a coma somewhere and he couldn't get you to work because the hospital
wouldn't release you. He did sound worried about you, though."
"I'm fine," I say. "I'm more tired than anything else. Josh is
overreacting."
She laughs. "Josh? Overreact? The mere idea of such a thing happening shocks
and amazes me. Well, in any case, I hope you feel better. I just wanted to check
in."
See? Normal people check in with a phone call. They don't show up in your
bedroom at six in the morning with stolen keys and toast. "Thanks CJ."
She hangs up and I contemplate getting ready to go back to work, but I feel
so awful the thought holds no appeal. More out of boredom than anything else, I
go into the kitchen and take my temperature. 103.5. Wow. I really am sick. I go
back into the living room and curl up on the couch again, feeling sorry for
myself.
The phone rings again. "Hello?"
"Did I wake you?" Josh says worriedly.
"No, I was awake," I assure him.
"Why were you awake? You're supposed to be resting."
"I'm not even going to bother pointing out the irony of you telephoning me
thinking I would be asleep so you could tell me to go to sleep. Instead, I'll
just ask how your meeting went. How did your meeting go?"
"It was fine. Did you eat your breakfast?"
I would roll my eyes, but he can't see me and it would hurt. "Yes, Dad."
"Are you feeling nauseous?" he asks.
"Well, talking to you does have that effect on some people, Josh, but over
the years I've developed an immunity."
"So, you're not nauseous." Damn, I thought I could distract him with the
insult, but he's seen through my efforts.
"Well..."
"Donna," he says sternly.
"A little," I admit. "But it's not bad. The toast helped."
He sighs. "Probably the only reason you didn't puke all over my office last
night was because you didn't eat anything at all yesterday, wasn't it?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I ate yesterday."
"What did you eat?"
"Uh..." The truth is, I sort of forgot to eat dinner last night. And I
hadn't had time to get lunch. But I'm almost certain I ate breakfast. Who
remembers what they ate for breakfast yesterday anyway?
"You didn't eat anything."
"Why are you picking on me?" I whine. "I'm sick."
"Aha! You admitted it."
"No, I didn't," I say quickly. "I was merely alluding in an ironical fashion
to your delusion that I am in less than perfect health." I glance over at the TV
monitor and see Senator Kingsley testifying at a hearing about agricultural
subsidies. That's weird. "Why is Kingsley talking about increasing subsidies to
agriculture?"
Josh chuckles lightly. "See, now I know you're sick. You're starting to
imagine things. Kingsley wanting to increase subsidies to agriculture?"
"Turn on CSPAN," I order him.
I can hear him fumbling around for the remote and then- "Damn."
"I thought he was a free-trader," I say. "Isn't this like Hoynes taking big
oil out for a ride?"
"Well, yeah, except he can't be gearing up to run against us because we
already won."
"What's he doing, then?" I ask.
Pause. "I have no idea."
"I'm coming in," I say.
"You can't," he reminds me. "I stole your keys."
"I'll take a cab and steal them back."
"I stole your ID, too. You won't be able to get into the building," he says.
"You stole my ID?" I say piteously. No, I can't have that. I can't let him
think he's won. "Doesn't matter. I'll find a way."
"I can see the headlines now: Blonde Girl Storms White House Gates-
Wisconsin Native Overwhelms Dozens of Secret Service Agents Only to Pass Out at
her Boss's Feet Because She Was Too Stubborn to Admit She Was Sick."
"You need me," I insist.
He sighs. "I can handle it. We don't even know what's going on yet. Just-
stay put. And stop watching CSPAN. You're supposed to be watching girly movies
and, I don't know, eating ice cream."
"I don't have any girly movies here and I think I would throw up if I ate
any ice cream," I pout.
"You don't have any girly movies?" he says skeptically.
"Well..." I hedge. "None that I haven't watched a dozen times. Besides, if
I'm as sick as you say I am, not just any girly movie will do. I need Cary
Grant. He is the ultimate source of comfort."
"I'll keep that in mind," he says dryly. "Listen, I'd better go. Are you
feeling any better? Is your temperature down at all?"
"I have no idea. I don't know what my temperature was last night," I tell
him truthfully.
"Well, what is it now?"
Um... "I don't know." This isn't a lie. It's been awhile since I took my
temperature before. It could be completely normal by now.
"Take it."
"Now?" I ask incredulously.
"Yes."
He's really doing this. He's really going to wait on the phone while I take
my temperature and force me to tell him what it is. I sigh and go back into the
kitchen, shivering a little bit. That's a good sign, right? I've probably cooled
off a bit.
"Dish ish shtuppet," I tell him, once I've got the thermometer in my mouth
again.
"It is not stupid. You're not supposed to talk while you're doing that. Just
keep your mouth shut." Oh, how I long to tell him to do the same.
We wait in silence for the allotted three minutes and then I take the
thermometer out of my mouth. I glance at the indicator. Shit.
"Well?" Josh says expectantly. "What does it say?"
I consider telling him the truth. "I think it's broken."
"Donna." He's using that voice. That,
I-know-you're-trying-to-hide-something-from-me-and-I-will-not-put-up-with-it-for\
-one-minute voice. You know, that voice. "What does it say?"
"104," I admit weakly.
"Donna!" he shouts.
"I know it's a little high," I allow. "But--"
"But nothing. You need to go to the hospital."
The hospital? "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to the hospital. It's just
a fever."
"That's really high, Donna. I think you should go."
I grit my teeth. "I am not going to the hospital, Joshua."
Silence. He knows that voice. That's my
If-you-try-to-tell-me-what-to-do-one-more-time-I'll-shove-your-legislative-agend\
a-where-the-sun-don't-shine voice. He knows better than to mess with that voice.
"Okay. But I think you should go to the doctor, at least."
I might consider it if he hadn't stolen my keys, my ID, and in all
likelihood, my insurance card. "No. The fever will go down, and if you're very
lucky, I won't decide to brave the Secret Service and come into the office just
to kick your ass." I glare at the door as though to emphasize my point that I
will not be imprisoned like this. This is the land of the free, the home of the
brave, and the... apartment of the backpack?
"Josh!" I cry. "You left your backpack here!"
"I did?" he says, surprised.
I walk somewhat unsteadily to his backpack and unzip it. It has all the
files for his afternoon meeting... and my ID badge. I glance at the clock. "I
have to come in. You need this stuff for your one o clock."
"You can't. You're sick and I took your keys," he reminds me.
"Yeah, but you left my badge in your backpack, bright boy. I'm coming in."
"Donna, it's not that important. I'll wing it."
"You can't stop me now," I say, and hang up. God, I'm tired. Talking to that
man is so exhausting.
I drag myself back into my bedroom to get dressed again. I'm just managing
to button the last button on my shirt, a task which takes much longer than
normal due to my shaking hands and blurry vision, when the phone rings again and
I pick it up.
I growl into the receiver, beyond annoyed now. "I swear to God, if you don't
stop bothering me, I really will take your legislative agenda and shove it so
far up your ass- "
"Okay, I'm going to stop you right there, before you say something you'll
really regret later," says a cheerful voice. No. It can't be. That's not who I
think it is. I press my hand to my forehead. The fever must have gone up even
more or I wouldn't be hallucinating that the President of the United States is
calling me at home on a Monday morning and that I just told him to shove his
legislative agenda up his ass.
"Donna? Are you there?" he says. Yeah. That's him all right.
"Yes, Mr. President," I squeak. This isn't happening to me. Maybe I didn't
really tell the President to-
"I've made a lot of phone calls since I took this job," he says, "but I can
safely say no one's ever greeted me like that before."
I hate my life. "Mr. President, I'm so sorry, I had no idea it was you, I
swear. Oh my God, I can't believe I just said that. I want you to know I don't
make a habit of using that kind of language," I say. "Well, except with Josh, he
deserves it, but everyone else... well, my mother raised me better than that,
and please don't think that I have anything less than the utmost respect for you
and I would never, ever dream of telling you to- " Stop. Talking. Now.
Fortunately my sluggish brain manages to process these orders before the words
escape my mouth again. "To do anything," I finish lamely.
"Donna, calm down. I daresay you weren't expecting my call."
Boy, that's the understatement of the century. "No, sir."
"In fact, you're probably wondering why I'm calling you at all."
"Well... yes, sir."
"Josh was just in here," he begins. I groan. Is it impolite to groan when
you're on the telephone with the President? "He asked me for my help. He said
you were going to try to come into work even though you had quite a high fever.
He wanted me to order you to go to the hospital, but I told him I couldn't
really do that."
"Thank you, sir."
"He seemed quite insistent, though, so to appease him, I told him I would at
least order you not to come to work," he explains.
I frown. "All due respect, sir, but I'm pretty sure that's against the law.
I mean, don't I have a legal right to work if I want to?"
"I could just declare you a biohazard," he suggests.
"What?" I ask, horrified. "Can you do that?"
He sounds unsure. "I think so. In any case, with those HazMat guys, it's
pretty much seal up the specimen in an airtight package first, ask questions
later."
I sigh. "Well, I don't particularly wish to be quarantined, so I guess I'll
just stay here," I say morosely.
"Good girl," says the President. "Well, I have to call the Prime Minister of
Pakistan now, so I'll say good-bye."
"Give him my best," I say.
He chuckles. "Get some rest. I hope you feel better."
"Thank you, Mr. President," I say. He disconnects and I hang up the phone.
My head is spinning, but at this point I really have no idea if it's because of
the fever or the surreal conversation with the President.
I change back into my flannel sheep pajamas and get back into bed. I sleep
for a half hour before I'm awoken by the sound of sirens approaching. I wait for
them to pass and grow quiet, but they only get louder, and then it sounds like
they stop right near my apartment building. Oh my God, what if my apartment
building is on fire? The building will burn down and I'll be trapped because
Josh didn't want me to come to work. I scramble- well, as much as anyone with
aching limbs and a colossal headache can be said to scramble- out of bed and go
out to my living room to look out the window.
I don't see any fire trucks. I can really only see the lights from the
sirens and I think I can make out a couple of police cruisers. I crane my neck
to see more, but a knock on my door precludes my examination of the situation
below. Maybe there's been a murder and the police want to know if I've seen
anything. Sorry officer, I've been at home being ordered not to work by the
President of the United States all morning, I didn't see a thing.
I answer the door and nearly fall over from shock when two agents
immediately burst through the door to secure the room and the First Lady walks
forward into my humble abode. "Hello, Donna," she says warmly.
"Mrs. Bartlet," I say faintly. "How are you, ma'am?"
"I'm fine, which is more than I can say for you, dear. You look terrible.
Come lie down on the couch," she instructs, taking my elbow and firmly guiding
me to the couch. "Steven," she calls to one of the agents hovering just inside
the door. "Will you get me my bag?"
I find myself lying on my couch, staring bemusedly at the agents in my
apartment with the First Lady pulling a blanket over me and putting the back of
her hand to my forehead before I know it.
Steven hands her the black doctor's bag and she opens it, taking out an
aural thermometer and sticking it in my ear.
"Let me guess," I say dryly. "Josh sent you."
"He's worried about you." She looks at the thermometer. "Still 104," she
mutters.
"Ma'am, I know Josh can be persuasive, but how on earth did he get you to
agree to make a house call just to check on me?" I ask.
"104 degrees is a very high fever," she says. "Josh told me how you didn't
want to go to the hospital and you had no way to get to a doctor, so I told him
I'd stop by on my way back from a panel by Mothers Against Drunk Drivers."
"That was nice of you," I say doubtfully, thinking that I'd really rather
the First Lady had just gone straight back to the White House so I could have
made it through the day without at least three agents and the wife of the most
powerful man in the world seeing me in my flannel sheep pajamas.
"Not at all," she says briskly. She gets up and goes into my kitchen, and I
belatedly hope there are no dirty dishes in the sink or anything. She comes back
with a glass of water and a wash cloth, which she gently presses to my head.
It's blessedly cool.
She looks at my throat with a penlight and then produces an instrument with
which to examine my ears. "Well, from what I can tell just from looking at you,
you don't have strep, and you don't have an ear infection." She hands me two
ibuprofen. "I want you to take these, and then take two more four hours from
now. They should help reduce your fever, but if it's not down by then, you
really ought to go to the doctor and have a throat culture taken to see if you
need antibiotics. Otherwise, drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest. You
should be back to normal in a couple of days."
I swallow the pills dutifully. "Thank you, ma'am."
She pats my hand. "I'll let you get some sleep." She gets up to leave and I
struggle to get up to see her out, but she waves me off. "Donna, don't make me
have Steven pin you to that couch. I'll see myself out."
I eye Steven warily. He looks like he's perfectly willing to attack me to
prevent me from demonstrating my good manners by seeing the First Lady to the
door, so I decide to stay put and avoid being tackled. Somehow, I don't think
that would really do much to make up for the bad manners and the embarrassing
sheep pajamas. "Have a good afternoon, Dr. Bartlet," I say resignedly.
"Thank you, Donna. Oh!" she says, spotting Josh's backpack where I left it
by the door. "Is this Josh's bag? He said he left it here. I can take it back if
you want," she offers.
"You don't have to do that," I say, trying not to express my horror at the
idea of the First Lady acting as a courier for the contents of Josh's backpack.
"I'm sure he'll be by later to pick it up."
"Don't be silly. It's no trouble," she says. "Feel better." Without further
ado, she slings the backpack over one shoulder and takes her leave, her agents
following in her wake.
I flop back on my couch and idly wonder if this day could get any more
surreal, or if I really am having fever-induced hallucinations. I watch TV for
awhile, and then I fall asleep and have a very strange dream in which Josh is
dressed as a white bunny, the President is a deck of cards, the First Lady
thinks she's a butterfly, and I'm trying to get them all to go to a meeting with
the Speaker of the House, who is a top hat. Needless to say, when I wake up, I
don't feel that I've made much progress in my distinctions.
I manage to fall asleep again (this time dreamlessly), only to be woken up
by a cool hand gently caressing my cheek.
"Hey sleepyhead," Josh says softly.
I sit up and rub my eyes sleepily. "Hi."
Josh laughs. "You know you look about five years old when you do that."
"What are you doing here?" I ask groggily. I glance at the clock. "It's two
o clock in the afternoon."
He shrugs and flashes the dimples. "Playing hooky."
"You're playing hooky?"
He smiles again. "Yep."
"You're playing hooky just so you can bother me while I'm sick?" I ask.
"Well, since you couldn't be bothered to get your lazy ass to work, I had to
get my daily fix somehow," he jokes.
"Hmmph," I mutter, trying to disguise my pleasure at the idea of Josh
skiving off work to spend time with me while I'm miserable and pathetic.
"Well, if you're going to take that tone with me, I'm not going to show you
what I brought you," he warns, and I see two plastic bags next to him on the
coffee table.
I perk up. "You brought me presents? Let me see," I demand.
He laughs and I can see he's so pleased with himself he doesn't even feel
the need to make fun of my eagerness. He pulls out a cardboard carton out of the
first bag. "Homemade chicken soup."
"You did not make soup," I say. I'm willing to believe that the President
called me at home this morning, and that the First Lady saw me in my sheep
pajamas, but there is no way in hell that my delusions have progressed to the
stage where I will believe Josh Lyman is capable of producing an edible
substance with his own two hands.
"I didn't say I made it," he says defensively. "Giuseppe made it. He sends
his love, and he says you ought to appreciate having such a kind and generous
boss who will take time out of his day to deliver soup to you."
"No he didn't," I say with certainty.
He caves. "Okay, so he said I didn't deserve you and that I shouldn't work
you so hard. But you know, potay-to, potah-to."
"Hmm. So what else did you bring me?"
He hands me the bag and I pull out three video tapes. Bringing Up Baby, His
Girl Friday, and Notorious. I look up at him. "Cary Grant?"
He shrugs. "What can I say? When I do comfort, I do it in style."
"Yes, you do," I say softly.
He smiles uncertainly and a wave of love for him washes over me. I smile at
him and he suddenly becomes very clumsy. "So what'll it be?" he asks, his voice
a little higher than normal. "Which one of these should we watch first?"
"You're staying?" I ask, surprised.
He rolls his eyes, having found a secure foothold in the conversation again.
"The whole point of playing hooky is ruined if you go back to work, Donna."
I smile at him again and he offers me a dimpled grin. "Bringing up Baby," I
decide.
"Okay." He gets up to put the movie in the VCR and struggles for a few
minutes trying to figure out how to work the machine.
I sigh heavily and drag myself off the couch. "Honestly," I growl, elbowing
him out of the way. "You are the most technologically incompetent man I've ever
met."
"I'm good at technology," he protests.
"No you're not," I tell him irritably.
"Yes I am," he insists. "I am a man, and I am good with technical things."
"It really disturbs me that they let a person capable of producing logic
like that advise the President on a daily basis," I comment, flopping back on
the couch.
He glares at me. "I brought you soup."
***
I must fall asleep again for a few minutes, because I wake up to discover
the movie rolling and Josh wedging himself between me and the back of the couch.
"Move over," he whispers. "You're hogging the couch."
I groan and move closer to the edge. "I'm mad at you," I grumble.
"You ought to be nice to me. I gave you the day off," he says, pulling me
towards him so my back is curved into his stomach, and wrapping an arm around my
waist.
Uh... this is new. Now we not only do hugs good-bye, but we cuddle on the
couch? I lay my hand over the arm wrapped around my waist. Mm, I like this even
more than the hugs good-bye. But I'm still mad at him.
"The First Lady saw me in my sheep pajamas," I mumble, tucking my head under
his chin. Yes, I can be mad at him and still enjoy his presence on the couch
next to me. I'm very good at multi-tasking. "Your fault."
He hooks his chin over my shoulder and looks at the offending pajamas.
"They're very cute."
"They're completely unprofessional," I admonish him.
"Do you have pajamas that are professional?" he wonders.
"Not the point, Joshua," I sigh sleepily.
He sighs. I can feel his chest expand next to my back. "Donna, I'm sure the
First Lady didn't expect you to answer your door in a suit while you're home
sick."
"The point, Joshua, is that I didn't expect her to be there when I answered
the door in my sheep pajamas," I mumble. "Which is your fault."
His breath warms my neck. "Okay."
I struggle to stay mad at him while he's keeping me so deliciously warm.
"The President called me at home on a Monday morning."
He gulps. "Oh? Well, he must really be concerned about you. Did you have a
nice conversation?"
"I told him to shove his legislative agenda up his ass."
"You did what?"
"That was also your fault," I tell him, nuzzling into him.
"Well, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" he says in this
amazing soft, husky voice, stroking my hair with his free hand.
Okay, I admit it. I secretly love how Josh is fussing over me. "Mm... well,
you did bring me Cary Grant."
"Cary Grant times three," he reminds me, twirling a strand of my hair in his
fingertips.
"And you picked up chicken soup from Giuseppe for me."
"That was nice of me," he agrees.
I glance at the television. Katharine Hepburn is talking to Cary Grant on a
golf course. "And you didn't completely break my VCR."
"I'm very technologically savvy."
"I suppose I might find it in my heart to forgive you," I say.
"You're too good to me, Donnatella," he says softly.
Right back at you, Joshua 


The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 14 - Sublime

Predictably, after spooning with me on the couch for two days, Josh gets sick.
The reason I become aware of this is that the minute I start feeling halfway
human again, Josh starts complaining of a sore throat and chills. Often.
"I don't feel good," Josh moans from the couch. (His couch. I made him
relocate when I went back to work).
"Poor baby. Do you want me to stay home and take care of you?" I say
sweetly.
"Yes," he says pitifully.
"Too bad," I say cheerfully. "I have to go to work."
"Donna!" he splutters. "I'm sick. I need comfort."
"Well, the last Cary Grant movie is still in your VCR. Knock yourself out."
He looks at me piteously. "Donna, Cary Grant doesn't work for me."
Of course, I go over to his house and snuggle with him on the couch after
work. Trust me, Cary Grant's got nothing on me.
Unfortunately, all too soon, our built-in excuse for snuggling is gone. Josh
is better, and he comes back to work. In fact, I think he faked his illness the
past couple of days to have an excuse to have me and lie with him on the couch.
I would be lying if I said I weren't a little eager to accept that excuse even
after his fever had obviously cleared up. Yes, I know. We're pathetic. You'd
think that two people who got so much enjoyment out of the cuddling would not
need a fabricated excuse to be in close proximity to each other, but if you
think that, then, well, you are seriously underestimating our incompetence at
interpersonal relationships.

***

Anyway, it's three weeks later, and I'm beginning to think it's time.
Neither of us is sick. The country is running relatively smoothly. We must be
close to the breaking point here. I've been waiting patiently for Josh to be in
a place where he's comfortable emotionally, surely he's ready by now. Surely
now, after all this time, he'll make a move and we'll finally be together.
Of course, I've had this thought before, and very little has ever come of
it. Snowballs at my window, people, *snowballs at my window.* All that came of
that was a very enjoyable cab ride. Which is nice, and all, but one measly cab
ride can't really keep you warm at night.
I'm distracted from my musings when a familiar voice greets me. "Donna Moss,
you are a cool drink of water," Sam says, leaning on the frame of my cubicle and
looking me up and down with a grin. "Talk about a sight for sore eyes."
"Sam!" I jump out of my chair and rush over to give him a hug. "What are you
doing here?"
"I flew in for the vote this morning, and I thought I'd stop by and say
hello before I head back to California this afternoon," he says, squeezing me
warmly.
I relax into his embrace. "I'm so happy to see you."
"DONNA! What time is- " Josh comes out of his office and stops short. His
eyes narrow as he stares at the back of Sam's head. "What the hell is going on
out here?" he asks tightly.
"Josh," I say excitedly. "Look who's here!"
Sam turns and grins at him and Josh's _expression transforms. He goes from
scowling darkly to his whole face lighting up like a little boy in the space of
two seconds. "Sam!"
They exchange one of those manly embraces that seem to involve more slapping
each other on the back than actual hugging, but when they step back they're both
grinning like idiots.
"What are you doing here?" Josh asks, his dimples out in full force. Ah, the
dimples. It's been so long. Sam should really come to visit more often.
Sam repeats his explanation, and Josh's face falls. "You're leaving this
afternoon?"
Sam nods. "Yeah. Do you think you have time for lunch before I take off?"
Josh scrubs his face with his hand and then looks at his watch. "I can't,"
he says, disappointed. "I've got senior staff in five minutes, and then I have a
meeting on the hill." He sighs. "One that I really don't want to go to."
"Why not?"
His gaze comes to rest on me. "I had other plans for the day," he says
cryptically.
"You can't get out of it?" Sam asks.
"I really can't. Believe me, I've tried."
"That's too bad."
Josh runs his hand through his hair. "You're just here for the morning?"
"Yeah, I've got a flight to catch this afternoon."
Josh looks at him for a long moment. "Come to senior staff."
"What?" Sam looks disconcerted. "Josh... are you sure that's appropriate?"
Josh shrugs. "Yeah, why not? Actually, we could use your input on some of
this stuff. The President wants to talk about environmental regulations and
trade policies in developing countries."
"But I'm not a member of the staff anymore."
"So what? Nobody will care. You know this crap backwards and forwards, which
is more than I can say for myself, and everyone will be so happy to see you they
won't mind you work for the enemy now."
"I haven't become a Republican!" Sam says indignantly.
"I meant Congress."
"Oh."
Josh laughs at him. "Come on. You can tell your press people you got actual
face time with the President today."
"Well... all right."
Josh puts his hand at the small of my back. "Let's go."
"I'm coming too?" I say in surprise.
He nods. "The President was impressed with the way you handled everything on
the health care package. He said he wants you to sit in on more senior staff
meetings so we have an extra pair of eyes and ears- so we have one more person
prepared in case we're blind-sided by something. He thinks you're good at
catching the details everyone else misses."
I flush with pleasure. "The President said that?"
"Yeah. Leo agreed."
I'm walking on air the entire way to the Oval Office. Everyone's thrilled to
see Sam, and the first half of the meeting is wonderful. It's like old times,
with Sam there, and Josh looking happy, and everyone having a lively discussion
about the practicality of developing environmental standards for other countries
to meet.
That is, until we get to the second half of the meeting, which is happening
now.
The President is waxing eloquent about changing economic conditions in
Africa and Latin America. I'm thrilled to be attending a high level meeting like
this, and normally, I would be trying to soak up every word the President
uttered, but I have a deep suspicion that this is one of those times when the
President might as well be having the meeting by himself. If anyone in this room
other than him has the faintest idea what he's talking about, I'll eat my hat.
So instead of making a fruitless effort to understand what the President is
saying, I content myself with looking over at Sam fondly. It feels so natural to
have him here meeting with the senior staff. And once the President gets started
on global environmental standards, Sam seems to forget all about what is
inappropriate and what's not, and jumps right in the fray, arguing with CJ and
Toby like he never left.
I wish he could come back for real. I miss Sam. I know Josh misses Sam. He
would be so happy if he came back.
I glance over at Josh. He has a look of contentment on his face as he
listens to Sam go off about the evilness of multi-national oil corporations and
the responsibility of the state to take action. The lines I thought were
permanently etched into his face in March are gone, and he's put most of the
weight he lost back on.
I congratulate myself for forcing him to eat properly and insisting he go to
the gym regularly. He looks good. Damn good. He's filling his suit out quite
nicely these days. Of course, that's probably not the best thing to be
reflecting on in the middle of a senior staff meeting in the Oval Office. I sigh
inwardly and look back to the President and try to untangle the mess of economic
jargon he's been spouting off for the past several minutes. You might be
thinking this is an ambitious task given the fact that I seem not to have been
paying attention for a good while now, but don't worry, I'm very good at being
attentive to the task at hand while mentally drooling over Josh. It's a skill
I've honed with many, many years of practice.
Anyway, just as I think I've finally decoded the President's economic speak
into normal human language, Josh shifts on his feet and leans distractingly
close to me. Again, I'm used to this, I'm still perfectly capable of listening
to the President. I keep my gaze fixed ahead.
He nonchalantly takes hold of my hand. My head whips around so fast I
practically give myself whiplash. I am so not focused now. What is he doing?
Okay, I should calm down. He's just holding my hand. In senior staff. In
front of Leo and the President.
Yeah... I'm not calming down.
I look down at our hands. Our hands are still and our fingers are perfectly
intertwined. They look beautiful.
My God, his hand feels good. It's warm and smooth, and strong. Did I mention
warm? I didn't even know I was cold before he covered my hand with his warm one.
I also didn't know a hand could be lonely until he took mine in his and
transformed it into something so much more complete than what it was before.
I glance around the room to see if anyone has noticed this new development.
The president is still pontificating on trade models in developing countries,
Leo is watching him warily, CJ looks like she has mentally checked out to plan
her next shopping trip at Barney's. Sam is listening to the President with rapt
attention. Toby is looking impatient. He's staring at the president
incredulously, like it's unheard of that Josiah Bartlet would go off on a
fifteen minute tangent completely unrelated to the topic at hand. He looks at
Leo for help, but Leo ignores him and doesn't take his eyes off the president.
He glances at Josh, and he freezes when he catches sight of our clasped hands.
His eyes bug out for a second, and then he looks away and mutters something
darkly to himself before returning his attention to the President with a
typically Toby-like disgruntled _expression.
I sneak a glance at Josh. He appears to be calmly giving the President his
undivided attention.
This is ridiculous. I can't hold hands with my boss in the Oval Office. It's
unprofessional.
On the other hand, I'm not exactly pulling away. Josh starts rubbing his
thumb in tiny circles on my hand and I practically melt into him. I'm gliding
towards him and my head is halfway to his shoulder before I realize what I'm
doing and jerk my head up to stare fixedly ahead again. I need to focus. I'm in
a meeting with the President of the United States. Must. Not. Cuddle.
What does this mean? Is Josh making some kind of declaration here, by
brazenly holding my hand in front of Leo, CJ, Toby and the President? And if so,
what kind of declaration?
Oh, my God. Am I fourteen years old? Because that was the last time I
remember attaching this much significance to hand holding. Not that I have
anything against hand holding. On the contrary, I've always liked hand holding.
So much so that it's actually one of my favorite parts of dating. There's
something so... intimate about holding hands.
Not that I'm actually dating Josh. Although, now that I'm thinking of it,
why is it that I constantly have to remind myself of that fact? Shouldn't it be
easier to remember you're not dating someone? After all, I have no trouble
remembering that I'm not dating Sam, or Toby, or CJ, or countless other people I
see on a day to day basis.
Of course, I don't spoon on the couch with any of those people when I'm sick
or hold hands with them in the Oval Office, either.
CJ is the next to notice Josh and me. She does a double take and then
overtly stares for a good fifteen seconds before turning her incredulous gaze to
Josh's face. Lacking a response from him, she looks to me for an explanation,
but I studiously avoid her gaze and stare determinedly at the President. I feel
her eyes boring into me, but I am resolute. This is one time the Sisterhood
comes second.
The President finally finishes his circular argument, and Leo turns to ask
Josh a question without appearing to notice he's holding his assistant's hand.
Josh answers easily, and while he's talking, the President turns his
attention to him. His eyes widen slightly and he looks down to hide a grin
before lifting his gaze again and looking at me. He winks at me, his eyes
twinkling. I flush, but can't help myself from giving him a small sheepish smile
in return.
Sam, in the meantime, interjects a couple of points in response to Josh's
comments, but if he notices anything unusual about the two of us, he gives no
sign of it.
When Josh finishes answering the question, Leo nods in satisfaction. "All
right everybody, I think that does it for today. Mr. President, is there
anything else you wanted to go over?"
The President waves dismissively at him. "Nah. Go on, get out of here."
Leo nods courteously. "Thank you, Mr. President. Everybody, we're going to
meet in my office for a few minutes to talk about the summit next week."
We file into his office, Josh releasing my hand to place his hand on the
small of my back and as we walk into the next room.
CJ immediately crosses the room to where Toby is sitting on the couch and
grabs his hand. He attempts to yank it back, but she refuses to let him go. I
groan inwardly. The Sisterhood is not sympathetic to those who betray it.
She imitates me, staring at Leo fixedly.
Leo looks back at her incredulously. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm holding Toby's hand," she announces.
Toby mutters darkly again and tries to wrestle his hand free unsuccessfully.
CJ is freakishly strong.
"Why?" Leo asks, bewildered.
"Should I not hold Toby's hand?" she says innocently. "I'm sorry, I thought
it was a new office policy that staff members should hold hands during
meetings."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Leo says crossly.
"I'm just taking my cue from my colleagues, Josh Lyman and Donna Moss over
there," she says calmly.
Leo turns his gaze to us. We're no longer holding hands, but Josh is
standing awfully close to me. I swallow nervously.
He looks back at CJ. "CJ, I swear to God, I don't have patience for this
kind of thing today. Can you explain yourself in plain English?"
"Josh and Donna were holding hands earlier; I thought Toby and I should do
the same," she says.
"Be that as it may," Leo says irritably, "Can you wait to do it until you're
not in my office?"
"Not in your office? Is handholding only acceptable in the Oval Office,
then?" she presses.
Leo looks bewildered. "In the Oval Office?"
"Yes, that's where Josh and Donna were holding hands," she informs him.
He looks at her blankly. "When?"
"Just now!"
"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs.
"Leo, they were holding hands in the Oval for like fifteen minutes! In front
of the President!" she exclaims.
He looks at her like she's crazy. "No they weren't."
She turns to Toby. "Toby, tell them."
"I want no part of this discussion," Toby declares grumpily.
"Sam?" she entreats.
"CJ," Sam says kindly. "Josh and Donna weren't holding hands."
Josh stifles a laugh and I elbow him in the ribs.
"You were looking right at them!" she cries.
Sam shakes his head. "CJ, if Josh and Donna were holding hands, don't you
think I would have noticed? I've been waiting for something like that for six
years. I think I would have noticed if they were holding hands right in front of
me."
"Oh, my God," she groans, looking over at Josh and me. "You two are such
freaks. It's so natural for you to do something like hold hands in the Oval
Office that no one even notices anything out of the ordinary."
"Are you feeling all right, CJ?" Leo says gently.
"I'm fine!" she says shrilly. She turns to Josh. "Don't you have anything to
say for yourself, Casanova?"
He grins at her, and I swear I've never seen his dimples bigger. "CJ, you
need to get out more." He glances at me and the dimples become even more
pronounced. "But Casanova... I like the sound of that. Or you know, you could
just call me the King of Woo."
Duly noted, Joshua.
"Whatever," Leo says. "Can we move on to actual matters of state?"
"Please," Toby says in a pained voice.
"Thank you," Leo says briskly. "Josh, I cancelled your meeting on the hill.
Baker withdrew H. 367."
Josh looks positively gleeful. "That's such a shame." He looks at me again,
although I'm not sure why.
Sam's beeper goes off, and he takes a look at it. "Damn," he mutters.
"What?" Leo says.
"I've got to go," he says regretfully. "My flight's been moved up."
"Oh!" CJ cries, upset. "I was hoping we could do lunch and you could
mentally transmit some of your tan to me over salad at Morton's."
Sam laughs. "Tell you what. Come visit me in L.A. next month and I'll
mentally transmit some of my tan to you over mai tais on the beach."
She kisses him on the cheek. "I like the way you think, Sunshine Man."
"Sam," Toby grunts in acknowledgment, nodding his head.
Sam opens his arms and grins. "Come here, big guy."
"Don't call me that," Toby growls, but he permits Sam to do the whole hug/
slap on the back thing, although he looks unhappy doing it.
Leo shakes his hand. "Sam. You're doing a great job, kid. I like that labor
bill you're working on. But you know, if you ever decide you want to stop
working for the enemy, you're always welcome back here. It was good to hear your
voice in there."
"For God's sake, Sam isn't a Republican, Leo," CJ says.
"I meant Congress," Leo says blandly.
Sam ignores them and kisses me on the cheek. "Always good to see you,
Donna," he says softly.
I hug him back. "You too, Sam. Come back soon, okay?"
"I'll do what I can." He turns to Josh.
Josh claps him on the back. "Good to see you, man."
"You too," Sam says, shaking his hand. He glances at me not very subtly and
lowers his voice, leaning his head closer to Josh.
"You should, you know," he says to him.
"Should what?" Josh asks.
"Hold her hand," he says, practically whispering. As though I can't hear
every word he's saying anyway. "You deserve it. You both do." I love Sam.
"That's good advice, Sam," Josh says with a straight face. It is? "I'll keep
that in mind." He will?
We are so having a conversation about this.

***

"What was all that about?" I ask after we've escaped Leo's office and CJ's
interrogation and get back to Josh's office.
He raises his eyebrows. "All what about?"
"You, holding my hand in the Oval Office," I say.
"Oh, I'm sorry, should I not have done that?" he says. "I really didn't
think you minded, what with the way you were caressing the back of my hand with
your thumb."
"That was you!" I accuse.
He grins wolfishly. "You did it, too."
"I did not," I say grumpily. I may have. As a means of consoling myself for
not being able to cuddle. "Anyway, you started it, and I want to know why."
He shrugs, a smile pulling at his lips. "I wanted to."
"You... wanted to? Why?"
"Because I was... happy."
Tears prick my eyes. "Because you were happy?"
He nods. "And because I could see your hand out of the corner of my eye, and
I wanted to hold it."
I smile shyly. "Okay."
"So... you didn't mind?"
I blush and fiddle with my necklace absently, another comforting habit. "No,
I didn't mind."
Josh's eyes fall to the locket. "You still wear that?" he asks in a shy
voice.
My hand stills. "Yeah," I say softly.
"Did I ever tell you it looks really good on you?" he says, just as softly.
My eyes meet his. "No."
"It does. It looks really, really good on you," he says. "The way the chain
rests on your collarbone... it's nice."
"My collarbone?" I say faintly.
He nods. "You have a really nice collarbone."
"Thank you," I manage, fiddling with my locket even more.
He takes a step towards me, and stills my hand over the locket with his own,
his thumb accidentally grazing my collarbone. He gently adjusts the locket
around my neck, letting his hand caress my neck when he's finished. I think I
might expire on the spot. "You know," Josh says slyly. "You and I have known
each other a long time."
"Yes," I agree.
"Six years," he clarifies, stepping closer to me.
"Right," I say warily, inching backwards a little. He has a look in his eye
I don't recognize. It's kind of... predatory.
"That's a pretty long time," he says.
"You said that," I point out.
He steps even closer and my breath hitches in my throat. "People say we have
chemistry," he says, in a low, soft voice that makes my heart do this weird
fluttery thing.
"Oh?" I say breathlessly. "What people?"
"People with eyes, Donna."
"Oh. Those people," I say dazedly. He's standing ridiculously close to me,
and I find myself feeling nervous. His hand brushes mine, once, twice; my hand
brushes his and then our fingers intertwine. I look down at them; I can see his
chest in my peripheral vision, mere inches from me, I can feel the energy
radiating from him, and - oh, dear God- I can smell him. He smells so good- I
inhale deeply, because, come on, how often do I get a chance to breathe in pure,
unadulterated Josh- and I see his chest expand in the same moment, his breathing
completely in tune with my own. We both exhale at the same time, and I feel his
breath on my ear as he breathes out with a contented sigh.
I look up, surprised to find him even closer than before. His head is bent
forward, and he's breathing softly, his breath fluttering my hair, and he's
looking straight at me.
Oh, my God, I can feel that look through the back of my spine and down to
the bottom of my toes. This is... those looks of incredible longing have nothing
on this look.
He squeezes my hand. His gaze falls to my mouth, and mine falls to his; our
heads incline towards each other in mutual understanding, and then we're bending
our heads together and I realize I'm about to kiss Joshua Lyman.
I want to keep my eyes open because I want to know what he looks like when
he's kissing me, but when his lips find mine, my eyes close of their own
volition and I'm lost in the sensation of kissing Josh.
His mouth is hot against mine, but the kiss is warm and gentle. His taste is
at once familiar to me and better than I ever imagined. Our hands are clasped
tightly together, and our mouths move together both sweetly and insistently.
It's slow and amazing, and then we break apart, dazed.
We stare at each other, mesmerized, and then a flash of realization ignites
the air between us because oh my God we're kissing and Josh grabs me around the
waist and my arms wind around his neck and we meet in the middle, our mouths
crashing against each other and our bodies molding together like they were meant
to stay like this forever.
Josh's hand is buried in my hair, and mine is clutching at his collar where
the curls grow over it at the back, and our bodies are pressed together chest to
stomach to hip to leg, and apparently that's not close enough, because the kiss
gets deeper, and hotter, and I can feel his hand at the small of my back, on my
neck, on my cheek, and my own finger tracing his ear, his neck, his chest,
because there's nothing in the world that could possibly be better than this
kiss.
It's dynamic, it's sublime, it's consuming, and I honestly think we could do
this forever.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Author's notes: Okay, so I know CJ acts very strangely throughout this entire
chapter, and I promise, I haven't made her a victim of split personality
disorder. There are supposed to be several chapter after this that explain why
she reacts to J/D the way she does, but unfortunately, I haven't finished them,
and this is where I've done a rush job to baste the whole thing together so it
seems complete. Hopefully, CJ acting strangely is the most noticeable result of
this effort.


Chapter 15 - Josh's Moment of Brilliance

We are so wrapped up in each other neither of us hears the door open. We
can't help but notice what happens next, however.
"Have you gone insane?" CJ yells, slamming the door shut behind her. Josh
and I jump away from each other faster than I would have thought humanly
possible. She shakes her head. "Never mind, don't answer that."
"It's not what it looks like," Josh begins. I groan. Of all the stupid
things to say at this moment-
"Oh really?" CJ says snidely. "Because what it looks like is that the Deputy
Chief of Staff is making out with his assistant in his office in THE WHITE
HOUSE."
Josh swallows. "Well, all right. Technically, it is what it looks like. But
when you say it like that it sounds cheap and tawdry." Way to recover lost
ground there, genius.
CJ pinches the bridge of her nose. "How long has this been going on?"
I glance at the clock. "About three and a half minutes."
"Not that- this," CJ says exasperatedly, waving her hand back and forth in
the space between Josh and me. Josh looks confused, but I understand her
meaning.
"About three and a half minutes," I repeat.
She stares at me in disbelief. "You're kidding."
"Nope," I reply.
"So you aren't..." she gestures suggestively.
"No."
"And you haven't..."
"No."
"Unbelievable."
Josh glares at her. "CJ, you're the one chastising us for kissing, and
you're saying you don't believe we've never had sex before?"
"It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that it's unbelievable. You've
really never even kissed before?"
"No," Josh says forcefully. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"Yes."
"CJ!"
She shrugs. "I'm just saying. Never? Not even a friendly peck? Not even a
drunken smooch?"
Could we have gotten away with that? Could we have taken advantage of the
presence of alcohol on numerous occasions, and been too dumb to try it? We are
too stupid to live. "No," I say shamefacedly, and then am immediately irritated
that I am embarrassed that I never kissed my boss before today. Who am I
kidding? Once we got started, there's no way we could have stopped things at an
innocent kiss. There was a reason for all that subconscious denial.
CJ shakes her head. "Unbelievable. You two really are as clueless as you
look."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Josh demands.
"Well, I always figured that you two had come to some sort of... physical
resolution at some point, and then calmly and rationally decided that it would
be a catastrophically bad idea for both of you for things to continue while you
both worked at the White House."
"You thought what?" Josh bellows.
"When has Josh ever been calm and rational about anything?" I ask CJ, with a
pointed glance at Josh.
"That's a good point. But really. Everyone knows you're bonkers about each
other. All that chemistry and you never acted on it? I would have thought you
would have reached a boiling point long ago. Too bad I was wrong, because you
missed your chance. There can in no circumstances be sex in the future." CJ says
decisively.
"What?" I may have shrieked that. Josh breaks into a self-satisfied grin
when he hears the horror in my voice that results from hearing that I can never
have sex with this man I've adored for six years and have recently discovered is
the best damn kisser on the planet. "Shut up," I tell him with a glare. If he
had any decency, he would be appropriately horrified about being denied what
would be the best sex of his life instead of acting smug because he knows I want
him.
"This relationship can't continue," CJ reiterates.
"Why not?" Josh asks petulantly. That's more like it. I mean, it's a stupid
question, but the spirit is right.
CJ rolls her eyes. "Josh, if you didn't already know the answer to that
question, would it have taken you six years to make a move?"
Damn. Six years is a long time. CJ's right. I can't believe it took us this
long either.
CJ continues. "From a media perspective, a relationship between you two is a
horrible idea. It makes the President look bad. It's going to look like he
condones the sexual harassment of female employees in the White House. It's
going to look like he's letting two White House staffers have an illicit affair
on the tax payer's dime.
"For you two, it's going to look a lot worse. Josh, you're going to look
like the worse sort of sleazy, amoral politician there is. People are going to
think you used your position of power to take advantage of an innocent girl in a
subordinate position. Fifty women you've never heard of before are going to sue
you for sexual harassment.
"Donna, no offense, but people are going to call you a bimbo, a slut, and a
whore who slept her way into the White House."
"Gee, CJ, why would I take offense at that?" I say sarcastically.
"You know that's not my opinion. I'm just telling you what consequences you
could realistically expect to face if you allowed your relationship to
progress," CJ says grimly. "You could both lose your jobs, you'd be out of
commission in terms of careers in politics. Do you really want that to happen?"
"Of course not," I tell her. "Josh would be miserable if he couldn't work in
politics."
"There is a solution," CJ says.
"What?" Josh asks.
"We get Donna transferred. She can work in another department."
"No way," Josh says flatly. I partly agree with him, but am also annoyed
that he kills all our chances of sex so easily.
"I'd never get to see her," he continues. My annoyance vanishes, replaced by
a warm mushy feeling. He's willing to give up the possibility of sex with me in
order to spend time with me. That is so sweet. I take a look at him. Misguided,
but sweet. I'd quit in a second if I could take him home right now.
But if I quit then when he left in the morning I wouldn't be able to go with
him, and then I wouldn't see him again until late at night. And then the next
day I still wouldn't get to go with him and I wouldn't get to talk to him until
late at night. I sigh, and remember why six years isn't such a long time, after
all. The time passes quickly when you wake up every morning excited to go to
work because not only is it interesting and exciting and meaningful, they pay
you to banter for sixteen hours a day with the person you love most in the
world.
Of course, now that I know for a fact what a good kisser he is, three years
seems like an eternity to go without finding out what else he's good at. There
has got to be another option.
"There's no other option," CJ says.
"We couldn't just keep things under wraps?" I ask.
"What are you going to do when someone finds out about it and reporters
start asking if you're having an affair? Tell them you're not and never have
been ass-backwards in love with each other?" CJ demands.
I shrug. "Why not?"
"No. There's no way I'm denying that if someone asks me," Josh says angrily.
I look at him, entranced. Did he just say what I think he just said?
"Okay, so you agree that you can't get involved in a relationship while you
work here?" CJ prompts.
"We're already involved in a relationship," I point out.
"I know that, but the press doesn't care as long as you're not having sex.
No one wants to write about that. That's boring."
Tell me about it. Three years. That's a depressingly long time.
"I have an idea," Josh announces. I look at him hopefully. "CJ, the whole
problem is that Donna and I having a relationship would look cheap and amoral to
the press, right?"
"Essentially, yes," CJ says.
"Well, I know how we can avoid the appearance of impropriety."
"How?" CJ wants to know.
He grins. "We'll get married."
"What?" Okay, I definitely shrieked that time. "Are you crazy?"
The mastermind behind the secret plan to fight inflation actually has the
nerve to look wounded. "You don't want to?"
"You're out of your mind," I tell him flatly.
"Actually," CJ says slowly, "that might not be such a bad idea."
I stare at her disbelievingly. "Hello? CJ? The sisterhood would like a word.
You're telling a man that informing a woman that she is going to marry him- for
political expediency- is an acceptable course of action. The sisterhood says
you've lost your mind, too."
She glares at me. "Fine. If you don't want to have sex for three years,
that's no skin off my nose."
"How about kissing?" I wheedle. "We can be discreet enough for kissing."
"Donna, I caught you in the middle of your first kiss ever. How discreet is
that?"
"It's not our fault no one ever taught you how to knock," I grumble.
"You don't want to marry me?" Josh asks, still sounding wounded.
I ignore him. "I think you two are making more of this than it is. I mean,
who really cares about the Deputy Chief of Staff?" Josh looks insulted. I
continue. "If people were going to start rumors about us, wouldn't they have
done it already? I mean, people see us at bars together. He shows up at my
apartment at strange hours of the night when he's drunk. We've spent Christmas
together. I didn't leave his side for three months after he got shot." I trail
off. God, we are obvious. How could we even kid ourselves that nothing was going
on? We might as well have 'Fools in love' tattooed on our foreheads.
Josh and CJ exchange glances. "Actually," Josh says slowly. "There are
rumors about us."
I look at him dazedly. "There are? How do you know?"
"Amy told me," he admits.
"Amy? Your girlfriend Amy told you that?" I say, panicking. She wouldn't
have used me not answering her when she asked me if I was in love with him as a
reason to start a rumor about us, would she? Would she?
"Ex-girlfriend," he reminds me. God bless him for that. "And she wasn't my
girlfriend at the time. She told me that before we ever got together."
"Huh." That's a relief. Sort of. I think things would be better if I didn't
think about Amy right now. And the fact that no one ever told her she couldn't
have sex with Josh.
I need to focus. "Anyway, the point is, if everyone already thinks we're
together, why can't we actually, you know, be together?"
"Because no one knows for sure how together you are, and how often. All this
needs to blow up in your faces is a picture of you two kissing or something."
"Well, we wouldn't go into the press room for a make out session, or
anything," I offer generously.
CJ glares at me. "Need I remind you about Sam and his call girl friend? And
all he was doing was giving her a briefcase!"
I don't respond. Because really, what is there to say to that?
I should have known Josh would think of something to say to that. "So
really, the best idea we've got so far is mine," he states. He actually thinks
this is logical. The bad thing is, CJ seems to be unconsciously nodding her head
slightly. I ignore her.
I glare at him. "No, Josh. The worst idea we've had so far is yours."
"Why? What's so bad about it?" Josh demands.
"You think announcing we're getting married without consulting me is a good
idea?"
He shrugs. "So I'm consulting you now. Don't you think it's a good idea? Now
that I'm consulting you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm not getting married to you because it looks good. Do you hear what
you're saying? You want to get married because it will prevent the appearance of
impropriety? That hardly makes a girl feel loved and cherished, Josh."
He meets my eyes. "I cherish you," he says quietly.
Right. So it's important that I keep talking about why I don't want to marry
him. Helps me remember the reasons in moments of weakness, such as this one.
"This is crazy. Being in love and being in a relationship are two very different
things. There's a lot more responsibility involved in a romantic relationship
than the one we have now."
"Like what?" Josh prompts.
For a minute I don't respond. I'm too busy thinking that the only real
change in our relationship would be that I would get to touch him whenever I
wanted.
"Like, we'll take care of each other in sickness and in health?" he presses.
"'Cause I believe you mentioned already the fact that you have nursed me back to
health when I was on the brink of death, when I was on the brink of insanity,
and even when I'm really, really drunk." He pauses. "Donna, I know I'm bad at
stuff like this. I'm an asshole half the time. And I know these past few months
have been... difficult for us. But I've loved you for ages, and if you were
hurt, I would cut my own heart out if it would make you better."
Like I was saying. Keep talking. "This is absurd. One kiss and you expect me
to sign up for a lifetime? I mean, I don't even know if you're good in bed."
He grins wolfishly. "Trust me. I am." I feel myself grow warm under the
intensity of his gaze. Well, it's not like I really had any doubts about that
anyway.
"Still. I should be wooed. You should have to work for this. I'm not just
going to agree to marry you and have it turn out that you were acting on a whim.
Who would believe it anyway? Who gets married after one kiss, without even
dating?"
He grins. "You sound so silly when you say the word, 'wooed.'"
"So do you," I say haughtily.
"What else do you want to know about me that you could find out from a date?
My favorite color?"
"Your favorite color is green," I say absently.
"I'm not acting on a whim, Donna. I really want this."
"Yeah, but what about how you treat me? Are you going to have trouble not
treating me like an assistant?"
"Do I treat you like an assistant now?"
"You order me around."
"You order me around. The only difference is, sometimes I listen to you."
I hesitate. "How do I know I can trust you? Every relationship you've ever
been in you've screwed up somehow. How do I know you won't do something stupid
that will mess everything up like those relationships?"
He looks at me seriously. "Because I wasn't in love when I was in those
relationships." Oh. Okay. He goes on. "I can guarantee you that I will keep
doing stupid things. I will probably even hurt you. If you were smart, you would
head for the hills right now. But I will fight to keep you in my life with all
the strength I possess. A day without you would be like poison in the air. I
love you with every breath that I take."
Shit. My defenses have been obliterated without a trace. I think I'm crying.
It's hard to be sure when my eyes are all blurry like this. "Oh fuck. Fine, I'll
marry you."
The dimples come out. Dazzlingly, I might add. "Really?"
I smile through my tears. "Any chance of getting those skis as a wedding
present?"
He grins confidently. "No way."
"If you think this means I'm bringing you coffee in the morning, you should
get out now," I warn.
He moves closer to me. "How about we go to Hawaii for our honeymoon?" he
whispers in my ear.
"Guys?" CJ says. I sort of forgot she was there. "Donna's right. You can't get
married."
"CJ, you've missed a step. She just agreed," Josh says, his eyes not leaving
mine.
"No, you can't get married now. Donna's right. No one would believe this.
People will assume if you're getting married that you've been hiding something
all this time."
"CJ," I groan. "Why the hell didn't you bring this up when I was convinced
what a bad idea it was?"
She shrugs. "I'm a romantic. I couldn't help myself. You guys are so cute."
"I hate you," I tell her.
"I'm just trying to help," she tells me.
"Name one thing you have done here that has been helpful," I say.
"I haven't told one person you were making out with your boss in the White
House," she says.
I scowl at her.
"Listen, I'm on your side here. I think you guys are great together. But
it's my job to protect the President, and you, from any media fallout. So you
have to do what I tell you," she says.
Grr. "Fine," I say.
"Josh?" she asks.
Josh is staring at me with a goofy grin on his face as he answers her.
"Okay. Whatever you say."
CJ nods in satisfaction. "Okay. Donna, you made a good point. You guys can't
get married immediately. And you can't have sex until you get married. I want
Mary Marsh herself to hold you up as an example of good, old-fashioned
morality."
"We don't even get a test run? This is so unfair," I complain.
"Of course it's unfair. If it were fair, none of this would be an issue at
all. But we live in a sexist, sex-obsessed society, so you're stuck with the
rules I give you," CJ says.
"How long do we have to wait?" Josh asks.
CJ hesitates. "Six months."
"Six months!" I explode.
"Six months til you announce the engagement, another six months til the
wedding," she clarifies.
"No way."
She glares at me. "One year is a lot shorter than four, Donna."
"Two months each," I say stubbornly.
She considers. "Five months for the engagement, four months for the
wedding."
"Three months for the engagement, two months for the wedding," I counter.
"Four months for the engagement, three months for the wedding."
"Four months and two, and we have an out-of-town wedding."
She sticks out her hand. "Deal." I shake it. Yes! Only six more months til I
get to have sex with Josh!
I glance over at him again. Oh, hell. Six months is such a criminally long
time. But, I remind myself, it's not as long as three years. Also, I'm not above
cheating, so six months might not be such a long time after all.
Josh looks incredibly amused. He grins at me. "Do you have any idea how hot
you are when you are fighting for your right to have sex with me, Donnatella?"
Oh great, the ego has returned. Like it ever left in the first place. Even
that romantic crap probably fit somehow into Josh's perception of himself as Don
Juan. I have to do some damage control, or he'll be impossible. I glare at him.
"I am not fighting to have sex with you, per se. It's my right to have sex in
general. I am a woman in her prime, and I have needs. If you weren't such a
slave driver, maybe I would have time to go out with other men and save myself
all this effort. But as it is, I suppose I'm stuck with you."
Josh opens his mouth to retort, but CJ hastily cuts in. "All right, now that
we've got that straightened out, we need a plan. The trick is to make it look
like we're not hiding anything. The best way to do that- " here she gives each
of us a pointed look, "- is for there to be nothing to hide. So don't think you
can cheat on the sex thing."
Damn her. "How about kissing?" I plead, trying to keep the desperation out
of my voice in hopes of deterring Josh's ego from swelling even more. "There can
be kissing, right?" I may not have succeeded there.
"Kissing is acceptable," CJ agrees. "But not in the office and no tongues in
public. I will be stopping by unannounced when you least expect it to enforce
these provisions."
"The next part of the plan is this: to convince people you're not hiding
anything, you two should be as visible as possible," CJ continues.
I perk up at this. "So there will be wooing? Fancy dinners out on the town?
Dancing? "
"Yes," she says.
I turn to Josh, grinning. "Ha, ha, you have to woo me!" I taunt.
"Why should I woo you? You're already a sure thing," he protests.
"Keep talking like that, and I can tell you one thing you can be sure of," I
say threateningly, lifting up the stapler on the desk menacingly so he'll catch
my meaning.
Josh eyes the stapler warily and backs down. "All right, all right. I'll
woo."
"Good."
He looks at me thoughtfully. "Wooing isn't exclusive to the before-marriage
portion of a relationship, is it?"
"No," I say slowly.
"So, you're saying I can woo just as much after we get married as before we
get married?"
I raise my eyebrows at him. "You'd sure as hell better woo after we get
married, or the deal's off."
"Oh, I definitely plan to woo after marriage," he assures me. "I'm mentally
planning about fifty years of wooing in my head as we speak. But there's a lot
of wooing I can think of, and I'm not sure I can fit it all into fifty years. So
I might need a little head start on the after-marriage woo."
"What are you saying Josh?"
"Let's get married this weekend," he says.
I blink and CJ looks at him like he's crazy. Did he not hear that entire
conversation? You know, with CJ and the yelling? "Josh, we just talked about
this," CJ says in the kind of voice you use on an extremely simple child.
"I heard you," Josh says. "But bottom line, CJ? This has been a long time
coming, and it's not something I'm willing to compromise on. I appreciate your
concern and I value your advice, but it's our lives."
"Oh, gag me," CJ says in disgust. "I'm leaving now."
"Okay," Josh says eagerly. I think he's wanting to get back to the kissing.
I give CJ a bright smile meant to encourage her along. What? I want to get
back to the kissing too. I want a little preview of the woo.
CJ stands in the door, but she doesn't leave. "Donna?" she says expectantly.
CJ, it seems, is not so eager for us to get back to the kissing. She's waiting
for me to follow her.
I sigh, resigned. "Coming." I follow her out the door. I'll just come back
later and remember to lock the door this time.
"That door better not be closed at any time today unless you are on this
side of it." CJ says without turning around, as she marches down the hall back
towards her office.

***

It's been two hours. I think I could make a break for it. I lean over and
glance towards CJ's office for about the twentieth time. I peer down the hall
and see CJ look up and fix me with an eerily knowing stare over the top of her
glasses.
"Donnatella Moss!" I jump at the sound of Josh's voice and almost fall out
of my chair. I get up hastily and scurry into his office. I leave the door open.
"Is Inspector Clouseau still keeping watch?" Josh asks when I come in.
I nod, pointedly keeping myself in CJ's line of sight. Josh sighs. "Okay."
"Did you need anything?" I ask.
He looks at me hungrily. "Yes."
Is it warm in here? I flush. "Um, did you need anything work-related?"
He pouts. He actually pouts. "No."
"Okay. I'd better get back to work now," I say hesitantly.
"All right," he says, sounding defeated.
I go back out into the bullpen. CJ's still looking at me. I give her a
half-hearted wave and sit down at my desk, feeling dejected. This is so unfair.
Josh and I are adults. We ought to be able to sit down and have an adult
conversation about our future together without the White House Press Secretary
watching our every move. An adult conversation or, you know, at least a quick
game of tonsil hockey.
I twirl a pen in my hand thoughtfully. We could leave, I suppose, but I have
a feeling CJ has planned for that contingency. The last thing I want is for Josh
and I to be tackled by the Secret Service on our way out of the White House and
placed in separate holding cells.
Well, maybe we can just outwait her. I mean, she's got to leave to do a
briefing at some point right? I glance at my watch. Her next briefing isn't
until six. Between then and now, she doesn't have anything to do except to make
sure Josh and I stay away from each other.
I sit up, suddenly struck by inspiration. She'll be happy if we aren't
together, right? And she can't watch both of us at once if we're not together.
So I'll leave. It's all about misdirection.
I get up and start walking, striding purposefully towards the press briefing
room. And as luck would have it, I see just the person I'm looking for sitting
with his laptop. The one person who has the power to annoy CJ even more than
Josh and I. "Danny," I say with a smile.
He looks up and grins. "Hey Donna. What's happening?"
I cut to the chase. "I need you to distract CJ for me."
"Okay," he says affably. "Why?"
"I can't tell you."
"All right," he says. "What do you want me to do?"
I shrug. "I don't know. Call her and tell her you need to see her right
away. Tell her you have a source saying the administration supports government
military subsidies of big oil or something."
"Does the administration support government military subsidies of big oil?"
"How should I know? I just need you to convince her to talk to you for about
twenty minutes. A half an hour would be better, but twenty minutes would be
great."
"Okay," Danny says, picking up his jacket and moving to put it on.
I grab his arm. "What are you doing?"
He looks at me like I'm crazy. "I'm going to see CJ."
"No, no, the whole point is that she has to come to you," I say,
exasperated. Doesn't he know anything?
He sits back down. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"
"I promise, Danny, I'll tell you all about it later. Right now, I need you
to annoy CJ to an extent where she feels it necessary to berate you in person."
"Well, like all self-respecting men, I enjoy being berated by tall,
beautiful women for no reason."
I knew he'd see sense. "Good." I wait expectantly.
He glances at me. "So I should call her."
"Yes."
He obediently takes out his phone and calls CJ and I listen impatiently
while he works his journalistic magic. Soon enough, I hear CJ screeching loudly
over the phone and Danny and I both wince as he holds the phone away from his
ear. He covers the phone with his hand. "You owe me," he says.
"I know. Thanks Danny, you're the best," I say gratefully. "I won't forget
this."
I go out and hide until I'm certain CJ has had time to make it to the
briefing room to see Danny, and then I hightail it back to the bullpen. Josh is
pacing by my desk. "Where have you been?" he demands. "CJ left her post and you
were gone!" he accuses.
I grab him by the tie and pull him into his office. "I know, you can thank
me later," I say, slamming the door shut behind us and pressing him up against
the wall. I kiss him enthusiastically, and when I pull away he looks a little
dazed. "Boy, you sure can bring the woo," he says dreamily.
He settles his hands at my waist and kisses me lightly. "So what are you
doing this weekend?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say hopefully. "What about you?"
"Let's get married," he says.
I frown. "You said that before."
"I know. I'm saying, let's get married this weekend."
I step back. "You really want to get married this weekend? That's only two
days away."
"Yeah," he says happily.
I look at him suspiciously. "You aren't thinking of getting married in Las
Vegas, are you? Cause let me tell you, that's not gonna happen."
He shudders. "God, no. I was thinking Cape Cod."
I fiddle with my locket. "What's the rush? Don't you want to woo me?" I say,
hating how insecure I sound.
"Very much," he confirms.
"So why don't we wait? I think it might be good for us to have a little time
to adjust to being together before we jump into marriage."
His face falls. "Oh. Well, we can wait if you want to."
God, he looks heartbroken. I take his hand. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he says unconvincingly.
"Josh? Why is it so important to you that we get married this weekend
instead of a few months from now?"
"It's just... we've waited for so long. Normal people date for months so
they can figure out what they want. I know what I want." He fidgets. "And... it
may be possible that I'm afraid if we wait you might change your mind," he says,
looking so vulnerable I just want to cradle him in my arms.
Hey, I can do that now! I wrap my arms around him and rock him back and
forth. "I'm not going to change my mind," I whisper in his ear.
He buries his face in my neck. "Are you sure?"
I lean back. "Yes, I'm sure. I want to marry you, and there's no reason for
us to wait. We should go ahead and get married this weekend."
His face lights up. "Really?"
"Yup." If it's that important to him, I can put my misgivings aside. Like
that he'll change his mind. And I mean, come on, a lifetime of making love with
Josh Lyman? Sign me up. Plus, I'm really eager to find out what Josh's fifty
year plan of woo entails.
The door bursts open and CJ stands in the doorway, glaring at us. "What the
hell are you doing now?" she demands, taking note that Josh and I haven't
bothered to step away from each other this time.
"He proposed again," I inform her.
She looks at me. "And?"
"We're going up to Cape Cod this weekend to get married," I tell her.
"You're really going through with this?" she asks the two of us.
"We really are," I confirm. Josh wraps his arm around my waist and I lean
into him a bit.
"What's your hurry?" she wants to know.
I shrug. "It's not exactly that we're in a hurry. It's just- well, there's
really only one way I can think to explain it. When I think about Josh, I think
of myself beside him. I've felt that way for a long time. The feeling isn't much
different today than it was yesterday or a year ago, and I don't think it's
going to change any more tomorrow than it will six months or six years from now.
So the question isn't so much why now, as why not now?" I finish.
"Oh," CJ sniffs. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," she says.
I hand her some tissues off of Josh's desk.
"Dammit," Josh mutters. "Why couldn't I have said that? That's such a great
chick line. I could have scored some major points with that one."
I glare at him. "Yeah, you're a little behind on the woo factor, Mr.
Romance."
"Wait til the honeymoon," he says. "I'll woo your socks off."
"That's so typically you," I say derisively. "Equating sex with romance."
He raises his eyebrows. "Don't most people equate sex with romance?"
I open my mouth to retort, and am interrupted by CJ laughing so loudly I'm
afraid she'll do herself serious injury. "You're right," she gasps, clutching
her sides. "You are already married. You two have been like this since the day
you met. It's just like you've just become consciously married in the past
couple of hours. That's," (guffaw) "the funniest thing I've ever heard of."
Josh leans over to me. "Is it just me?" he asks, bemused. "Or is CJ, like,
all over the map with all of this?"
"She's definitely acting weird," I say, looking at the tissues clenched in
her hands as she continues to shake with mirth. "She doesn't seem to be able to
make up her mind about the two of us."
"Do you get the impression that we're like the parents of an unruly child
here, or something?" he whispers.
"Uh-huh," I say distractedly. I couldn't really focus on what he was saying
when his breath is hitting my ear like that.
"You can stop whispering," CJ announces. She seems to have recovered from
her laughing fit. "I can hear everything you're saying anyway."
Josh clears his throat. "Fine. Ah, Donna, can you get me the stuff on
Brader?"
"Nope," I say cheerfully, picking up my bag. "I'm taking the afternoon off."
"What?" he exclaims. "You can't take the afternoon off, I need you here if
we're going to be ready to leave on Friday."
"You're just going to have to deal. I'm going shopping."
"Shopping!" he looks practically apoplectic.
"I need a wedding dress. We're getting married in forty-eight hours. There
isn't a moment to lose. I'll be lucky if I can find a white potato sack that
fits in that amount of time," I tell him.
He puffs out his cheeks and exhales. "Fine. But be back in an hour."
I just laugh. "Keep dreaming, Joshua. I'm taking the afternoon off."
"Okay," he says grudgingly. "Come back when you're done, though."
"Don't wait up," CJ says. "We'll probably be a few hours."
Josh turns to her incredulously. "You're going with her? What for?"
CJ shrugs. "I get to go shopping in the middle of the week."
I kiss Josh on the cheek. "Have fun at work, Joshua."
"Evil woman," he mutters.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 16 - Josh's Revenge

It doesn't take me long to find a dress, surprisingly enough. I decide on a
simple white cocktail dress, and get out of the department store for under two
hundred dollars. CJ approves the dress and spends that much on a pair of shoes,
so I congratulate myself for staying under budget on the dress. I can't say the
same thing about Victoria's Secret, but that's okay, I rationalize, because
everything from there is really more for Josh, and I put it on his credit card.
Somehow I doubt I'll hear any complaints from him.
When I get back to the west wing, I breeze into Josh's office. He jumps up
as though he's been waiting for me and grabs his coat as I set down my purchases
in the corner of the room. "I'm going out," he says. "I'll be back in a little
while."
"Okay," I say amiably.
About an hour later I'm standing at my desk when I hear his unmistakable
voice behind me.
"Think fast." I look up to see a small dark object hurtling towards my head.
I grab it before it has a chance to do any major damage and glare at Josh. Only
he would think it's perfectly acceptable behavior to practically give his
fianc‚e a black eye two days before the wedding. My glare has its usual effect.
He just grins at me in a self-satisfied manner.
I glance down at the object in my hand. It's a small, black, velvet box. I
look at it for a second before logic kicks in and I realize what this must be. I
look up at my future husband, who, by the way, still has an incredibly smug grin
on his face. "Josh..."
He just grins even wider. "Well? Aren't you going to open it?"
I dutifully turn my attention back to the box and open it slowly, as though
I'm afraid its contents will leap out and bite me. When I finally get it open I
just stare. And then I stare some more. And then, just for good measure, I stare
a little longer.
What I see before me is, put quite simply, the most beautiful ring I've ever
seen. It's... amazing. The diamond isn't flashy or overly large, but it is
extremely finely cut and the setting, while simple, is incredibly elegant. I
could never have imagined or envisioned a ring like this, but now that I've seen
it, if I was given my choice of every ring in the world, this is the one I would
choose. I stare at it some more.
Josh clears his throat and I look up. "Ah, Donna? You planning on saying
something some time soon?"
"Josh..." I whisper, and look back down at the ring.
"Well? Are you going to put it on or what?" he asks.
I nod dumbly, removing the ring from the box and placing it on my finger. I
gaze down at my hand, completely riveted. I can't help myself. If I thought the
ring was beautiful before, it's nothing compared to the way it looks on my hand.
It's as though my hand were made to wear this ring, as though the ring was
specifically designed with me in mind.
"It looks good on you," he says softly.
I look up at him. "Josh, where did you get this ring?"
He grins. "A cracker jack box."
I shake my head. "Josh. I'm serious. Was this something of your mother's?"
"No," he says. "I just went out and bought it now."
"Josh, you were only gone forty-five minutes!" I say, frustrated.
"So?" he says.
"Josh," I say, a warning in my voice.
He's starting to look really alarmed when CJ strolls up and greets us
cheerfully. "What's happening, my little chickadees?"
I wordlessly lift up my left hand so she can see the ring. Her eyes widen
and she grabs my wrist, pulling my hand towards her for inspection. She lets out
a low whistle. "Damn, Josh, what'd you do, knock over a bank?"
Josh shrugs uncomfortably. "I found it on the ground."
"Josh, it takes most people weeks and weeks of searching to find the right
engagement ring," I say. "This ring... it's as though someone has taken every
thought and feeling I've ever had about you and poured it into this ring.
There's no way you found this ring at a jeweler's down the street in under an
hour."
CJ watches us curiously while Josh shrugs. "What can I say? It was in the
first store I went into."
"Joshua," I say with gritted teeth. "Tell me how you found this ring."
He takes a look at my face and evidently realizes I'm serious about this,
because he swallows nervously. "Well, I- " his voice suddenly goes all funny and
high and he clears his throat. "Um, that is to say..."
"Spit it out, Josh," CJ interjects.
"Er... well, here's the thing. About a year ago, Donna was mad at me
because, I don't know, I made fun of something she said, or something and I
was... I was in kind of a bad mood, so I decided to take a walk. Anyway, I'd
been walking for about an hour and a half when I realized that I'd been walking
around in circles and that I kept stopping in front of this jewelry store for
some reason. I kept walking, but I couldn't figure out why I kept stopping in
front of this stupid store. About the fifth time around, I realized I kept
stopping in the same spot, right in front of the window. And there was this ring
that kept catching my eye. I kept walking, but I kept coming back to that stupid
ring. So finally I stopped and I started to get really annoyed. I just kept
thinking if you knew, if you had any idea, how I felt about you, you wouldn't be
making my life a living hell for one stupid remark I made. I was staring at this
ring, and I was thinking about what you would do if I just
gave it to you out of the blue. I was thinking, 'Wow, wouldn't that just shut
her up? Wouldn't that just leave her speechless? No more complaints about what
an insensitive boss I was. Nope, she wouldn't have any idea what to say.
Wouldn't that be the perfect way to get back at her?'"
CJ and I stare at him. I say slowly, "Let me get this straight. You were
depressed because I was annoyed with you, and then even though we weren't dating
and never talked about how we felt about each other, you decided to pick out an
engagement ring for me as some kind of revenge?"
He looks at me sheepishly. "Well... yeah."
This declaration is followed by about five seconds of stunned silence, and
then CJ bursts out laughing and I burst into tears.
"You're pathetic," CJ chortles.
Josh looks torn between glaring at her and looking at me with concern.
"Donna?" he asks anxiously. "What's wrong?"
"You really do want to marry me!" I wail.
He looks exasperated. "Well, of course I do. What did you think, that I was
going to drag you to the altar and then say, 'Ha ha, just kidding?'"
"Well," I sniff. "Maybe a little."
He comes towards me and puts his arms around me. "There isn't anything I
want to do more than marry you," he says, dropping a light kiss on my lips.
Well, I'll be damned. It looks like the man finally learned how to woo.
He checks his watch. "Come on, let's go tell Leo."
"Now?" I ask nervously.
"Yeah, we have to ask him for time off."
This strikes me as incredibly strange, and I find myself nodding. "Yeah.
Time off." To get married. Weird.
He squeezes my hand. "Don't worry."
"He's not going to be mad?" I ask.
"Nah. Leo will be happy for us," he says.
You know, that would have been reassuring if his voice hadn't gone
freakishly high at the end there.
***
Five minutes later, we're waiting anxiously outside Leo's door while
Margaret knocks quietly.
"Leo?" Margaret says. "Josh and Donna are here to see you."
We go into Leo's office together, and I don't know about Josh, but I don't
think I've ever been so nervous in my life. Leo doesn't look up at Margaret's
announcement, so Josh and I wait patiently while he finishes reading the last
few pages of the briefing memo he's looking at. Well, patiently might not be
exactly the right word, as we both start fidgeting more and more the longer it
takes Leo to notice us. Finally, Josh reaches over and takes my hand in his-
whether to calm me down or him, I don't know. I look at him, alarmed, and try to
pull my hand away. What is he doing? We need to break the news subtly and
gently, not skip straight to gratuitous public displays of affection. I tug
harder but he grips my hand firmly and doesn't let go.
Of course, this is the point where Leo finally registers our presence and
looks up to see us engaged in what I'm sure looks like some sort of bizarre arm
wrestling act.
He raises his eyebrows. "Is this some kind of new secret handshake or
something?"
Josh finally lets go and our hands fall to our sides. "Um, not exactly,"
Josh says, flustered. Perversely, now that it's gone, I kind of miss the
reassurance of his hand in mine.
Leo shakes his head. "Forget it, I don't want to know. What do you guys have
for me on 802?"
Josh looks panicked, but continues doggedly ahead. "Actually, we're not here
about 802."
"Yeah, okay." Leo sighs. "What's up?"
Josh looks at me for help, but I look back at him with a stony _expression.
This was his brilliant idea. This is on him.
Seeing he's on his own, he sighs and turns back to Leo. "Yeah, well, here's
the thing. Um. You see, there's kind of a thing. You know, not a bad thing. A
good thing. A very good thing." He trails off and lapses into silence, nervously
shifting from foot to foot.
Leo looks at me inquiringly, no doubt wondering what's happened to Josh's
tongue, that it suddenly stopped producing coherent speech. I look at him
blankly, unwilling to give up any ground.
He turns back to Josh expectantly. "What is it?"
"Donna and I are getting married," Josh blurts out. "To, you know, each
other."
Leo blinks. "Are you serious?"
Josh lets out a deep breath. "Yes."
Leo looks to me for confirmation and I nod mutely, unable to voice my
affirmation because apparently my vocal chords have become paralyzed.
"We wanted you to be the first to know," Josh says tentatively. "Actually,
you're the second to know, because CJ caught us kissing in my office."
I smack him on the arm. "Way to convince him we'll always behave
professionally at work, Joshua," I hiss. The one time, the one time we give in
to unprofessional urges in the office, or hell, anywhere else for that matter,
the two people I least want to know about it end up hearing about it from the
horse's mouth.
"When did this happen?" Leo demands.
Josh clears his throat. "Today."
Leo's eyebrows shoot upwards. "Today?"
"This morning," Josh confirms. He tries to hide his grin, but he can't
control those adorable dimples worth a damn.
Leo looks at him. "Well, no need to ask how you're feeling." He turns to me.
"What about you? Are you okay with all this?"
"Sir?" I say uncertainly.
"I mean," he gestures, "did he trick you into this or something?"
I hesitate. "Well..." To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure how I ended
up engaged when all I agreed to this morning was a little peck on the lips. I'm
not willing to rule out underhandedness just yet.
"Donna!" Josh cries, insulted.
Jeez, some people can't take a joke. "All right, all right. No, he didn't
trick me."
"Why am I just hearing about this now?" Leo asks.
Josh looks confused. "Well, you were in meetings all day, and Donna and I
both went out this afternoon..."
"No, no," Leo says impatiently. "Why am I just hearing about the two of you
being together?"
"It really just happened all of a sudden," Josh says helplessly.
The look on Leo's face is priceless, and let's face it, who can blame him,
because who in their right mind would describe taking six years to get around to
a first kiss as 'sudden?' I step a little closer to Josh and take his hand in
mine. "What Josh is trying to say is, although we haven't had what you might
call a traditional courtship, we both feel that we are ready to take this step
in our relationship."
"So you're saying..." Leo says slowly, "... that you haven't been together?"
"Not as such... no," I acknowledge.
"But now you're engaged. What happened? Why now?"
Josh squeezes my hand and does that weird bouncing thing he does when he's
excited about something. "We kissed."
"Yeah, okay. You kissed, yadda yadda, and today you're engaged. But why
now?"
"We kissed," Josh repeats, bouncing even more. I tug on his arm as a subtle
hint to stop with the bouncing already before he jerks my arm out of its socket.
Being Josh, he completely misses the cue and turns to me excitedly, pulling my
hand to his lips and pressing a quick kiss on my knuckles instead. My breath
catches in my throat. It's fine, he can bounce all he wants.
Leo's eyes widen. "You kissed today? For the first time? Today? And then you
got engaged?"
"Yeah," Josh says happily.
Leo rubs his temple. "Oh, God. I need some aspirin."
"Are you feeling all right?" I ask worriedly. "I have some aspirin in my
desk. I could go get you some."
Leo looks up at me and starts to laugh. "You're a good girl, Donna." He
looks over at Josh. "You take care of her, son."
"Yes, sir," Josh says seriously.
Leo gets up and walks over to us, throwing an arm around each of our
shoulders. "So, tell me everything. How did you ask her?" he asks eagerly. He
doesn't seem mad at all.
"Huh?" Josh says eloquently. Pretty much sums up my thoughts on the matter,
too.
"You said it happened this morning, right? Did you take her out to
breakfast? I hope you went to Emile's. They get the best light in the morning
and their raspberry and walnut crepes are to die for," he says.
Josh gets a sickly look on his face. "Er... no."
"Let me guess- you took her out to the Lincoln to see the sunrise over the
Reflecting Pool," he says with a grin. "You had to do it in the morning so you
could tie in that weird coffee thing you two have, right?"
"No," Josh says. "Didn't quite make it down to the Reflecting Pool."
Leo looks confused. He turns to me. "So... how did he ask?"
"He didn't so much ask as he just announced it to CJ," I inform him,
disgusted. The Reflecting Pool at sunrise indeed. I got gypped. I didn't even
get any raspberry and walnut crepes.
Leo smacks Josh on the back of the head. "You idiot!"
"Ow! Hey, she said yes, didn't she?" he says.
"I take it back. I want to be proposed to at the Reflecting Pool during
sunrise," I pout.
"Did you at least get her a ring?" Leo demands.
Josh perks up. "Yes. Yes, I did. I got her a ring."
I extend my left hand. Leo takes my hand and puts on his glasses, eyeing the
ring critically. "Did you get this at that place in Georgetown? I used to go
there a lot around Jenny's birthdays." Josh nods hesitantly, but Leo's too busy
inspecting my ring to notice his response. "Oh, this is a gorgeous setting. A
good cut. Beautiful stone. Wonderful clarity." He beams at Josh. "You did good,
son."
I look back at the ring and sneak a glance at Josh. I swallow. I don't know
anything about diamonds, but if he got this from a place that Leo frequents
(Leo, who could practically pay the annual budget of Ohio out of pocket), then
it probably cost a pretty penny.
I tug on his sleeve. "You didn't sell any crucial body parts to pay for this
ring, did you?" I ask worriedly.
"What? No," he says. "All my body parts are still intact."
"Cause we could take it back, you know," I tell him. "It's probably not too
late."
He looks crestfallen. "I thought you liked it."
I pull my hand towards my chest protectively. "I love it. But I can't afford
to support both of us on my salary if you have to spend the next few years
paying off the debt."
His mouth opens in a little 'o' of surprise, and then he laughs. "Don't
worry about it. I have it covered."
"Are you sure?" I press.
"Donna, I have money," he says simply.
"Yeah, but..." I trail off. Josh does have money. I always tease him about
what a dump his apartment is, but it's only a dump because he still has this
bachelor-like simplicity thing going on and never picks up after himself, not
because it isn't a nice place. It's in a great neighborhood. He's the biggest
cheapskate known to man in some respects, but he's always free about lending
money to friends or picking up the tab at dinner for everyone. He just doesn't
spend much on himself. He saves. And now that I think about it, his dad was a
partner at one of the biggest law firms in New York. Josh is his only heir.
Suddenly I feel rather foolish. "Never mind."
He squeezes my hands. "I got the wedding bands too."
"Can I see them?" I ask.
"You don't want them to be a surprise?" he asks.
"Oh. Sure. I like surprises," I say dazedly.
"I know you do," he replies.
"So," Leo interrupts conversationally. "Did you guys set a date yet?"
Josh and I glance at each other. "As a matter of fact, we have," Josh tells
him.
"When is it?"
Josh tells him and Leo's brow furrows. "You're waiting a whole year? Don't
you think that's a bit excessive considering how long you've known each other?
Of course," he reflects, "you did just have your first kiss today, so- "
"Actually, Leo?" Josh interrupts. "That date? It's not so much a year from
now as, well, two days from now. We came in here to ask for a couple of days
off."
Leo's eyes climb upwards. "You're getting married this weekend?"
Josh nods. "Yeah. We thought we'd fly up to Massachusetts and spend a few
days at Cape Cod. We'd probably leave Friday night and come back Tuesday night."
"What's the rush?" Leo asks curiously.
I shrug. "Press."
"CJ thinks it's going to be a thing?" he asks, sounding surprised.
Josh and I look at each other. "Well, yeah." If it wasn't going to be a
thing, why wouldn't we have done anything about this before?
"Huh," he says, looking bemused. "I wouldn't have thought... huh. You would
rather just go ahead and do it this weekend?"
We nod together. Leo hunches up his shoulders. "Well, I don't have a problem
with that."
"Really?" I say in surprise.
He smiles at me. "Do you have any idea how much this guy talks about you at
our dinners?"
"No," I say in surprise. I look at Josh speculatively. "No, I don't know
anything about that."
Leo shakes his head. "Well, suffice it to say, the sooner I get a break from
the pathetic lovesick rambling, the better."
"Pathetic lovesick rambling, huh?" I say, extremely pleased. Josh looks less
pleased.
Leo nods. "Yup. Did you know- "
"Okay!" Josh interrupts. "No need to talk about that anymore. So we can go?
You don't need us here this weekend?"
Leo holds up a finger. "On one condition."
"Yes?" Josh says nervously.
Leo breaks out into a huge grin. "I want to kiss the bride."
"Oh!" I cry in relief. I clasp Leo's hand and kiss him on the cheek.
He grins that Cheshire cat grin at us. "Congratulations!" he says excitedly.
He holds out his arms and beckons to Josh, who hesitates for a moment.
"That's a hugging movement, right?" he asks.
Leo laughs. "C'mere," he says, and gives Josh a hug. Then he gives me a hug
and kisses me on the cheek. He looks so pleased that Josh and I can't help but
grin back at him foolishly. After a few more minutes of such behavior, Josh and
I excuse ourselves and leave. When we get back in the hall, we both slump
against the wall in relief.
"Well. That went well," Josh says shakily.
I lean my head on his shoulder. "Yeah."
Josh runs his fingers through my hair. "Will you come stay with me tonight?"
he says hopefully.
I pull away so I can look at him. "Oh, Josh, I'm sorry. If we're leaving
tomorrow straight from work, I need to go to my apartment and pack, and see if
my roommate can collect my mail, and... Jesus, I need to tell my roommate I'm
getting married!" I say, logistical problems suddenly crowding my brain.
His face falls. "Oh. Okay. Sure. I understand." He looks away and his jaw
tightens, and I can see that he doesn't understand, really.
I touch his cheek. "I want to. I really do. It's just that there are going
to be some big changes and they're going to require a little preparation. I have
to talk to Sarah and make sure she's going to be all right."
"Okay," he says, looking somewhat mollified.
I kiss him on the cheek. "I'll call you when I get home."
"Promise?" he says.
I smile. "You bet."



The Locket
By Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Chapter 17 - A Very Short Engagement

By the time I finally make it back to my apartment, it's eleven-thirty and the
windows are darkened. I shake my roommate awake and spend about fifteen minutes
convincing her I'm not drunk, and another twenty minutes explaining the
situation and assuring her that I'll pay next month's rent until she finds
another roommate.
Once I get into my own room I hastily throw some things into an overnight
bag and hang up my dress on the closet door in a garment bag. Then I throw
myself onto my bed and call Josh. He picks up on the first ring. I can hear the
smile in his voice when he says hello and I hope he can hear the one in mine
when I say hello back.
***
The next day goes terribly. Josh and I drag ourselves into work, completely
exhausted after staying up most of the night on the phone with each other, only
to be greeted by the news that five senators have jumped ship on 802, which is
scheduled for a vote late in the evening. We spend the whole day scrambling to
recover the extra votes, and we still have one to go by the time we've changed
our flight for the third time to get the last shuttle to Massachusetts.
I look at my watch and sigh. If we don't leave in the next ten minutes,
we're going to miss the flight. It's not that I'm opposed to prolonging the
engagement, but it strikes me as a bad omen to miss your wedding because of a
couple of ornery legislators. I look up to see Josh with the phone at his ear,
looking at me balefully. I give him a half-hearted smile and he gives me his
unhappy and helpless face back. He looks completely miserable.
Just when I've pretty much completely given up hope that we'll get out of
here on time, Leo comes into Josh's office and takes the phone away from him. He
greets the senator and makes shooing motions at us. We shoot him grateful looks
and I can't resist going to kiss him on the cheek on my way out the door.
We make it to our gate with five minutes to spare and collapse into our
seats with relief. The flight isn't the most relaxing trip, however, as Josh
spends most of it on the phone with Leo while I type up some last minute notes
to send him. I finish before Josh, and I stare out the window until the flight
attendant announces we're about to land and he has to hang up.
He takes my hand and I squeeze back. "I'm sorry about all this," he says.
"It's okay," I tell him. "It wasn't your fault."
He sighs. "I know. I just thought this would be a lot more romantic, you
know? I wanted to talk to you, not stupid Senator Braden."
"We can talk now," I say.
"What should we talk about?"
"I dunno- married people things," I say. It suddenly occurs to me that there
are some things we absolutely need to address in the course of this whole
getting married business. "For one thing, where are we going to live?"
"Do you want to move in with me?" he asks. "Or would you rather look for a
new place?"
"I thought I'd move in with you," I say. "Do you have enough room for me in
your apartment?"
He shrugs. "I think so."
"Well, how about I move in there to start, and then if we decide we need a
bigger place we can look for a new apartment together," I suggest.
"Sounds like a plan to me," he says. "However, I do have one or two
conditions I'd like to impose. The first involves the remote control and the
second involves nakedness. Which one would you prefer to discuss first?"
I glare at him. "You just asked me to move in with you. We're going to be
married. You do not get to impose- kids!" I say suddenly.
"Kids?" he asks, confused.
I nod. "Yes. As in children."
"What about them?" he asks nervously.
"Do you want them?" I ask him.
He nods. "Yes. Do you?" he asks anxiously.
I sigh with relief. "Yes."
"How many?" he wants to know.
"I'm not sure. Two or three, maybe."
"That sounds good," he agrees. "Any thoughts on when?"
I think about it for a minute. "Not right away," I say finally.
He pauses. "I'm not sure what that means," he confesses.
I squeeze his hand. "It means, I want you to myself for a couple of years
before we start thinking about having children. It means I need to think about
what I want to do when our eight years are up and how children are going to fit
into that scenario."
"What do you mean, what you're going to do when our eight years are up?" he
asks, confused.
"I mean, what kind of job I'd like to have when President Bartlet's term is
up," I say.
"You don't want to work for me?" he says, honest to God, sounding absolutely
devastated.
I look at him, taken aback. "Well..."
He looks heartbroken. "Josh, I love working with you, you know that," I say
hastily in an effort to get that horrible look off his face. "I just... when
we're out of the White House, I'm not sure being your assistant would really
challenge me enough."
"I don't challenge you?" he says morosely.
I laugh. "Josh, working for you will always be a challenge."
"Really?" he says, looking pleased.
I look at him. "That wasn't a compliment."
"Oh." He deflates. "Right. But really, you don't want to work for me any
more?"
"Honestly, Josh! Don't you think you might get sick of me if we see each
other twenty-four hours a day?" I say, exasperated.
"No," he says. "What's wrong with working for me?"
"Don't you think I'm ready for more responsibility?" I say skeptically.
He's quiet for a minute and I can tell I've hurt his feelings. "I give you
responsibility," he says quietly.
I sigh. "I know you do, Josh, but I can do more. I want to make my own way,
and not just rely on you all the time. I'd like to use what I've learned from
working with you to have a more direct impact on things."
He nods slowly. "So what do you want to do?"
"Well, I'd like to go back to school, to start," I say hesitantly.
He gives me a small smile. "That's good. You should do that. Are you going
to have five majors again?"
I shake my head. "No. I'd want to study government."
"But you already know everything," Josh says.
I laugh. "Well... probably not everything. I thought I could double major in
history or something. Once I go back for my masters I'll pick something more
focused."
"You've thought a lot about this," he states.
"Yeah... I've been wanting to go back to school for awhile. But we're always
so busy I never seem to be able to make the time," I say with a sigh.
Josh looks uncomfortable. "Well, we could probably work something out. You
could probably get signed up for a summer session when we get back."
I look at him, surprised. "You'd be okay with that?"
He looks at the ceiling. "It may be possible that one of the reasons that
you and I both work so hard is that I seek out time-consuming projects in an
effort to keep you around me as much as possible."
I smack him on the arm. "I knew it! I knew that thing about owls a couple of
months ago was a make-work project to keep you from getting lonely on a Friday
night."
He laughs. "Actually, that was one of Leo's pet projects. That thing last
week, about the quilts, though, that was definitely to keep you in the office
with me a couple extra hours."
I try to look stern and fail miserably. "Hmph. Does this mean I don't have
to work weekends anymore?" I ask hopefully.
"What, are you crazy? Do you think the government stops running on the
weekends, Donnatella?" he says.
"Oh, no, not the government doesn't stop running on the weekends speech," I
say in mock horror. "Please, anything but that."
He clears his throat. "We've gotten a little off track."
"How unusual for us," I say sarcastically.
"Anyway. School," he says. "I think it's good. Are you sure you don't want
to study something else, though? Studying government isn't going to be much of a
challenge for you."
I shake my head. "I know. But I want to work in politics, and a government
major looks good on paper. And it probably wouldn't hurt to have an easy study
while I'm still working full time in the White House."
"Do you have any ideas on what you want to do when you're done?"
"I'm not sure," I admit. "I'm interested in so many different aspects of
government I think it would be hard for me to choose one area to focus on, but
professionally speaking it would be best if I had specialized knowledge in one
area."
"Why don't you run for office?" he suggests.
I stare at him. "Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. You'd be a great candidate. You know everyone. You're smart,
you're compassionate, and you know how to get things done," he says.
I sit back in my seat, stunned. "Candidate for what?"
"Well, we'd probably have to start you out in the state legislature," he
muses. "We could move out to Virginia. You could get an assembly position no
problem, but I think you should go for the senate. You serve a couple of years
as state senator, then we get you elected to the House. I'm thinking two terms,
and then you'd run for senator of Virginia. We get you on the Committee of
Foreign Relations to give you background on international affairs, and the
Appropriations Committee for political muscle. Ooh, maybe before you go to state
senate you should work at the State Department a couple of years to give you
extra credibility in international affairs. But anyway, back to the committees-
you're interested in public health and education, so we could get you on Health,
Education, Labor and Pensions. Although, you know, maybe it would be better to
get you on the path to governorship. Historically, that's proven a better path
to higher office."
Higher office than a governorship?
"It's too bad you were never in the military, that would really help
matters," he mutters. "It's okay, though, we'll just get you a four-star general
or something as a running mate."
"A running mate?" I ask with trepidation.
"Yeah, I think a military guy would really do the trick. If he was involved
in big business that would probably help too," he says. He turns to me. "If
you've done anything that would turn up in a vetting file, you should tell me
now." I open my mouth but then he laughs and continues on without even
registering my presence. "What am I saying? I've seen your file. The vetting's
more rigorous for candidates, of course, but you're such a goody-two shoes it
won't matter. Oh, this is great. You've got that Midwestern,
American-as-apple-pie thing going on. People are going to eat it up. Donnatella,
you could be the first female President of the United States!"
I stare at him, my mouth agape. "I was just talking about maybe being a
policy advisor for some government agency!"
He shakes his head. "Donna, you don't want to work for some schmuck who's
probably taking bribes from oil companies and helping Republicans cut welfare
benefits for single mothers. You've got to fight for all the things we've been
working for. We've gotta get you into elected office. You're the real thing,
Donnatella. No one knows more than me how rare that is."
I want to record this speech and listen to it over and over. Who said Josh
doesn't know how to woo? That's the highest compliment he could ever give me.
"Josh..."
"You could do it, Donna. I'd run your campaign, and we could get you in the
White House." He's squirming in his chair, he's so excited.
I pause. "You do realize that then I would be your boss, don't you?" I tease
him.
"Yeah," he says excitedly. "And I could refuse to bring you coffee and
everything!"
Suddenly, I come to an incredible realization. He's not upset about losing
me as his assistant. Josh honestly doesn't care about being my boss. He just
wants to be with me. He believes that I, Donna Moss, am smart enough, good
enough, and strong enough to lead a nation. This happens to be a conviction
which I do not agree with, but it erases any doubts I have that Josh somehow
thinks I'm less than him because he's older, or more educated, or holds the
lion's share of the power in our relationship because he's my boss.
I take his hand. "Josh. I don't want to be commander-in-chief. I'm like you.
I want to be the guy the guy counts on. But we've totally gotten off track. We
were talking about kids. I'd like to have kids in two or three years, I think.
That would give me time to prepare for whatever I end up doing next."
"Donna," Josh whines. "You could. You could be the guy."
"Maybe someday," I concede. "But for now, let's take it one thing at a time,
okay?"
"Okay," he says. "Kids in two or three years, huh? Well, I guess that gives
us plenty of time to practice, eh?"
But unfortunately, we don't get to start practicing tonight. By the time we
get off the plane and rent a car, it's already late. When we get to the bed and
breakfast we're staying at, we're completely exhausted, and neither of us have
the energy to do anything but collapse into bed together before falling asleep.

***

I wake up the next morning pressed up against Josh, my legs tangled with
his, his arms encircling my waist, my hand resting on his chest. I lift my head
up to look at him. He's snoring softly, out cold, but with a slight smile on his
face. I turn slightly and Josh follows me, wrapping an arm around my waist and
spooning me from behind. I could stay like this all day. I run my hand up and
down the forearm he has draped across my stomach and think regretfully about the
fact that there's something I'm supposed to do today that is going to prevent me
from staying in bed with Josh all day. I turn my head to look at the clock and
my eyes widen when I remember what it is that I have to do. "Josh!" I cry,
jumping out of bed. "We're going to be late!"
He doesn't stir, just reaches out his arm out and feels around as though in
search of something (presumably me), frowning slightly when he fails to
encounter his quarry. I nudge him gently. "Josh, wake up."
He rolls over and buries his face in my pillow, but otherwise doesn't
respond.
"Josh, we're going to be late for the wedding," I hiss.
Nothing. I shake him, and he still doesn't move, except to pull me towards
him so I'm sprawled awkwardly on top of him, which, while rather nice in the
abstract, is counterproductive in the specific. "Josh, get up!" I say, pushing
off him.
Still nothing.
I put my hands on my hips. "Oh, for God's sake. Josh! Wake up!" I shout.
"You have senior staff in five minutes!"
"Gah!" He sits bolt upright and attempts to scramble out of bed, but his
legs are tangled up in the sheets and he trips and lands half in the bed, half
out. He looks up at me dazedly from the floor and I throw a shirt at him. "We
have to be there in thirty minutes."
"Kay," he says.
I grab my bag and head into the bathroom. "I'm taking the first shower.
Don't fall asleep again."
I take a record-quick shower while Josh shaves and brushes his teeth, and
then I go into the main room to dress while he showers. I'm just finishing my
hair and make-up when he comes out, tie loosened. I straighten it quickly and he
checks his watch. And then we're off to the chapel. Or courthouse, rather.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: mature, for sexual references

Chapter 18 - Truth in Silence


Wow. I'm married. To Josh. Josh and I are married. We're married. To each
other. It's ten o clock on a Saturday morning and we're married. Weird.
We're walking along the street, side by side. Actually, Josh isn't so much
walking as he is pulling me forward purposefully by the hand, and I'm struggling
to keep up without having my arm pulled out of its socket. Only trouble is, I'm
not sure either of us know where we're going.
I mean, I know where I want to go- straight back to the hotel to make
fantastic love for the rest of the day- but I'm not sure how to broach the
subject. After so many years of pretending not to have feelings for him, denial
has become my default mechanism, and I don't know how to segue from an innocent
refrain of 'what, me, in love with Josh?' to wild, sweaty honeymoon sex. Most
newlyweds have the advantage of a reception with a full bar after the ceremony
for a little Dutch courage if they're feeling nervous or, you know, the
advantage of having made love together before. Or at least having kissed each
other for the first time more than forty-eight hours before the wedding.
Of course, I'm not stupid. Josh is a very tactile being, I know we'll get
around to having sex at some point or another. I just don't know exactly when.
For example, is there supposed to be romance, candlelight before the making
of the big move? Crap, I didn't pack any candles. Plus, it's ten in the morning.
Do candles lose their romantic appeal in daylight, or are they pretty much a
timeless thing? Okay, I might be over-thinking this candle thing in an attempt
to distract myself from the embarrassing truth that I have no idea how to
proceed with getting the honeymoon started.
Give me a break here. I've never been married before. I don't know the
after-ceremony sex protocol.
We stop in front of the rental car and I glance over at him, suddenly
feeling awkward. God, he looks good. "So..."
He looks back at me. "So..."
I look away, feigning great interest in the blue sky over our heads. "It's a
beautiful day."
"Yes," he says, still looking at me.
"Do you want to go for a walk on the beach or something?" I suggest.
"If, by go for a walk on the beach, you mean have screaming naked sex with
you as soon as humanly possible, then yes, I want to go for a walk on the
beach," he says, taking out the keys.
"Oh, thank God," I say with relief.
He looks at me. "What, you were worried I wouldn't want to have screaming
naked sex with you?"
"I just thought maybe we needed to spend a little time on preliminaries," I
explain.
He stares at me. "Are you crazy? I've wanted you for six years, woman. If I
spend any more time on preliminaries I might spontaneously combust."
I raise my eyebrows at him. "You're not planning on spending any time on
preliminaries? Wow, Josh, you're a real- "
"You want to argue about this, or do you want to get in the car?" he
interrupts me.
I snap my mouth shut and get in the car, and Josh breaks several land speed
records on the way back to the bed and breakfast.
When we get out of the car, he grabs me by the hand and drags me up the
steps to the entrance of the building, throwing open the door and hauling me
through it without ceremony.
I smirk at him. "In a hurry there, Josh?"
He leans over and kisses me long and hard. "I don't have time for your
lippiness right now," he says, and then he picks me up, throws me over his
shoulder, and heads up the stairs.
"Josh!" I shriek. "Put me down. I'm perfectly capable of walking, you know."
"You were taking too long. Besides," he smirks, "I have to carry you over
the threshold, Donnatella."
"You're supposed to sweep me off my feet," I complain. "Not manhandle me up
the stairs."
"You look pretty swept to me," he snarks. "And you're certainly not on your
feet."
He opens the door to our room and steps across the threshold.
He kicks the door closed behind us, and sets me down, wasting no time before
taking my face in his hands and kissing me senseless.
Oh, wow. He is so damn good at this. There are simply no words to convey
what he's doing to me right now. Breaking it down into a description of tongues
and lips and heat just doesn't do it justice. Although, heat, that would
probably be a good place to start. I'm drowning in a deep, fathomless pool of
liquid heat. But drowning, that sounds like a bad thing, and this... this is a
very, very good thing. It's drowning if drowning is surrendering yourself to a
safe place; if it's hot it doesn't burn- like a chemical reaction, it merely
reduces me to my most crucial elements, the only parts of me that are important,
while taking in the whole and making it into something better. Again, I say,
wow.
We seek no support from the door or the wall; we lean into each other
instead. We stand there kissing for a good ten minutes before my mind comes back
from the alternate plane of existence it had occupied for most of that sublime
ten minutes, and it occurs to me that we might try moving towards the next step.
I try pulling away from Josh to suggest this, but this doesn't work; he
merely follows me. I take a hold of the lapels on his jacket instead, and
maneuver him to the other side of the room, but when the backs of his knees hit
the bed, he doesn't throw me down and pounce on top of me as I'm expecting him
to, he just sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his lap to
continue the kissing.
Of course, at this point, I forget why I wanted to come over to the bed in
the first place, and think only that this is an entirely new angle to be kissing
Josh from, and that I must continue it.
I'm not kidding, I think we kiss for like an hour before either of us
regains our senses enough to slow down and break apart for more than two seconds
at a time. Josh's jacket is off and his tie is loosened, otherwise we're still
fully dressed, although the hem of my dress is a bit higher than it was when we
started out. We rest our foreheads against each other for a moment, and then
Josh kisses me again, and then we look at each other for a long moment and he
leans forward and kisses me on my neck.
Oh, God. I tilt my head back to grant him better access and he presses
gentle kisses on the column of my neck while sliding his hand up and down my
spine. I turn my face up towards the ceiling in supplication to the heavens.
Josh kissing my neck is a religious experience.
He slowly unzips my dress and I pull his shirt out of his waistband. We
stare at each other as we undress one another, and I don't think it's immodest
to say that any amazement felt is not undeserved, on both sides. For under his
gaze, I am beautiful, and in my eyes, he is strength personified.
We touch each other for hours, and for once, we are quiet, our movements
desperate, tender, and slow. I always thought during our first time together
we'd be chattering away like we always do, but here, a touch, a glance are worth
more than words, and I can't help feeling that in this silence, with every
touch, we carry out the most honest conversation of our lives.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: mature, for sexual references

Chapter 19 - A Pledge in Every Touch

You'd think that after six years of knowing her, Donna would, at some point,
cease to amaze me. Yet here I am, six years after she told me she would be
valuable, and I have to say, years of fantasizing never prepared me for this:
Donnatella Moss is naked before me, and she is touching me.
Words fail me. When we kiss, I lose myself inside it, and in between, there
are sounds and smells and history and memory. I hear her sharp breath of intake
when I press my lips against the locket nestled between her breasts; the first
time she kisses my scar I damn near cry. But when our eyes meet, everything
falls away and there is nothing but this moment.
I've never made love like this before. Our souls are naked; we are
completely open with each other, free to give wholly, to accept completely, to
trust absolutely. With every touch, we pledge to treasure each other; each touch
is not only a means of making love, it's a promise.
The first time is slow, and unbelievably tender. We can't take our eyes off
each other. In fact, I don't think we break eye contact the entire time-- a look
of longing and understanding and pure desire accompanies every single touch.
Fifty years from now, when I think about making love with Donna, this time will
stand out, not only because it is the most completely charged and intimate
experience of my life, but also because this was the beginning.
The second time is tentative, amazed, as though neither of us can quite
believe what we're doing, but nonetheless can't quite contain our absolute
delight in all of it. This is the sweetest time.
The third time is fast and quick, and full of giddy laughter, as we finally
start to recognize that we don't have to hide, or wait, or worry; this is
something we're going to be able to do every day, and that damn, it's going to
be good. This is when we realize how much fun we'll have together.
The fourth time is wicked and adventurous, and lends some insight into
possible future explorations. The fourth time is when we learn we're not afraid
to experiment.
The fifth time is when we discover what will pass for normal for the two of
us; we talk the whole time, and tease each other throughout.
The sixth time we hold each other close
And when we finally stop to rest, drinking in the sight of one another
unabashedly, I think that after everything that we've shared, there is nothing
that touches me more than this: the sight of Donna wearing nothing but a
delicate locket and chain around her neck, flushed and happy and smiling at me.

***

Being married to Donna is both everything and nothing like I thought it
would be. There are certain things I expected when she moved in- she has indeed
taken over my bathroom with about fifty kinds of skin care and hair products,
she has indeed taken it upon herself to force me to eat vegetables at least five
times a week, and she has singlehandedly organized our bedroom into a neat,
efficient world of Egyptian cotton sheets and color-coded socks.
What I didn't expect was a thousand little things that transcend the mundane
realities of sharing space with another person. Within the first two weeks of
marriage, I find out she sings Aretha Franklin at the top of her lungs in the
shower. Within a month, I realize she's deathly afraid of spiders, but refuses
to let me kill them. Soon after that, I discover I can extract all sorts of
outlandish promises from her if I give her a back massage after she's had a
rough day at work. After a year, I know most of her fears and foibles better
than I know my own.
But what I was really unprepared for about marriage was the profound peace
that comes over me when I watch her sleep late at night, smell her soft hair,
and feel her warm skin beneath my hand. I've gotten used to the faint surprise
in people's voices when they tell me I seem more centered now, that married life
agrees with me. I want to laugh, and tell them that calm comes from Donna
standing next to me, that contentment springs from her faith in me, that joy is
found in her smile.

***

Living with Joshua Lyman is exactly like what you think living with Josh
would be like, except that in some ways it's completely unlike what you think
living with Josh would be like. Yes, he always forgets to put the toilet seat
down. Yes, he yells at the television when we watch the news together. No, he
never remembers to put the cap back on the toothpaste. He generally doesn't
cook, but he makes the best French toast in the world. He has a distressingly
cavalier attitude towards hygiene in the kitchen, but despite his many personal
faults, I have to say he never stops surprising me with positives that far
outweigh the negatives.
For one thing, Josh is a cuddler. Yes, Josh Lyman, Bartlet's bulldog, is a
cuddler. It's not enough for me to sit down next to him on the couch; he's not
satisfied until his arm is around me, our sides are pressed together, and my
head rests on his shoulder, or if he's pulled me completely onto his lap, his
arm around my waist, his hand on my leg. And in bed, if we're facing each other,
we're not close enough until our stomachs are touching, our legs intertwined. If
he's on his back, I have to be half on top of him; if we're on our sides, we
must be spooned together, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist.
Another thing that surprised me is how much time we spend kissing. Josh and
I make out all the time. I suppose this shouldn't be so surprising, given how
little opportunity we had to kiss before we got married, but it is surprising
how much of this kissing is just kissing, that doesn't necessarily lead to the
bedroom. I honestly can't remember the last time making out with a man before I
married Josh wasn't simply a precursor to sex. With Josh and I, he'll stop me as
I'm leaving the office and we duel tongues for five minutes before he pecks me
on the lips and sends me on my way. Alternatively, I'll grab him by the tie in
the middle of a debate about earned income tax credits, only to straighten it a
few minutes later and pick up the debate where we left off. At home, we'll spend
twenty minutes making out on the couch during the Jim Lehrer News Hour, and then
go back to heckling the guests for fifteen minutes before the credits roll.
Of course, it could be said that we do, after all, need to rest. Because
what is not surprising at all is how often we have sex. I won't sicken you with
exact numbers, but let me just say that twice in the evening and once in the
morning is not unusual, and that if Josh catches me on a weak day when Congress
is not in session, once in the afternoon is not unheard of.
But the most surprising thing about living with Josh is how easy it is. At
one point, I would have told you my biggest fear about pursuing a relationship
with Josh was him devoting more attention to politics than to me, but after
being married to him for a year and a half, I can hardly imagine such a reality,
because Josh is more attentive than I could ever have dreamed. He might be
distracted by a political crisis, but he wants my touch for reassurance, he
needs my voice for encouragement, and he seeks my eyes to share hope. After
awhile, I realize that I was wrong to think of politics as a competitor for
Josh's love. Politics are important to him, but he loves me in a way he needs
much more than a passion for any ideal. Politics isn't my competition. Politics
is our way of pursuing a dream, of working for the future, together.



The Locket
by Arianne
disclaimer: not mine
rating: teen

Epilogue: A New Promise

"Where have you been?" I demand irritably when Donna breezes in at half past
one.
"Hello to you too, Joshua," she says, depositing her purse on the guest
chair.
"I needed you to go to the Hill for me," I grouse. "Never mind, you can go
now."
"Don't I even get a kiss hello before you send me back out into the wilds of
DC?" she pouts.
"Sure, all right, but then I need you to leave. I told them you'd be there a
half hour ago." I lean forward to give her a perfunctory kiss, but when I try to
break away she grabs me by the tie and pulls me towards her to deepen the kiss.
When she finally releases me, I look at her appraisingly. "What's going on?"
I ask suspiciously.
"What makes you think something's going on?" she asks innocently.
"That wasn't a 'hello' kiss," I inform her. "That was some other,
extra-amazing, kind of kiss."
"Extra-amazing?" she teases, looking entirely too satisfied with herself.
"Yeah. What's going on?"
She picks up her things. "I'll tell you about it later."
"Why don't you tell me about it now? You can be a little later to the
hearing. There's probably nothing happening right now anyway."
She purses her lips. "I think I'd better wait til tonight. You're liable to
overreact."
Of course, this doesn't have the most soothing effect on me. "What?! You're
making me wait until tonight to hear about something that's going to make me
overreact? That's a terrible idea! Tell me now! Where were you?"
She sighs. "I went to the doctor."
I blanch. "Oh my God. Are you all right?" I ask, gripping her arm and
scanning her up and down for evidence of injury or imminent illness.
"I'm fine, Josh," she says impatiently.
"Were you feeling sick? Why didn't you tell me?" I ask anxiously.
"I wasn't feeling sick."
"Then why did you go to the doctor?" I demand.
"I had to ask him a question," she says.
"Well, what did he say?" I ask impatiently.
"He actually wanted me to tell you something," she says, her eyes sparkling
mischievously.
"Me?" I say stupidly. "What did he want you to tell me?"
"He wanted me to tell you that you're going to be a father," she announces
gleefully.
My eyes widen and my hand drops from her arm. I swallow convulsively and
stare at her. I take a couple of faltering steps backwards, at which point the
edges of my vision darken and my legs fold beneath me, the ground jumping up and
smacking me on the ass the next instant.
I blink dazedly and I hear Donna's voice saying, "Josh, are you all right?"
I become dimly aware of her hand on my arm and the other hand cupping my cheek
while she mutters to herself, "Jeez, it's not like he's the one who actually has
to give birth. Josh! Come back to the world of the living."
I grab her arm again. "Donna! B-b-baby?"
She grins. "Yup."
I scramble to my feet with the assistance of my beautiful wife and I grip
her shoulders as I stare at her. "You're going to have a baby?"
She nods. "Yes."
"I'm going to be a father?" I ask, a slow, wondering smile tugging at the
corners of my mouth.
"Yes."
"There's a baby inside you, right now?" She nods, looking almost as amazed
as I feel.
A huge grin breaks out over my face. "You're having a baby!" I pick her up
by the waist and swing her around in jubilation.
She looks down at me from where I have her raised above me and laughs.
"Well, we'd better hope our child gets its brains from me, because you're a
little slow on the uptake."
I slowly let her down and hold her close to me. "Donna... you are
incredible," I say softly, taking her face in my hands.
She kisses me gently. "Josh, you and I made a person," she whispers
wonderingly. "A new, tiny person. Just you and me together. A whole new person."
I kiss her back. "I can already see her."
Donna frowns. "Him."
"She has long blonde hair," I say, not listening to her.
"He has curly brown hair," she corrects me.
"She has long blonde hair and blue eyes," I insist.
"Brown eyes!"
I frown. "Blue eyes."
"Josh! Brown eyes," she pouts.
I shake my head. "No, Donna. She definitely has blue eyes. I know, because
they're going to be so amazing that whenever I look into them, I'm not going to
be able to deny her anything."
"Except for the fact that he has brown eyes," she mutters.
"Donna, we are so having a girl," I inform her.
She pouts. "Can she have dimples, at least?"
I grin. "Well, sure. I mean, the kid's gonna get her good looks from me, so
the dimples are part of the package."
She swats me on the arm. "Jerk." She pauses. "I suppose we don't really have
any control over all that at this point, anyway."
I ignore her. "Kiss me, I'm the father of your child," I command.
For once in her life, she actually complies with my order and kisses me
enthusiastically. I'll have to remember that 'I'm the father of your child' line
for later.
There's a knock on the door and Toby comes in. He grunts. "Josh, would you
please detach yourself from your assistant's face for a minute? I want to talk
to you about something."
"Toby!" I cry, disconnecting myself from Donna and throwing my arms around
him.
He stiffens. "Donna, why is your husband touching me right now?"
Donna opens her mouth but I cut her off. "We're having a baby!" I exclaim
joyfully.
"And how do you propose we do that?" he says dryly.
"Donna's pregnant!"
He raises an eyebrow and glances at Donna. "You do realize this means that
you're enabling him to reproduce?"
She nods happily. "Uh-huh."
"Ah. Well, then," he says gruffly, smiling at Donna. He kisses her on the
cheek. "Congratulations."
She gives him a hug, which he is much more receptive to than my embrace. He
even smiles.
He's actually grinning when he reaches over to shake my hand. "Well done,"
he says. "You want a cigar?" he asks, producing one from his coat pocket.
I grab it from his hand and stuff it in the garbage can. "Not while I'm
within a thousand yards of Donna, I don't."
I run my hand over my hair, and glance out into the bullpen. I go to the
doorway and look around. Everyone's working. None of them have any idea that
Donna and I are bringing a new person into the world. Donna and Toby follow me
out as I walk into the bullpen. This is a situation that absolutely must be
rectified.
I leap onto Donna's desk and shout, "I'm having a baby!"
The room bursts into applause and shouts of congratulations. Everyone starts
talking at once, calling out good wishes, jokes, and advice amidst a lot of
laughter and chatter.
"What is it?" someone yells.
"I don't know," I cry, "but it's a person!"
Everyone laughs and claps even harder at this. I stand on the top of the
desk, beaming, basking in the glow of their approval. I frown. Something's
missing. I look down to see Donna gazing up at me with mixture of amusement and
adoration that I find absolutely intoxicating. "Donna!" I cry. "Get up here!" I
haul her up on the desk with me and take her hand in mine before turning back to
the bullpen. "This is my wife!" I announce loudly. "She's pregnant!" I add,
grinning foolishly.
Everyone claps even harder for her, of course. I jump off the desk so
everyone can see her. "Isn't she beautiful?" I burst out, gazing up at her
adoringly.
This comment is greeted by exclamations of agreement and several wolf
whistles. Donna curtsies and blows kisses to her admiring public. I look out at
the crowd and see that many of the male staffers are being a little too
enthusiastic in their appreciation of her beauty for my taste. I glare at them
challengingly, but they all ignore me and don't take the bait. The one
unfortunate intern foolish enough to meet my gaze swallows convulsively when he
sees me looking at him. He slowly stops clapping and starts to fidget nervously.
"Don't look at my wife like that," I snap. "She's pregnant."
He nods. "Yes, she is."
I frown. I turn back to Donna on top of the desk and a horrible new thought
occurs to me. "Oh my God, Donna! Get down from there!" I cry. "You could hurt
yourself!"
She rolls her eyes but allows me to gingerly lift her down from the desk,
holding her close to me once she's back on firm ground.
"Hey, let's see a kiss from the parents to be!" someone calls out.
"A kiss?" I shout. "You want to see a kiss?"
"Yes!" everyone shouts.
"Well, I'll show you a kiss! Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to see
kissing as it was meant to be done! Cause that's how we do it in the Lyman
household," I cry, and am about to explain further, when Donna grabs me by the
tie again and pretty much kisses the life out of me in the middle of the
bullpen.
More appreciative whistles and cheers. When she lets me go, I stare dazedly
out at the crowd. "Is that how they do it in the Lyman household?" someone
yells. I blink a couple of times. "Uh... yeah." I point at Donna. "That's Donna
Moss." That's not what I meant to say. "She's the Deputy Deputy Chief of Staff."
Everyone laughs and I smile confusedly. "I'm her husband," I clarify.
Just about every woman on the support staff chooses this moment to descend
upon Donna, squealing and generally behaving in a girlish fashion. People clap
me on the back and shake my hand and offer their congratulations. I soak it all
in, grinning like the schmuck that I am, until it occurs to me that someone is
missing. Someone important.
"Where's CJ?" I ask.
"She's in the briefing room," Toby says. "But- "
I don't hear him. I've already taken off down the hall. I see Carol standing
in front of the door and she greets me by saying, "Hi, Josh. You need CJ? She'll
be free in a couple of minutes. She's in the middle of- "
I barge past her and burst into the briefing room, where CJ is addressing
the White House Press Corps about some inane and trivial topic none of them
really care about.
"-the Secretary of State is hopeful that the ongoing talks between Israeli
and Palestinean leaders will soon yield an agreement for a lasting peace. He'll
be back- "
"CJ!" I exclaim, rushing over to the podium.
"What is it?" she asks, alarmed.
I elbow her out of the way and she stumbles inelegantly off the podium. I
turn to face the reporters and the cameras in the back of the room. Here I have
the chance to literally tell the world about my incipient fatherhood. How many
fathers get an opportunity like this? No way am I going to waste it. "I'm having
a baby!" I announce gleefully.
The room goes wild. Ha! That's what I'm talking about! No one was clapping
and hollering like this when CJ made her statement. Clearly, these are truly the
finest minds in the nation. Who cares about peace in the Middle East when
there's a little baby made out of me and Donna growing inside of her right now?
CJ recovers a bit and rejoins me on the podium. "Ladies and gentleman, I
give you Josh Lyman: medical marvel and Deputy Chief of Staff."
"Is it a boy or a girl?" someone calls out.
"I have no idea," I say triumphantly, "but it's the future leader of the
free world!"
"For those of you who don't know him, Josh is the Deputy Chief of Staff, and
I'm assuming he just found out his wife, Donna Moss, is expecting their first
child," CJ adds. She turns to me and kisses me on the cheek. "Congratulations,"
she whispers, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Josh, when is the baby due?" someone asks.
I turn back to the room, my eyes as huge as saucers. "I don't know!" I say,
dumbstruck. I run out of the room, only to crash straight into Leo and the
President walking down the hall. They both stumble sideways a bit when I make
impact, but otherwise take my intrusion in stride, so to speak.
Two Secret Service agents grab me before I can blink and I struggle for a
moment, trying to extricate myself from their grip. I have to find Donna. That's
going to be a little difficult, pinned up against the wall as I am.
"Let him go," the President says dryly. The agents release me and I
straighten up.
"Mr. President," I say, trying to remain calm like the cool professional
that I am.
The President winces. "There's no need to shout, Josh. I can hear you
perfectly well."
"Sorry, sir," I apologize, bouncing on my heels.
"I hear Donna's on the nest," he says.
"Yes, sir," I say eagerly.
"Congratulations, son," says the President. "I have some advice for you.
People- and by people, I mean your wife- are going to tell you that your
children love you because you're their father. It's possible that's true, but
you never want to take any chances. Don't be proud, Josh. Bribery is an
excellent means of securing their affection."
"Thank you, sir." I glance at Leo.
"Congratulations, Josh," he says, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "You're
gonna be a great father."
"Thanks, Leo," I say, ducking my head a bit.
"You're going to love it," says the President. "It's the best job in the
world. It's also the hardest job in the world. About ten times harder than this
one," he adds with a nod. "But much more fulfilling."
My eyes go wide and I lean against the wall, suddenly feeling the need for
some support. "Oh my God. I'm going to be a father. What do I do?" I ask,
panicked.
The President and Leo glance at each other. "Listen to Donna," they say
together.
"Donna!" I exclaim. "I have to find Donna! Good-bye, Mr. President! See you
later, Leo!"
"No, Josh, there's nothing you can do for me," the President calls after me
as I sprint down the hall. "You can go ahead. You have Presidential permission."
I wave at him in acknowledgment without turning around. I careen into the
bullpen, and as I scan the area anxiously for my wife, a low voice in my ear
startles me.
"Josh," says Donna. "You have a meeting with Senator Brandt in ten minutes."
I jump, and then relax. I found her. "Oh, who cares about him?" I say.
She raises an eyebrow. "Josh, you had me rearrange your entire schedule so
you could talk to him."
"Whatever," I say dismissively, placing my hand at the small of her back and
guiding her into my office.
I shut the door behind her and lead her to the guest chair. She sits down
and I lean against my desk. "So," I say excitedly. "What should I get you?"
Her brow furrows. "Get me?" she echoes.
"Yes!" I say. "You're having my baby, I want to buy you something."
"Like what?" she says.
I shrug. "I don't know. How about one of those Harry Winston necklaces you
and CJ are always talking about?"
Her eyebrows shoot up. "You want to buy me a Harry Winston necklace for
being pregnant? Do you have any idea how much those things cost?"
"Sure," I say. "Remember when Leo got one? Although, that didn't really work
out so well for him," I say with a frown. "Maybe we should get something from
Tiffany's instead."
"Josh, don't be ridiculous. You can't buy me a piece of jewelry that's going
to set you back three months salary."
"Why not?" I say, baffled.
"It's not very practical, for one thing," she says.
"You'd rather have something practical?" I say. "How about a car?"
She groans. "Josh."
"I hear the new Lexus is really nice. Very safe, too," I add.
She stands up and takes my face in her hands. "Josh, I want you to listen to
me very carefully, all right? We are going to have a child. A child that eats,
sleeps, breathes, and requires all sorts of specialized food, clothing, and
equipment. You can't spend all your money on a whim."
"It's not a whim," I protest. "I just want to do something for you, to show
you how incredible I think you are."
She gives me a soft little kiss. "If you really want to do something for me,
you can get the college fund started now."
"Okay, but just so you know, our kid is going to be so smart the Ivy Leagues
are going to be clamoring over who gets to give her the biggest scholarship."
"Well, I still have my doubts about this whole 'girl' thing, but I certainly
hope you're right about the scholarships."
I snake my arms around her and hold her close to me. "Donna," I whisper.
"We're going to have a baby."
She sighs contentedly as I kiss her neck. "Yes, we are."
"When?"
"When, what?" she mumbles into my shoulder.
"When is she getting here?" I say, nibbling her ear.
"Mmm. It's due February 3rd."
I pull back a little bit. "That's so far away," I complain. "Do you think it
might come earlier?" I ask hopefully.
"No," Donna says with conviction.
"How do you know? I thought first babies were always early."
She frowns. "I think first babies are supposed to be always late, actually,
but that's not the reason I know it's not coming early."
"What is the reason?" I ask curiously, running my hand through her hair.
"If it came early, it would be born in January," she explains.
"So?"
"It's not going to be born in January," she says.
"Why not?"
"Because all the significant events in my life happen in February," she says
with certainty.
"Like what?" I ask.
She looks at me. "Like meeting you," she says softly.
My eyes widen. My wife is so sweet. And she has my baby inside her. I kiss
her again, and another thought occurs to me. "Hey, shouldn't we talk about
names?"
"No," she says.
My brow furrows. "Do you want to wait? Talk about them later?"
"No," she says again.
"Well, what are we going to do? Wait and see how many kids we have, and
number them?" I ask incredulously.
"Don't be silly. Of course we're not going to number our children," she
admonishes.
"Well then, we should talk about names," I insist.
"We don't need to," she informs me.
I scrunch up my face in confusion. "We don't? Why not?"
"I've already chosen the names," she says calmly.
"What? You already chose the names?"
"Yup."
"Without consulting me?"
"That's right."
"What if I don't like them?"
"Too bad."
"I don't even get a veto power?"
"Nope."
"Donna," I whine. "That's not fair."
"Life isn't always fair, Joshua."
"Fine," I pout. "Are you at least going to tell me what they are? Or should
I just wait until they're teenagers and I can sneak a peek at their driver's
licenses?"
"I suppose I could tell you."
I look at her expectantly. "Well? What are they?"
She smiles at me, and I almost forget what we're talking about, it's that
beautiful. "Grace Joan for a girl and Noah for a boy."
I'm speechless. "Grace Joan? And Noah?" She's named them after my family.
Every one I've lost, I'll be getting back again. She nods. That's it, I have to
kiss her again.
"What do you think?" she asks.
"I think you're wonderful," I tell her. "What's Noah's middle name?"
She frowns. "I can't decide. Originally I wanted to name him after Leo, but
Noah Leo, sounds funny. But now I'm leaning back towards Leo, because Noah
Samuel and Noah Josiah both sound funny to me, too."
"What about Noah William?" I suggest. "After your father."
Now she looks stunned. Finally, she gives me a small smile. "Noah William
has a nice ring to it," she says breathlessly, moving closer to me.
I move closer to her. "Grace is a good name for a girl," I say into her ear.
"I think every girl should have a part of her mother in her name."
She melts. "Josh, sometimes you say the sweetest- "
I grin. "Yeah, yeah. I know- I'm Josh Lyman, ladykiller."
"And... then you say something like that, and ruin the moment," she
finishes.
"Donna, nothing can ruin this moment," I say with certainty, kissing her on
the nose.
"I suppose not," she sighs.
I squeeze her hand. "So, when do we find out if it's a boy or a girl?"
"A few weeks."
I stare at her. "Amazing."
"It is, isn't it?"
"I was talking about you," I say softly. I wrap my arms around her and she
reciprocates. I bury my head in her neck. "I love you so much," I whisper
hoarsely.
She strokes the back of my head with a patient calm. "I love you, too."
I pick my head up. "I don't say that enough."
"Yes, you do."
"I don't."
"Well... maybe not," she allows. "But you think it so loud sometimes that I
can feel it."
"It should be more than sometimes."
She squeezes my hand. "Josh. You breathe it. I feel it all the time. I'd
much rather have that knowledge in my heart than the words in my ear." She
pauses. "Besides, I don't say it often enough, either."
"You don't have to. I see it." I finger the locket around her neck. "I see
it in the fact that you wear this every single day, no matter what you're
wearing, or if you're wearing nothing else. That you sleep with it on every
night, and that you won't even take it off when we make love. That the only time
you ever take it off is when you get in the shower, and that you only take it
off then because you're afraid it might be damaged."
She closes her eyes and brings her hand up to rest gently on mine as I trace
her collarbone with my fingertip and bring my touch back to the necklace. "You
know, if we do have a girl, I want to give her this," she says, stilling my hand
on the locket.
I frown. "I'm not sure a locket is the best present for a baby. What if she
chokes on the chain?"
"I wouldn't give it to her when she's a baby, silly. I would give it to her
when she's old enough to understand."
"Old enough to understand a necklace?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Josh. It's not a necklace. It's a symbol."
"A symbol of what?"
She thinks a minute. "It's a symbol of a lot of things."
"Such as?"
"It's a symbol of hope." She touches it again. "It's a symbol about...
history. That those who come before us shape us in more ways than we'll ever
know. That we can feel their love in the everyday gifts they've given us even
after they've gone. It's a symbol representing the strength of a promise. But
most of all, it's a symbol of enduring love."
I kiss her. "Are you sure you want to give it away?"
"Yes. Our daughter should have all those things."
"You should have them, too."
"I already have them, Josh."
"After all this time, I feel like it's also a symbol of who we are to each
other. I don't think I'd like seeing you without it."
"Maybe when the time comes, you could get me a new one," she suggests. "If
we have a daughter... we could have a picture of her... with her little brother.
And on the other side, we could have a picture of you."
I ponder this. "Our new family."
"Yes. A new promise. Built on the foundation of the one held in here," she
says, tapping the locket.
I press my fingertips to the flesh above her heart. "And here?"
She lays her hand over my heart. "And here."
I smile at her. "I can work with that."



oops, forgot to mention that the epilogue takes place two years after
josh and donna get married.

ari