Title: Negative Charges Author: Courtney (imperviousness@gmail.com) Category: Josh and Donna, S7 Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: I own nothing. No, seriously, I own nothing. Notes: Takes place after The Al Smith Dinner but before The Wedding. Out-and-out references made to The State Dinner, The White House Pro-Am, The Drop-In, and Artic Radar. A big thank you to caz963 for making her points and being right. Summary: They move around each other like electrons around a nucleus, their negative charges pulling them along in their own paths, never colliding. Negative Charges By Courtney She crosses her arms more often these days, as if guarding herself from things Josh doesn't see. He wonders when she became this person, all business and sophistication. He misses the wide-eyed looks she'd give him as Chinese satellites fell to earth, or as she spoke of nuclear weapons secreted away under the Eisenhower putting green. "Those are good stories about you, though. Those stories would make me like you." "You like everybody." He can see the flashes of irritation in her eyes whenever he makes a passing comment about their previous alliance. He has a feeling that she has grown to hate that na‹ve past version of herself. He would tell her that that is the girl he fell in love with, but he doubts it would do any good, just as he doubts he could find the courage to say those words. They aren't speaking much these days. Well, they are speaking, but only about business and on terms of strict professionalism. There is no banter, there are no smiles. He doesn't tuck his hand against the small of her back to lead her through a crowded room. She doesn't need his guidance anymore. Sometimes, he catches her watching him. She tries to be stealthy, glancing around the room, keeping her eyes from lingering too long. But he caught her once, twice. It had been innocent enough; after all, he'd been watching her in the same not-so-stealthy way. He had held her gaze until she looked away with flushed cheeks, taking a gulp of champagne. He isn't sure how much more of this polite-yet-hostile existence he can take. They move around each other like electrons around a nucleus, their negative charges pulling them along in their own paths, never colliding. And so here they spin, at a crowded late-night fundraiser. Despite the room-length civility between them, Josh remains constantly aware of her position. He knows she's in front of the champagne cart, but to the left of the expensively insipid ice sculpture. She talks with Congressman Wilde and laughs politely at some comment. Knowing Wilde as he does, Josh guesses the comment probably doesn't even warrant a cheerful grin, let alone an actual laugh. The congressman then, as if taking an unscripted cue, casually places his champagne-free hand on Donna's elbow. In knee-jerk fashion, Josh tenses. It's primal, it's possessive. Memories fire in his mind's eye like strong bursts of electricity, coloring his world with their momentary sparks. It's a party early in their first term and Donna is daintily sipping peppermint tea. "Why would anyone want to diminish a woman's sexual desire?" "We can get out of hand?" And then it's the day of the reception welcoming the newly appointed ambassadors and Lord John Marbury is making lecherous eyes at his assistant. "You seem threatened by his brilliance." "I'm not... threatened by his brilliance, nor am I threatened by his good looks-" "What about his charm?" But just as quickly as they begin, the sparks fade. Josh is left with a full glass of champagne in his hand and the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth. He aches for the way she used to tease him, study him, touch him - and he's angry with himself for the way he let her go without much of a struggle. Josh's eyes refocus on Wilde and he keeps his feet firmly planted near the ceramic pillar. She isn't a damsel and there is no distress. If he listens closely, he can hear Hercules rockets spilling out of the Rose Garden. While maintaining her poise, Donna smiles, laughs, then gingerly turns her arm out of Wilde's grasp while moving her hand to his arm. She pats him, gives a mock frown of condolence before turning to Edie as she walks by. The man has been gracefully pawned off on another unsuspecting staffer. It was flawless. She has become well versed in the artful dodge. He watches as Donna fills a napkin with shrimp and then slips out of the room. Grabbing another flute of champagne, Josh follows. When she turns unexpectedly down a forked corridor, the rhythmic clacking of her heels becomes his compass. But then the sound stops. As silent seconds flicker by, he begins to wonder what possessed him to follow her. What was his purpose? What would he say, now, after all this time and awkwardness? Before he can formulate the semblance of a plan, he turns a corner and is several heartbeats away from smooth pale skin and silky blonde hair. She's leaning against the tiled wall, her arms again crossed over her chest, but loosely this time. "There you are," she comments with lightness in her voice, but he can see the uneasiness that remains in her eyes. "Uh..." He feels ambushed and foolish. "Could you part with that second flute of champagne, Josh?" She gestures to his left hand and he glances at it as if it's a foreign limb. "Yeah, sure. Here." You eloquent bastard, he berates himself. "I grabbed some extra shrimp, just in case." She grabs the napkin from the cut-out ledge in the wall and cradles it in her hands. "In case of what?" A year or two ago, some quip would have fallen from the tip of his tongue with ease. Now, he sticks to their polite-yet-hostile script and looks for the tape marks on the floor that tell him exactly where to stand. "In case you followed me." "Uh, why..." he swallows. "Why would I follow you?" She shrugs casually but offers him a pointed look, an arch of eyebrow that seems to say she knows why he followed her even if he doesn't. It's as if she's trying to bait him into an argument. And he tamps down the urge to get angry, to yell, because this is the first decent moment they've had in quite some time - and that's a depressing fact all on its own without ruining it with a pitched fit. He has nothing to say. Even the most benign remark fails to come to him and in that moment (like a handful of moments before it), he wishes for her penchant to spout off-the-wall trivia. He'd give his other flute of champagne just for some inane fact about Indonesian sorcerers- "So, if anything happens, the prudent thing is to stay still and calmly explain your business." "Well, prudent or not, once the scythe comes out, I'm probably going to haul ass." He wouldn't mind a scythe to the gut right about now. Surely, it'd be less painful than standing inches from a woman he's spent the better part of a decade with, only to find that they no longer have anything to talk about. This was what some marriages became, wasn't it, just an aching silence? He hears the soft click of her heels as she shifts on her feet, snapping him from his thoughts. He glances at her, and realizes she has been watching him cautiously with her napkin of shrimp still cupped in her hands. "Want one?" "Uh, no. I've-I've developed a thing against shellfish. Zero tolerance." "Really? Since when?" Again, she arches an eyebrow, a gesture that months ago he would have found flirtatious or coy, but which now seems like something else all together. "Since-" Three seconds ago. "Since a while ago. There was this thing once at a- and well it was rather-" he trails off with a sweep of his hand. "Ah." Josh can tell by her expression she doesn't really believe him, but can't figure out why he would lie about shellfish. He can't figure it out either; the lie came so easily. Another wall quickly constructed; another break in their communication. "So, are you having a good time, tonight?" "It's no different than anything else." She nibbles a shrimp tail and sips her champagne. "Oh, I don't know about that." "You've been to dozens of events like this; can you honestly tell me there's something different about this one?" Her tone is playfully chiding, and if Josh squints, he can see the shadow of that former self she's been trying so hard to squash. But then he blinks and it's gone. He turns his gaze on this new Donna and holds her stare. "Honestly? Yeah, there's something different about this one." When he notices her subtle flinch, his brain shouts victory! But he's still no closer to her than he was seven minutes ago, watching from across the room as she laughed with Congressman Wilde. They're talking themselves in circular riddles, both too proud and too afraid to say what they really mean, just once, instead of allowing their relationship to remain this tangled mess of denial. What has he to lose- this stilted, awkward conversation? Yeah, that'll keep him up at night. She bites the inside of her cheek and some of her lipstick rubs off. Before he can stop himself, he brushes his thumb against the fading color on her lips and her eyes widen in surprise. But he drops his hand quickly, as if burned by the electric undercurrent, and his eyes cloud over. "Everything's different," he adds, his voice thick from confusion and restraint, gulping down the last of his champagne with one swift tilt of his head. While he sets the empty flute on the ledge next to hers, she crosses her arms against her chest, locking him out once more. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, and staggers slightly as he walks away, an electron returning to his path, his universe remaining off-kilter. Somewhere a Chinese satellite crashes unnoticed into an ocean.