Written for: intopolitics for the Bubbleficathon 2005
Bath prompt: Massaging shower head
Spoilers: Everything through the current eps of season 7. Let's say through "Internal Displacement"
Disclaimer: I own nothin'. Talk to Sorkin, Wells, et al. They'll tell you I'm making no money from this.

A/N: A huge thanks to Caz, Jenn, and my favorite spiderwoman, Kim, for the wonderful beta and suggestions. I couldn't have done it without you, ladies!

Also, thanks to google for confusing the shower head/showerhead issue even further. I've decided to say "screw Kohler!" go with Jenn and "shower head" on this one.

"Dear Consumer,

Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of the Suisse Luxe Deluxe Massaging Shower Head, guaranteed to provide the ultimate in stress relief and tension alleviation or your money back."

Hmm… sounds pretty good so far. Downright promising, even. Though the name definitely needs some work. I mean, come on, I found this thing for $19.99 at a chain drugstore a few blocks away from the hotel. We're not talking silver plating and variable speeds, here.

Hey, wait!

"The Suisse Luxe Deluxe Massaging Shower Head has three electrical, mechanized settings available for your showering pleasure."

Ooooh, now we're talking. Tell me more, tell me more! (Yes, I know. I'm quoting Grease, but it's late and I haven't slept more than 3 hours a night since I joined the campaign. Not to mention the fact that I was in a production of that show while I was a drama minor at UW. Trust me, that and "Fiddler on the Roof" tend to pop into my mind at the oddest moments. Ever hear the rumor that went around the White House about the senior staff assistants, too many mimosas, and a stirring rendition of "Sunrise, Sunset?" No? Well, as Josh used to say…)

Okay. Nope. Not going there. I'm just going to keep on reading this packaging till I forget all about the reason why I need a Suisse Luxe Deluxe Massaging Shower Head to relieve my tension.

Josh Lyman.

Oh, get your minds out of the gutter! Not that sort of tension, although… no. I mean the sort of tension that has turned my neck and shoulders into a marble-like structure worthy of a master sculptor. A predicament brought on, I might add, by being completely stressed out. Overworked. Underpaid. Okay, so I'm not treated like a gofer anymore, but still...

I. Need. A. Break. From him, from reporters, from the campaign… and the Suisse Luxe Deluxe Massaging Shower Head seems like just the thing to melt away that tension and ease those aching muscles. Those throbbing areas just dying for attention.

Wha..? NO! The muscles in my back, people! Just those. Not anywhere else. Nope, no other places on this body, this shrine to female empowerment, this bastion of "take charge" and "in charge." Yesiree, all those years of idolizing CJ Cregg, albeit with a lull there for a while around the lockdown, have certainly paid off.

Because after years of hard work, late hours, last minute saves, and regular calls to every florist in the DC Metro area, I have gained a position of power and respect. This time when I affect policy, the candidate knows it. When I speak, people listen. And by the same token, when I make a mistake, it comes down on my shoulders. I can't even tell you how good it feels to make my mark on my own terms.

Oh, sure, sure, I know what you're going to say. Haven't I been affecting policy for years? Haven't I had the ear, in at least a roundabout way, of the President of the United States? What about the Stackhouse Filibuster? Or saving Social Security? Or even on the downside, Karen Cahill and my underwear, translators gone awry, and 20 hours wandering through the Midwest? Sure, I've done all those things. But they were always via the hand of someone else, filtered through the great Joshua Lyman.

I know, I still sound somewhat bitter, and really, things are much better than they were before, but I still get angry sometimes when he reverts back to form. You know, those times when he bellows my name because he needs to find out where the "thing" is. When he forgets that his assistant has a different name now. When he gets that surprised look on his face when he finds out that yes, it was my idea to put more focus on unmarried women in the Chicago area between the ages of 25 and 35. And more than anything, when he shoots me that stare that says, "I didn't want you to be here; I turned you away, but I'll put up with you, your quirky turns of phrase and your attempts at connection just as long as you remember that your being here wasn't my idea." Sometimes I just want to wrap my hands around his neck and…

Wait. I thought we weren't going to talk about him anymore. He causes too much stress. (And I think that turning me homicidal falls neatly into the category of "too much stress".) This is supposed to be my night, my quiet time. My calm in the midst of the stormy campaign season. This is my celebration of my accomplishments. Of who Donnatella Moss has become.

For- cue trumpet fanfare -I am a woman who knows what she wants. A woman who finally understands what she needs and deserves. A woman who no longer looks at a red light and believes in a moment that has become cliché. A woman who is helping to shape the future of this nation, its President and First Lady. A woman…

Crap.

I'm a woman who needs AA batteries.

Since when do shower heads need batteries!

Okay, Donna, think. It'd be silly - and not a little dangerous - to walk all the way back to the drugstore at this time of night. And the hotel gift shop is closed. Maybe the front desk would have some but, well, let's just say that a single woman, all on her own, asking for AA batteries might come off as a bit suspicious. Not that I'm saying that it is. No, not at all. It's perfectly normal for a woman to want to take advantage of the… what was it?... "ultimate in stress relief and tension alleviation" that a Suisse Luxe Deluxe Massaging Shower Head can provide at the end of a long day. Not to say that it wouldn't be okay for her to use it for other purposes if she so desired. Of course, a woman has every right to take care of her needs any way she feels comfortable. Especially when it's … been a while. A good long while. Maybe even an eternity since anyone or anything other than a bath puff or the carefully positioned jets of a whirlpool tub have ventured into that territory. So long that the sight of an artfully photographed ad for a men's cologne is enough to make you wriggle in your chair. Or the sight of a particular campaign manager, fingers running through his unruly curly hair, dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a dimple just begging to be…

Nope, I'm fine. I'm good. Totally not needing any forms of gratification and totally a-okay on my own.

See, because being a woman on your own can be a good thing. A really good thing, even beyond all the obvious I-am-woman-hear-me-roar-in-this-new-phase-of-my-career aspects of my current situation. While I've never wanted to go to the Amy Gardner extremes of being a "Constituency of One," I really do like the fact that I'm not tied down, that there's no one I have to explain my actions to. I don't have to worry about drinking beer with the boys on the campaign; there's no one to get jealous. And I don't have to worry about remembering birthdays or anniversaries. Or that I shouldn't bring him coffee even though he's losing his grip. Or that I don't have to make sure that every meal has a noticeable lack of charred beef and some sort of vegetable in it.

I mean, you know, not having a hypothetical boyfriend really isn't all that bad. There are so many reasons, like… Well, for example…

What am I doing? If I keep on listing the many, numerous, copious, myriad reasons I don't need J… - a man - I'll never get my batteries and get this rotating machine of pleasure going!

It's a shower head, people. A shower head!

Honestly, I don't know how you can be comfortable with your minds constantly in the gutter. Doesn't it get cramped in there?

There is, of course, quite a simple solution to this situation. I just need to find someone on the campaign, staying at the hotel who would be willing to loan me a pack of AA's. Without asking a lot of uncomfortable - but completely misguided - questions.

Let me just pull out the index cards that have all the room numbers and names on them- and yes, before you ask, I've got them separated into color groupings based on jobs within the campaign. What? Did you think that was going to change anytime soon?

Josh, #214 - No way. I don't think that any explanation is necessary for that one. (See the uncomfortable questions clause above if you need clarification.)

Ronna, #216 - She's nice enough and we get along pretty well, but I don't want her to think I'm coming over for girly talk and a slumber party. I know it's petty, but the name thing still wigs me out.

Kyle and Mark, #218 - Somehow I think the Secret Service guys are more the gun-toting rather than battery wielding type. Any batteries they do have are probably reserved for their tazers.

Congressman Santos, #220 - Just my luck I'd knock on his door and interrupt him and Mrs. Santos in the middle of a session of furniture disassembly. Ugh. I mean, the Congressman is a handsome man, but there are definitely some things in a candidate's life that should be kept even from their senior staff.

David and Rashaun, #222 - See Room #218

Annabeth, #219 - She'd be great, perfect for this sort of thing. You just know that she was one of those girl scouts, always prepared, who put the rest of the troop to shame as she sailed toward her Gold award. I wouldn't be surprised if she had each type of battery carefully packed in her perfectly organized luggage. Sadly, her room's empty now that she got called away to Oregon with Leo. It's a shame, really. I've heard she has tension too.

You know, a stiff neck.

Lou, #217 - Maybe, but I'd rather not. Don't get me wrong. I like Lou- actually a lot better than I thought I would. But ever since she shoved me and a certain campaign manager into a room to "work things out," I haven't been able to dodge all of her questions about how that's going. Let's put her on the waiting list for now.

Donna, #215 - Yes, I put my name on the room list. What can I say? I like my lists complete.

Bram, #213 - Nice, non-threatening, and just metrosexual enough to have extra batteries for his grooming supplies. Plus, even if he had a crack to make about me needing batteries, which of course is a perfectly innocent request, he would keep it to himself (unlike some people I know.) Plus, he's right next door!

Ding ding ding! I think we have a winner, folks.

This is great. Just perfect. I'll just throw on my bathrobe- hey, on a campaign there's no so such thing as modesty- shuffle out my door, remembering to take my key card, walk next door, rap three times, and await Bram's innocuously handsome and benign face.

Don't agree with that assessment? Well, I'll show you. I hear Bram approaching the door, so in just a moment you'll be able to see what I mean. He's got dark features, a nice build, a youthful smile…

…curly reddish-brown hair, frown lines, faint creases fanning out from ageless eyes, and ohmygoddimples.

Wait, since when does Bram…

Oh, crap.

Oh, so you caught that last bit, did you? And probably figured it out before I did.

He's not Bram!

So, of course, me being me, I say as much.

"Not the last time I checked, Donnatella. Disappointed?"

Oh, no. No no no no no. Damn, there I go. Yup, my face is currently the shade of a farm fresh tomato and my mouth is still gaping. It's an attractive look, I must say. Even if I can't see myself doing it, my mind's eye is showing me all the gory details. And Josh's expression doesn't help matters.

Okay - you know that thing I said about there being no modesty on a campaign? Well, right now, as I see Josh's eyes locked on the sliver of skin my traitorous robe has decided to reveal, I remember that's a load of crap.

Maybe if I wish upon a lucky star, click my heels three times, and clap and say "I believe in fairies," the earth will open up and swallow me whole. Because certainly the last thing I thought of when I bought the shower head was a confrontation with Josh while in my bathrobe.

Oh, just shut up.

So, as I'm standing here, waiting for that whole cataclysmic event to happen and of course at the same time trying to puzzle out how I could have gotten the rooms wrong, I remember something quite important.

I am Donna Moss. High ranking staffer on the Santos campaign. Confident woman of the 21st century. Independent, strong, take charge. I've lived through MS scandals, a kidnapping, a shooting and Amy Gardner… twice. For fuck's sake, I've survived a bombing and a pulmonary embolism. I can sure as hell handle Josh Lyman.

Isn't this one of the post-White House skills I've been oh so proud of?

So, I'll answer him honestly. I won't revert to banter or turn into the Wisconsin Milkmaid. He wants to know if I'm disappointed?

"Possibly Joshua, but that will depend on what you have in that room for me."

Score! Josh's face is currently a lovely shade of crimson, his eyebrows are up somewhere around his hairline and he's babbling incoherently – so much for the vaunted 760! I, on the other hand, am once again possessed of alabaster skin and poised self-confidence – which I have to say has been somewhat bolstered by the way Josh's eyes are frantically flicking back and forth between my face and the v-neck of my robe.

Ha! Is this the Josh Lyman who has been so unaffected by my charms since I've joined the campaign? (Not that I've been trying, mind you, but old habits die hard.) The Josh Lyman who didn't recognize my wiles or my needs when I tried to shake him out of his funk (again, old habits) at the wedding?

Ladies and Gentlemen, pod Josh has officially left the building.

"What I have for you?"

Oh, he practically squeaked when he said that!

"Yes. Would you like me to speak slowly so you can catch up? 'Cause I'd be happy to do that."

Yes, I'm being snarky. And I know that is usually a surefire way to push Josh from flummoxed to pissed, but somehow I don't think that's where he's going right now. Nope, from the glazed look he has on his face, I'm pretty sure thinking isn't exactly his main activity at the moment. (Unless you consider fantasizing a form of "thinking…")

Not that I care about that. Nope, I need to focus on my mission. My mission for batteries. Remember the Suisse Luxe Deluxe Massaging shower head? Eye on the prize, Donna.

But that doesn't mean that I can't have a little fun with Josh while still getting what I want.

(Look, I'm going to stop telling you to get your minds out of the gutter because they seemed to find things quite comfy down there. Far be it from me to evict you.)

"Josh! Earth to Josh!" Okay, snapping my fingers repeatedly in his face seems to have brought him back from wherever he was… and now he can't seem to take his eyes off my legs… I'm starting to feel strangely warm, so I'll have to make this request rather short.

"I need two AA batteries."

His head snaps up immediately. "Why?"

"Because I do."

"For what?"

"Are you two years old? Why do you need know?"

"Why won't you tell me?"

Oh, hello petulant Josh! He'll be stomping his foot in a minute. Time to bring out the big guns.

"I need to relieve some tension. I have this ache that just won't go away."

Right, I know. I'm really overplaying this. It's probably even a bit mean to be doing this to Josh, but I'm tired, I'm stressed, and damn it, I want that mechanized revolving head.

(Hmmm… Maybe I should join you in that gutter there, because there's Freudian, and then there's somewhat intentional...)

Still, I do seem be riling Josh up a bit. Let's see how far I can push this.

"It's just really deep and insistent and I don't think I'll be able to go to bed without…relieving it." You know, I should feel a lot dirtier than I do right now with this pseudo-phone sex thing going on, especially since, you know, there's no phone and I'm still standing in the hallway in front of Josh-not-Bram's hotel room wearing a bathrobe. But the way Josh is breathing right now – a bit faster than usual - seems to make that all melt away.

But, you know, he's taking this a bit better than I expected. Even after that last little bit of information, he's not hyperventilating. In fact, he seems to be calmer than he was just moments ago. Maybe…maybe I'm losing my touch? I mean, I've known for years that Josh is attracted to me, even if he doesn't always realize it. All those questions of deeper emotion aside, I've sat on his lap in formalwear in a cab after a particularly romantic snowball fight. I've felt his … attraction.

But what if it's faded? What if it's not as strong as it was before? Not that I really care, you know. Independent woman and all. But I'll be really pissed if he's not as affected by me as I still am by him. Because no matter our personal issues, doubted feelings, or emotional betrayals, it always comes back to this one basic constant: Josh Lyman and I just feed off of each other when it comes to sexual tension. But what if there's a short in the circuit? What if he's so sick of our will-they-or-won't-they that he's given up? What if he's moved on? (Yes, this is the part where you can laugh at me for trying to convince you that I'd moved on. Clearly, I lied.) What if…?

"Would you like me to help you with that?"

What if…

He…what?

Did he just ask what I think he asked?

I…whoa.

That look in his eye? That's not disinterest. It's the look Josh gets when he makes a decision. A big decision.

I have to say yes. I need to say yes. But somehow my voice is caught, my lips won't form the words…

Thankfully, they're not completely paralyzed. Neither, it seems, are his.

Besides, actions speak louder than words, don't they?

I'm sorry, I'll have to leave you now. I'm currently being manhandled by Joshua Lyman in the hallway of the Hilton. Oops, now I'm being dragged inside his room and manhandled up against his door, I…ooooooh.

It's a few hours later and we finally seemed to have exhausted each other. And in between all those sessions of tension release(and I gotta tell ya, Josh is really, really good at … relieving stress – better than a masseuse any day!), we actually talked a bit. About some of what we've felt for each other and how we both said it through Rosslyn and Germany but could never seem to find the actual words. About how we've hurt each other. And how we still have a long way to go, but that we both think we'll get to the point to where we can just be Josh and Donna, emotional baggage permanently checked. But for all that talking, there's still one thing I'm not sure whether or not to share with him.

Should I tell him that those batteries were actually for a shower head, and not something more personal? (And don't even let me hear you say something about it all amounting to the same thing.)

Nah. Why spoil the mood with that revelation?

But other revelations are a good thing. Like the one I had just a few minutes ago as I lay there, head pillowed on Josh's chest, arguing with him about early education and school vouchers.

I think I get it now. This fear I've had of losing my strength and independence, so deeply ingrained that it kept me locked in denial about my feelings for Josh, was a completely baseless one. Want some proof? A few hours – okay, a few amazing, earth shaking, heart mending hours – as part of an "us" hasn't erased the "me" who challenges, strives, and succeeds.

The bottom line? Just because I have Josh in my life doesn't mean I've lost what I've accomplished. Because I get it now.

You can be a woman on your own without having to be alone.

Remind me to return that shower head tomorrow.