Title: Theoretical Numbers
Author: coffeeplease
Rating: LATE TEEN (sex talk)
Category: future fic, sweet and sappy
Spoiler Info: Everything up to "Tomorrow"
Disclaimer: WB, NBC, John Wells, Aaron Sorkin.... owners. I just lease
and try not to stain the carpet. Lawsuits don't look good on me.
E-mail address for feedback: jamhandy1@yahoo.com
Archiving permission: Sure, just tell me first
Notes: I thought after the last two, people could use some sugar. I
think Josh is a bit off in this one, not very canon to me. Donna, too.
Oh well. Feedback makes me giddy and warms my insides.


He's awake.

I know this, because there's a particular way Josh likes to toss and
turn. The first move he makes is to try and wrap his head in his
pillow. Sometimes, I worry that he'll smother himself. If he hasn't in
forty-something years, though, I suppose I should have faith in his
system.

If the pillow doesn't lull him back to sleep, he turns away from me.
Then, about five minutes later, he'll turn back to facing the ceiling.
Occasionally, this is accompanied by a distinctive leg twitch. It's
like having a vibrating bed for about ten seconds. Then he snorts and
turns towards me, throwing his arm over my body. Repeat. And if it's a
particular bad night, repeat again.

He's got his arm around me, his face buried in my hair and my pillow.
This is about the third toss and turn combination of the night. I
decide to end the cycle.

"What's wrong?" I murmur.

"Nothing."

His leg twitches again and he sighs. I put my hand on his arm and he
tightens his hold on me. "Is it something you can't talk about?"

"No."

"But it is something?"

"I just can't sleep."

I sigh and snuggle into him a bit. I don't want to nag, but I also
want him to get some sleep. I know if he talks, even if it's situation
room stuff and he can't tell me what's going on, he'll feel better.
Sometimes he just needs to let out some frustration.

This part of our relationship is as old as our friendship itself. We
just added nudity and sex and cohabitation to it. Which means there's
some variety now as to how he (and I) let frustration out. Let me tell
you, sometimes a blow job is just as good as twenty minutes of debate.

Had I had that in my arsenal during the boss/assistant years... maybe
Carrick would still be a Democrat. Not that he was a great loss or
anything. Why am I thinking about Carrick at two in the morning,
several years after the fact?

"We're down eight points." He says quietly, apropos of nothing.

He's up late over poll numbers. Ah, he's such a numbers guy, my man.
I'm all organization and he's physics and math. Together, we make
quite the nerd. "Yeah, I know."

"Your guy is at seventy. Seventy. That's quite impressive."

"Don't be sarcastic with poll numbers, I won't respond to it. Besides,
my guy is married to your guy and we work together. It's not a
competition."

He props his head up. "How could we go down eight points in a week?"

"He vetoed--"

"Yeah, I know."

"We knew he would take a hit."

"I said five points. I was prepared for five points." He plays with my
tank top, his hand slipping under to touch my stomach. "Eight points
kind of kills my mojo."

I put my hand over his. "Your mojo was working fine earlier tonight."

He smirks. "It was, wasn't it?"

"If going down eight points means you do me against a wall, then I'm
not so sure I want us to win reelection."

His hand leaves my stomach. "Bite your tongue!"

Now I smirk at him. "Wouldn't you rather bite it for me?"

He waggles his eyebrows, but his mood quickly turns back to polls.
"Okay, whatever. I'm just saying, the poll numbers are not filling me
with love for the American public."

"When have you ever been filled with love for the American public?"

"When they see things my way. And when they vote for my guy. I like it
when they do that."

I turn on my side to him. "Yeah, but that's not you loving the
American public. That's you loving the fact that they happen to agree
with you."

"And your point is?"

I smack his arm lightly. "I don't know how they can call you an elitist."

"I know... they greatly misjudge my character." He smiles and even
though we're joking and light, I know he's stressed about the numbers.
It wouldn't be Wednesday if Josh wasn't stressed about the numbers.

"So... Did you know I'm going to be forty-eight in October?" And he
accuses me of changing subjects quickly. Well, we're still talking
about numbers, technically.

"Yes."

"Forty-eight. That's getting close to fifty." Oh God, it's the
mid-life crisis. The next thing I know, he'll have those hair
implants, a showy car and a blond half his age. Well, hopefully, even
though I'm not half his age, I'll do for the blond. I'll just have to
talk him out of the Porsche. Although, it would be nice to drive a
Porsche. Maybe I should be more positive on this mid-life crisis
thing.

"It is closer to fifty than forty-seven is, yes." Maybe he'll get a
red Porsche, one of the ones that plays MP3s. Heated seats would be
nice.

"And you know you... you're inching towards forty."

"You're entering very dangerous ground there..."

"I thought you didn't have a problem growing older. Or turning forty."

"I don't have a problem theoretically."

"That's good."

"I just can't predict what I'll be like when I actually do turn
forty." I think I'll be fine. I've been happy being in my thirties, as
opposed to my twenties... for the most part. People take you
seriously. You don't get carded for every glass of wine. But they
advertise forty as this big milestone, usually with greeting cards
featuring a headstone, and I don't know what my reaction to that will
be.

"It's four years away."

"Five."

"Four and a half." He smiles at me and starts playing with the hair of
mine that's splayed on the pillow.

"You're the one that mentioned the whole fifty thing."

"Right... I did. You're right."

"I love it when you say I'm right. It turns me on."

He leers and leans over, planting a big one on my lips. At first, it's
a silly kiss, closed mouth and firm, but both of us trying not to
laugh. Then he starts to move his lips and really kiss me. I run my
hands he through his hair and he pulls me into his arms, continuing to
kiss me softly, but deeply.

We break apart. "We're down eight in the polls."

I'm a bit breathless, so all I can answer back is "yeah."

"What do you think about marriage?"

"You want to try and push gay marriage through with these numbers?"

He shakes his head, looking at me with wonder. "I wasn't talking about
gay marriage."

"What do I think--"

"'Cause I've been thinking and not just tonight. Past few months, I've
been thinking that maybe we should start talking about it, you know, a
bit. Theoretically. Like you don't have a problem with turning forty
theoretically, I think we should start talking about marriage
theoretically."

I squint at him, trying to understand what he's saying. Well, I do
understand what's he's saying... sort of. "But I am going to turn
forty. There's no theory to that."

"Right. So maybe the analogy doesn't work exactly--"

"I understand what you're saying, Josh."

"Oh, good. I didn't want to have to get out the hand puppets."

I give him my sauciest smile. "So what about marriage do you want to discuss?"

He knows I'm playing him. He must. Why does he seem so nervous?
"Well... it's... an old institution."

"Yes."

"Several people we know have gotten married."

"Yes."

"Like CJ. And Danny. Although they married each other, I don't know if
that counts as an ex--"

"It does." I now give him a sincere smile. "Josh, if it makes you
nervous to talk about it, we don't have--"

"I just don't want you to say no."

I look at him, but I don't say anything.

"When I ask, when I risk my own knee to do that whole romantic thing
women love so much, I don't... I was... I am worried that you'll say
no."

I touch his naked arm, truly moved. "Josh, I'm not going to say no."

We look at each other for a large, important moment and then he
smirks. The jerk. My adorable, pre-pre-husband and yet he's still...
"I knew that."

"You did not. You were doing that whole tossing and turning the past
few nights; have you been worried about this?"

"Not worried. Not at all. Just thinking about what kind of cake I want
for the wedding."

I roll my eyes.

"What do you think of chocolate?" He smiles at me and raises his
eyebrows. Then, suddenly, his features fill with panic. "Oh my God, I
ruined it."

"What?"

"Donna, I ruined the proposal. You were supposed to be surprised."

I kiss him lightly. "Well, just choose a moment to surprise me with
the actual proposal. You haven't ruined a thing Josh, not a thing. And
you don't have to get down on one knee. I'm not... you know that that
stuff doesn't mean anything to me."

"Yeah, but I do want to do it right. I don't want you holding a
botched proposal over my head the rest of my life."

"Would I do that?" He just looks at me. "I would only be kidding if I did."

He looks at my deeply for a few moments, taking deep breaths. His eyes
don't leave mine, not even when he reaches out to push some of my hair
behind my ear.

"So I didn't ruin anything," he whispers.

"No."

"I love you," he says simply, without any sarcasm or smirks or leers.
Just a warm, sated look in his eyes.

"I love you, too."

"Will you marry me?" He says very softly.

I nod and whisper yes. He pulls me into his arms, his tongue already
there when I open my mouth to him. We eskimo kiss after we pull away
and then he sighs, smiling.

"Excellent. I don't know why I could sleep."

"What about the eight points?"

"Yeah. I've got a ring, you know. I'm gonna make this proposal a
two-part thing."

"Sounds good."

"It's a nice ring. I'm sure you'll like it. Well, if you don't, I'll
get you another one."

"I'll like it, Josh. It's from you. I'll like it." I lean down into my
pillow, staring up at him.

"Donna, you know the thing about marriage is... you share everything."

"Yup."

"I mean, we share everything now, but we're talking bank accounts and
burial space and... the eventual little people that'll spit up and
look like you and I."

"They won't spit up the entire eighteen years."

He grins. "Well, they'll be half you... anyway, this sharing thing...
you'll have to share your guy's poll numbers with me. Because what's
yours is mine and all that."

"And what's yours is mine. Do I get the keys to the situation room?"

He rolls his eyes and plops down on the pillow next to me. "Anything
for you, dear." He says in a funny voice.

"Can we invade a country of my choosing?"

"I was figuring to make that your first anniversary gift."

He grabs my hand under the covers and pulls me closer to him. I lay my
head on his shoulder. We're both drifting off.

"We're engaged," he whispers.

"Yeah."

"You're my fiancee."

"Yeah."

"I'm stealing your poll numbers."

"Okay."

We finally fall asleep.