TWW Ficlet: Never Trust a Bow Tie Fandom: The West Wing Title: Never Trust a Bow Tie Rated: R, language Pairing: Josh/Donna Notes: Well, I wasn't completely satisfied with my elevator story, because it was too neat, so I decided to give the Josh/Donna King Corn post-ep another shot. It's not set directly after King Corn, it's sometime in the near future, and it also deals with a conversation I had with I believe dianora2 dealing with Donna's PTSD. So. Enough with the notes. [ never trust a bow tie ] by kHo Never Trust a Bow Tie Grumbling to himself Josh jerks the door handle up and holds the door open with his toe as he reaches back to grab the key card off the table. One hand holding onto the bow tie he still can't get right and the other clutching his coat he steps outside and looks straight into the eyes of Donna, who just kept magically being his hotel-room-across-the-hall roommate. Why? Because God is mean. "Hey," he said, looking down the hall and then down at his watch. "You going to this..." "Yeah," she said softly, smiling and looking down at her hands. "Still can't tie a tie, huh?" "I can tie a tie, I just can't..." He sighed, handing her his coat and reaching up to jerk angrily at his bowtie. "Ties aren't supposed to have bows, Donna. Girls wear bows. Guys do not wear bows." She bit her lip and it was as close to laughing at him as he'd seen her in months. He contemplated falling down and hitting his head really hard against his door because maybe that would actually get her laugh to be audible. Perhaps if his shoes were new enough... "They look nice with tuxedos," she said, stepping forward and handing him his coat. He looked at her. "You're just gonna leave me here like this," he asked, and he'd really meant for that to sound light and airy. He'd meant for it to be a joke, not a plea. He didn't have control over his tone of voice these days where Donna was concerned though. She shook her head, stepping forward and taking his bowtie, sticking it in her teeth while she fiddled with his collar. "You really need to figure this out Josh." He flashed back to the first time she'd done this for him. She'd been amused and annoyed at the same time, probably because he'd been bitching nonstop about the stupidity of black-tie affairs, and she'd looked directly in his eyes and asked him what kind of father doesn't teach his boy how to tie a bow tie. His tirade had stopped, because even though he knew she'd spoken before thinking, his father's death was still only 3 months old, and it stung like hell. She'd covered her mouth, backed a good two feet away, and immediately burst into tears. "My Dad didn't like bow ties," he says softly, back in the present. "Said you should never trust a man with a bow tie. They'll try to swindle you." Donna looks at him, her eyebrow raised elegantly, and he knows she's remembering now too. He wonders if she remembers how quickly he'd rushed to assure her it hadn't hurt even though he'd felt like sobbing himself. He wonders if she knows how much he cared about her, even back then, even before everything else. "Well. You look good in it. Don't know how trust worthy you are..." She looked at him and her smile faltered a little bit at the look in his eyes. "I'm kidding, Josh," she said, draping the straps around his neck and beginning to manipulate it into the perfect little knot. "It was a joke." He tried to meet her eyes but they were averted to his neck. He never had been able to look at her while she was this close. There'd always been this strange tension he hadn't wanted to label in moments like these. He hadn't wanted to call it what it always had been: Want. "Was it?" She flicked her eyes up into his and a smile flickered across her face. "Almost done." He took a step back, the work she'd done on the tie quickly unraveling. "Donna." She frowned at him, cocking her head to the side. "Josh, I was almost done." When she stepped forward he held up a hand, shaking his head. "Do you not trust me, Donna? Is that really what this is? That's what we've come to?" She looked down and away. "It was a joke." "Yeah," he said, nodding his head. "And how pathetic is it that we can't joke anymore? Huh? How fucking pathetic is it that when you tell a joke you need to tell me it's a joke and I need to ask to make sure?" She pursed her lips and stepped forward, backing him into his hotel room door. She looked into his eyes and grabbed the strap that would eventually be a bow tie in her fingers again, clenching her jaw. "Just let me fix this, okay? Let me fix your thing, and we can go back to whatever the hell else we were--" "Fix the thing, Donna," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "Which thing? Because the tie? I don't give a shit about the tie. I want to fix us." She smiled slightly, shrugging. "We're not broken, Josh." He snorted, looking down the hall and watching two elderly people waiting for the elevator to arrive. "I am," he said softly. Her fingers faltered for a moment and she bit her lip. "Don't," she said before resuming her task. "Just stop." He reached up and yanked the tie, once again mere second away from being tied, and threw it to the floor. "No," he yelled, not caring that the elderly couple was looking their way in alarm. "I won't stop! I miss you, Donna!" "This was a mistake," she muttered, clutching at the shawl wrapped around her too thin shoulders and looking down at the carpet. "We should..." she paused, closing her eyes. "I should go." "See," he yelled, grabbing her shoulders and staring her down. "There! Right there. We, Donna. You said we. It's always been us. You and me. Always. We should, we will, we do, we don't... We." She shook her head. "We're not we, Josh. Not anymore." "But we could be," he said, lowering his voice and glaring at their nosy neighbors as the elevator finally arrived until they got on it. "If you'd just talk to me. What did I do? What did I do, and how can I fix it? Cause I will. I'll do whatever. I'll show up wearing a God damned wet suit to this function if that's what it takes, just tell me how to fix it!" She chewed on her lip still, staring at the elevator doors as they closed. "We have to get to the thing." "What, Donna," he asked, yelling, two seconds away from ripping his own hair out. "What can I do?!" "I don't know, Josh," she yelled, finally snapping. He rolled his eyes. "What do you mean you don't know--" "Because I don't know what you did, ok?! I don't know why I'm pissed at you!" He straightened then, taking a deep breath. "But you are pissed at me?" At her nod he felt his heart clench. "Why?" She laughed, a short bitter laugh, and rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. "I just told you, Josh, I don't know!" His hands still clasped her shoulders, but his grip loosened. It registered faintly that if she really wanted to leave, it wouldn't be hard to get out of his grip. The thought almost made him tighten it, but the fact that she wasn't gave him a little hope. "Donna..." She finally met his eyes then, her mouth trembling just a little bit. "I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I'm sorry." She bent her head, her hair falling over her face, shading it. "I really don't... it's not fair. I know it's not fair." He stepped closer but resisted the urge to envelope her in his arms. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her away. "It's okay." "It's not okay," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm not okay, Josh. I don't know what's going on with me! I don't understand." He nodded, studying her face. "I know." She laughed, shaking her head. "How could you--" "Shot, Donna," he said, and his heart clenched again at the shock on her face. "Remember?" "What?" "What happened to you in Gaza--" She wrinkled her brow. "This isn't about Gaza." He raised his eyebrows at her. "Donna." She shook her head, stepping out of his reach again. "You think this is about Gaza," she asked, and it was half indignation, and half uncertainty. "You think I'm pissed at you about Gaza?" "I didn't say..." He paused, drifting off. "I didn't mean directly, Donna." She laughed, rolling her eyes. "So you think this is some sort of post stress thing, huh? You think I have PTSD or what the hell ever?" It was her tone that stung the most. It was the sentiment under the tone that knocked the breath out of him. The unsaid 'I'm not that weak, Josh' in the statement. "I don't know, Donna." She started to come back at him, he could practically hear it before she opened her mouth. She stopped just before it came out though, and the flare of anger drained from her eyes. He watched as she practically wilted right in front of his eyes. "Josh." He stepped forward, wondering if he was going to have to catch her. He would, if she fell, but he was still terrified. "I'm right here," he whispered, thinking of windows and broken shards. Ave Maria, and the string quartet. Yoyo Ma and the Carol of the Bells. Hospitals and 3am and Donna right by his side the whole time. "A car backfired," she said softly, looking at him as if suddenly she thought he had all the answers. He raised an eyebrow. "What?" "A car backfired, the other day. Me and Will were walking to get lunch, down the street, and a car backfired." He nodded, unable to breath. "Ok." "I puked," she said, a smile almost appearing but quickly turning into a frown. "Right there, on the street. I was in the middle of a sentence, and it... and I puked." Of all the emotions he'd had warring with in him only one remained: fear. "You need to talk to someone." She shrugged. "With what time?" "You have to make time," he said. "Donna, you can't just ignore--" She shook her head, looking down the hall again. "Will didn't know what to do with himself," she said with a smile. "You should have seen him. He completely freaked out." Josh fought the stab of jealousy he felt at that. He resisted the urge to shake her and say 'it shoulda been me, I should have been there!' "About the car?" She shook her head, looking at him. "About me. He's been looking at me like I'm a volcano ever since." "Prick," Josh gritted out, feeling the anger surge back into him. "That little fucking--" "Josh," she said, smiling and touching his arm. "Not like that. He's worried. He's been trying to get me to see someone, but I keep telling him no." He took a deep breath, looking at her. "Why?" She shrugged. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head and smiling. "I guess... I don't know. It wasn't the same, it didn't mean the same." His brow furrowed. "Mean the same as what?" She met his eyes. "It didn't mean the same as it would have coming from you." She laughed. "Which is probably part of the reason why I'm pissed at you." He shook his head, at a loss. "Donna--" "Come on," she said, grabbing his arm and starting to walk backwards down the hall. "We need to get there." "There can wait, Donna." She tugged a little harder and finally he started to follow. "We have to put in an appearance." "I don't care about appearances, Donna, I care about you," he said, stopping where he was and putting his hand on top of hers. She smiled at him and stepped forward, leaning over and kissing him on the lips for the briefest of moments. "I know. We'll put in an appearance and then we'll find a corner. We'll talk." He raised an eyebrow at her. "We'll talk?" She nodded. "Yeah." "Ok," he said, nodding. "But Donna?" She sighed, looking at him. "What, Josh?" He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers again, lingering for as long as he dared. Closing his eyes he rested his forehead against hers as he pulled back. "We have a lot to talk about." "Okay," she whispered back, her eyes still closed. "I'm seeing that now. Yes." He laughed, kissing her again and then putting a hand on her back as he began to steer her towards the elevators. There was a lot of reparation work to do and it wasn't gonna be easy and it wasn't gonna be quick, but Josh was realizing something. Maybe God wasn't completely mean.