My feet barely hit the tarmac before Josh swoops in, nearly knocking me over as he hugs me. I immediately grab onto him as I stumble backward. He just tightens his arms around me, burying his face in my neck.
"Hi," I say, surprised at the ferocity of it all.
"I missed you so much," he mumbles against my skin. It makes my heart melt.
"I missed you, too," I answer, reaching up to stroke his hair. I glance over at the President and First Lady, but they're too busy having their own reunion to notice what we're doing over here.
Josh picks his head up, the expression on his face a kaleidoscope of emotions. "Don't go away again," he whispers, his voice pleading.
"Josh, you know I can't—" I'm cut off by his mouth on mine, kissing me desperately. I briefly consider pushing him away—the First Couple of the United States is standing feet away from us, not to mention at least a dozen members of various security details—but I don't have the willpower. I've missed him, too, more than I let myself think about until now. Ten days is too long.
"I'll see you on Monday, Donna."
I break apart from Josh instantly, all but snapping to attention as I turn to face Mrs. Santos. "Ma'am?"
She rolls her eyes at my choice of word. "Monday morning. I'll see you then. Try not to wander into work before that."
The President glances up at us for a couple of seconds before returning his attention to this wife. "You, too, Josh. Barring a national emergency, of course."
"Thank you, sir," he answers, cupping my face to bring me in for another kiss. Normally, neither of us would ever consider being this affectionate in front of the Santos', but they're off in their own little world at the moment, paying no attention to their Chiefs of Staff. It's been ten days for them, too, and now we have an officially sanctioned three-day weekend. I think we're all focused on that at the moment.
Still, we pull ourselves together enough to stand politely while they get into their limo and drive off before making our way over to the waiting town car. Josh holds the door open for me, taking my hand and squeezing my fingers affectionately as he helps me into the car. He scrambles in after me, pressing as close to my side as he can.
"Anywhere you need to go, sir?" the driver, Marlene, calls back to us, glancing at us in the rear view mirror.
Josh lifts his eyebrows at me and I shake my head. "No, thanks. Just home, please."
Home. I let out a sigh and drop my head back against the seat. God, that sounds amazing. It's only been a week and a half, but I've missed our apartment. I've missed trying to shove Josh out of the way as he sprawls almost diagonally across the bed, and trying to yank the covers out from where they get trapped underneath him as he goes from sleeping on his side, to his back, to his other side, then turns in a circle to start the cycle all over again; not that he tosses and turns all night. He can just be a very light sleeper at first. Once he passes out, he hardly moves. Still, I have to constantly shove his dead weight off me after he flops almost completely on top of me at least three times a night. I would have thought that at some point I'd enjoy having a bed all to myself and not have to fight for my usual third of the mattress, but I was surprised to find I was mistaken. Once you get used to sleeping a certain way, it's hard to go back.
The steady hum of the car's engine is actually soothing as we make our way out of the airport toward our apartment. I feel Josh shift beside me, his arm sliding around my shoulders, and I crack my eyes open. His face is almost disturbingly close to mine but I smile anyway, just happy to have him near me. He leans in and kisses me again, keeping it quick this time. "I love you," he whispers, rubbing his nose against mine just a little.
I feel myself grin broadly, unable to help it. We've been together for a year and a half and I still can't get over hearing him say that. "I love you, too." I reach up and stroke his cheek, pulling him in for another kiss. He sighs against my mouth a few moments later, finally settling down next to me.
"I wonder if we're going to have to deal with another story about another broken bed," he says suddenly. I sit up and stare at him, baffled.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The President and the First Lady," he answers softly, trying to be mindful of Marlene and his other guard, Gus, sitting shotgun, though both are too discreet to ever repeat anything. "There was that time when we were campaigning—"
"Yeah, I heard about it."
"You did? Did I tell you?"
"No, but I have ways. I think it's sweet that they've been married almost seventeen years and still love each other so much."
"Love each other so much that they can break beds?"
I roll my eyes—he can have trouble seeing the bigger picture at times. "No, that they still feel that sort of passion for each other. It doesn't happen all the time."
"Are you implying that we don't—"
"Not even a little bit."
"Because I think I can definitely do some damage to that bed of ours tonight."
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to suppress my grin and failing miserably. "Oh, you think so, do you?"
"It's been ten days, Donna," he answers, his voice lowering an octave. "I think I'm capable of it."
"Ten days isn't that long, when you think about it, you know. We used to go a lot longer than that."
He snorts. "Yeah, before we knew what sex was like with each other. Doesn't count."
"We've gone more than ten days since we've been together, too," I point out, and he makes a face. That part is unfortunately true. Sometimes, between our crazy hours at the White House and the traveling that comes along with our positions, a couple of weeks will have gone by with us only passing like ships in the night. Granted, that happened more in the early months of the administration than it does now, over a year into it, and we always found a way to make up for lost time, but I do know that we can manage to go without sex for extended periods of time and survive.
Not that I ever want to, though.
"Well, I'm just saying, I think I'm in the mood to break some furniture tonight," he whispers, his mouth finding its way to my neck.
I tilt my head, giving him better access, and sigh. "Put some dents in the walls?"
"Oh, hell yeah." His hand slides across my stomach until he reaches my hip, pulling me closer.
"We probably shouldn't try to break the bed, though." I glance at the front seat of the car, though neither of them seems to be paying attention to us. Granted, their job is to pay more attention to the outside world and potential threats than the two horny adults in the backseat, but I think everyone on Josh's detail has kind of gotten used to acknowledging then ignoring the two of us when we're in this mood. "Although, I have found a couple of really nice beds recently, one in particular at this cute little antique shop…"
He lifts his head, looking at me quizzically. "Okay, first off, when did you go to an antique store?"
I smile at him, my head feeling a little hazy. "Josh, you work a lot. I don't spend all of my free time at the White House. Plus, we live in Georgetown and there are only about a million stores crammed in to every nook and cranny and sometimes I like to explore."
He makes a face, but only because I know that the thought of spending time wandering in and out of stores is kind of his idea of hell, hence why I've never asked him to do it with me. "Well, my second question is, you don't like our bed?"
"I like our bed fine."
"But you just said you found some other ones you like."
"Well, yeah, I find a lot of things I like. That's the whole point of shopping."
"I won't even get into how much stuff you don't buy," he says, which is an odd bone of contention with us. I frequently lament about a particular piece of furniture or artwork or even something simple like shoes that caught my eye but haven't bought, and he always questions why I won't just get whatever it is that I like. He doesn't understand that I've spent most of my life on a shoestring budget and that it never really occurs to me to just buy something. Josh has never had that issue. While he doesn't live extravagantly and doesn't blow through money like some immature college kid, he's always just bought things without giving it much thought. He seems to think that now that I'm in a better financial position, I should just do what normal people do and buy things; I can't get him to understand that I can't just break a thirty year habit after a few decent paychecks. "But if you want a new bed, why didn't you say something?"
"Josh, I'm not saying that. All I said was that I've found a couple of nice ones, not that I need to replace the one we have."
"Because you can, you know. We have the money for it. We have the money for you to redo the whole place if you want."
Another small, odd bone of contention. He likes to refer to his money as our money, which I can't wrap my head around and I frequently tell him is absolutely insane. True enough, I've been a signer on his account for years, but that was mostly so when he got too distracted by work to remember to write checks on time, I could do it for him. It really came in handy after he was shot and often in no shape or mood to take care of those things, and he never bothered taking me off the account. Actually, I thought that's what we were doing when we went into the bank together months ago, and then I somehow wound up as a joint owner of his account. He's crazy. It never occurred to him how bad of an idea it is to let someone have unlimited access to every single last penny he owns, not that I would ever take his money. He just thinks that because we're together, what's his is mine. He's never demanded the same in return; he just wanted my name on all of his stuff, and now it is. Somehow. I think I was bamboozled the day it happened. That would explain how I'm now also able to access his safe deposit box. The most I do with his financial stuff, though, is deposit part of my pay in with his and write checks for our combined expenses. In his mind, though, I should be using it for everything, including but not limited to buying myself new clothes when the mood hits. I suppose that technically a new bed would fall under household expenses, but I can't see myself going out and doing that, particularly not without his input, and especially not while the bed we have is actually quite lovely.
"Josh, can we not do this now, please?"
"Do what?" he asks, genuinely confused. I let out a noise and my head drops back as I look at him imploringly. "I'm not doing anything."
I sigh and put my hand on his leg, giving his thigh a squeeze. He's right. He's not doing anything. He's really just being his normal, sweet, mostly oblivious self. There's no malice behind his words. I've just been on a plane all day and away from home for too long. I need time to decompress. "You're right."
His eyebrows reach for his hairline, his forehead crinkling dramatically. "I am?"
I snort, squeezing his leg again. "This is your once a month. Savor it."
He smiles at me, scooting down next to me so he can press his forehead against my temple. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"You really didn't."
"Are you sure?"
This dear, sweet man; his worst crime is that he wants to share his life with me. "I'm positive. I'm just tired and cranky."
"Well, Madame Cranky Pants, we're almost home. Think you can survive until then?"
I snuggle a little closer to him, letting out a long breath. "No promises."
He tightens his hold on me and my body relaxes a little. I know I can be oversensitive about the sharing money thing and about how lackadaisical he is with his own finances, but that's only because I've been in a position where I trusted the wrong person and he managed to blow through every cent I had to my name. It was completely my fault and I would absolutely never do that to Josh, but part of me can't help but feel like he needs to be careful and a little less trusting. I guess, from his point of view, though, he knows I'd never do that to him, so why shouldn't he trust me?
We sit in silence for the rest of the ride, my mind drifting to the point of unconscious more than once as Josh's arms keep me warm and cozy. Just sitting like this in the car makes me realize how poorly I slept for the last week and a half—it's just weird to do it without him next to me. I've become absurdly codependent on my boyfriend. Though, really, Josh and I have been pretty codependent for years now.
I open my eyes as the car comes to a stop in front of our building and lean forward to grab the door, stopping at the last minute as I remember we haven't been given the all clear. I don't have any trouble remembering to wait when I'm in a car with the First Lady or the President or even out somewhere with Josh, but something about getting home always makes me forget that there's still protocol to follow. More than a year and a half of this and it still hasn't sunk in. For his part, Josh usually forgets, too.
I feel his hand on my back as we wait and look over my shoulder at him, smiling. "I love you," he says softly, and I feel my smile grow wider even as I cock my head at him in confusion.
"I love you, too."
His fingers press gently along my spine, putting just enough pressure on my sore muscles to make me sigh with satisfaction. The car door opens then, another member of the detail greeting us. "All clear," Troy says, stepping back to allow us to get out. I pause on the sidewalk so I can grab my luggage but Josh beats me to it, draping my garment bag over his arm as he lifts my small suitcase, finding that easier than pulling out the handle and using the wheels.
"You don't have to do that," I tell him, reaching out for at least one of my bags, but he just ducks away.
"I don't mind doing it for you," he answers as we start to move toward the building, and I can't help but wonder a little at how different things are now than when I used to drag all of his luggage around on trips or through the White House. We follow Troy upstairs, trailed by Gus. Alex greets us at the top of the stairs, pushing our door open for us. Fortunately, the detail has gotten a bit lighter in the last few months as the threat from Kazakhstan starts to ease up. The extensive group of guards we've dealt with for more than a year have been extremely kind and patient with us as we've gotten used to having people outside of our front door, stopping us from just walking into a grocery store, and doing constant sweeps of our apartment. It's felt tedious at times, and definitely frustrating, but we both know it's ultimately for our safety. Well, technically, it's for Josh's safety—I just get to reap the benefits. Lately, some of the usual people have been reassigned to other jobs, and it almost feels like we're something resembling a regular couple.
"Westport and Wisconsin are safe in the nest," Alex says into the wrist piece, and I roll my eyes at the names. That was a complete accident.
Few of us had official codenames when we worked for President Bartlet—most of us weren't high enough in the chain of command to warrant one, though it wasn't unusual for some of the agents to assign names anyway. I think the best I got back then was "Blondie." This time around, though, Josh absolutely had to be given a name. The fun part was that he could pick it out, though he'd be stuck with it for up to eight years. Even Peter and Miranda got to pick their own names, the only catch being that each family unit has to have names that start with the same letter. I was told I needed a codename if I was going to spend most, if not all, of my time with Josh. He was the one who asked the Secret Service if we should have names that started with the same letter, too, which, at the time, I thought was incredibly sweet. I don't think they cared so much about us having matching names, but they didn't object to it. However, we only had about three minutes to come up with something. Josh made a couple of lame jokes that had to do with cheese because I'm from Wisconsin, then he had the brilliant revelation that he's from Westport and that our "W's" matched. I tried valiantly to come up with something to go with Madison instead, if we were going to go with geographical locations, but no dice. Westport and Wisconsin are the names that stuck. For a while, he tried to convince me that he felt silly being called "Westport," but he wasn't very convincing. He likes sounding ritzy and that I sound a little bit like a bumpkin.
Still, I smile and thank Alex before closing the door, grateful that we at least have the apartment to ourselves most of the time. The members of the detail used to float in and out at fairly regular intervals, but I think they overheard—and probably nearly walked in on—me and Josh having enthusiastic sex on more than one occasion and started finding other, less direct methods of keeping tabs on my boyfriend. I suppose that if you can hear two people moaning and groaning, you can be fairly certain that they're safe.
I look around the living room, feeling my body relax—it's really good to be home. Josh hasn't managed to destroy the place in the last week and a half, which is a minor miracle. Unless, of course, it means he's been spending all of his free time at work, which seems to be the likely scenario. He probably came here to change clothes and shower, and maybe get a couple of hours of sleep on the couch.
I pause, sniffing the air. "Josh…did you cook?"
He makes a face at me, putting my bags on the floor. "I can cook, you know."
"I'm not disputing that, I just…wasn't expecting it."
"Well, yeah, I made us dinner before going to pick you up."
I blink in surprise. "You did?"
"I thought you might like a home-cooked meal instead of more delivery or restaurant food."
"You thought right," I reassure him, genuinely pleased. "What'd you make?"
He shrugs, suddenly looking bashful. "Just chicken. Nothing fancy. Did you know our oven has a timer? You can put stuff in there and don't have to worry about it burning or anything because it turns itself off."
I bite my lip, trying to hold back a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I knew that." Despite him not knowing that the oven can be set for certain lengths of time, Josh and I do share cooking responsibilities. I just tend to handle the bulk of the day to day stuff, with him doing a lot of the grunt work—chopping, peeling, washing, that sort of thing. But what surprised me most after we got together was that he has an odd flair for fancy dishes. He makes a killer Beef Wellington, not to mention quiche that's to die for. And he makes soufflés. The most impatient man in the world, the one who tends to barrel around like a bull in a china shop, is able to make one of the most delicate, sensitive foods to exist. He can open up Julia Child's cookbook and manage to replicate something. He astounds me. Any time we have any occasion to bring food to a gathering—which is, admittedly, rare—he's in charge of it. He doesn't usually want to take the credit for it—it makes him feel self-conscious, which is a little novel for him—but the food is always a hit. Conversely, and oddly, he seems to almost completely lack the ability to make simple things, even his hockey puck hamburgers. He has a few things he can be trusted with, but for the most part, I'm the one who does the basic stuff. He always seems happy with what I've thrown together, and sometimes I'm really just throwing things together to see what happens, but even I'll admit that my pastas are usually fairly impressive. But the fact that Josh has managed to make a meal for us, and get it ready ahead of time like this, is really touching to me.
"I put it in just before I left to pick you up, so it's about done. If you're hungry, we can eat now."
I turn into him and wrap my arms around him, sighing contentedly into his neck. "You're the perfect man," I mumble.
His arms slide around my hips, pulling me against him. "I just like you a whole lot."
I laugh a little, pressing a quick kiss into his neck before I disentangle myself. "I need to change. I'm feeling pretty gross after all that traveling." I reach down and grab my garment bag, but Josh picks up my suitcase before I get a chance. I smile at him wearily and head toward our bedroom, my body suddenly exhausted. Traveling on a nice plane is still traveling on a plane. It's much more comfortable than most, but there's still a limited amount of room to move and only so much you can spread out. You don't let yourself think too much about it when you're in the middle of it, but now that I'm finally home, it home feels like I've hit a brick wall.
I drop my garment bag on the bed—a testament to just how wiped I am if I'm not unpacking right away—and pull off my suit jacket. Josh pulls it down my arms before I realize what's happening, his hands going to my shoulders. I actually moan as his fingers dig into my sore muscles. "I'll give you a year to stop that," I whimper, leaning into his touch.
He chuckles a little, leaning in to kiss my neck. My eyes roll and my head tilts, giving him better access. His arms slide around my waist, holding me tight to his chest. The warmth of his body is just as soothing to my tired body as his magic fingers. "You should get cleaned up," he whispers, his lips sucking carefully at my skin, "before I toss you on the bed and have my way with you."
"Such a caveman," I tease, turning my head so my lips can meet his for a few moments. Before I let myself get carried away, I pull out of his arms and kick off my shoes, then undo my pants and shove them down my hips as I head to the bathroom. I can hear Josh behind me actually picking up my clothes as I go, which somehow manages to make me love him more. Plus, it's something I won't have to do later.
I pull off my shirt as I walk into the bathroom, letting it dangle from my fingers as I take in the scene before me. I'd swear he was trying to seduce me.
"Babe?"
"Yeah?" He appears at my side instantly, like he was waiting for me to say something.
I glance around the room, making note of all the strategically placed unlit candles, the bottles of bath salts and bubbles, the big fluffy towels that I adore, before looking over at him. "You have big plans or something?"
He laughs and puts his hand on my waist, making my skin tingle. "I realize now how it looks, but I swear my intentions were altruistic. I know how you are after you get off a plane so I figured you'd want to wash up when you got home. I just wasn't sure if you'd want to shower or take a bath, so I figured…I'd get it ready for both. One less thing for you, you know?"
I swear, if it was possible for a human to turn into a pile of goo, that's what I'd be doing right now. "You're amazing."
He gives my hip a squeeze and I turn to him. His eyes travel slowly down my body, and it's only at that moment that it occurs to me I'm standing there in just a bra and panties. His pupils dilate noticeably as he takes me in, and his words about breaking our bed tonight come back to me. Before I can say anything, though, he clears his throat and averts his eyes, glancing around the bathroom. "So, is this…I mean, do you…"
I wrap my arms around him, leaning my head against his shoulder. I can feel him react to the proximity of my almost naked body but he just holds me, leaning his cheek against the top of my head. "Thank you so much," I whisper.
"Hey, it's no big deal," he answers, and I can tell he suddenly feels self-conscious. It's truly adorable how much he wants to do things—little, sweet things—for me and often for other people, and that he almost as often gets uncomfortable with the attention those actions can draw.
"It really is, though," I mumble.
"Then I'm glad you're happy."
I tighten my arms around him. I truly missed him the last week and a half. He's pushy, he's arrogant, he's nosy, he hovers, he takes up most of the bed, he teases me incessantly, but I love him so much I can't see straight. Sure, it's nice to have some space from him once in a while, but on the whole, I just want to be around him.
"I love you," he tells me, giving me another squeeze, and I hold him tighter in response.
"I think…I'm going to take a shower."
"Okay." I could be crazy, but I'm pretty sure there's a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"Just a quick one, because I think taking a bath after that would be heavenly, but only if I maybe had a companion."
He pulls back, smiling down at me. "Yeah?"
"I mean, if you're into it." Josh isn't exactly a fan of baths. He's hardly a fan of showers. Not because he enjoys being dirty, but more because he feels like he has so much to do that some menial things just take up too much time. That said, once he's in the shower, he tends to milk it for all it's worth. If I'm in there with him, it can be hard to convince him to leave. To my knowledge, the only time he's taken a bath since he was about five years old has been with me, and even that hasn't been a regular occurrence. I don't even get the luxury that often. Aside from being extraordinarily busy for the last decade or so, most tubs are not made for people my height. One of the biggest perks about moving in with Josh was that he actually has one of those monstrous bathtubs. Not an old-fashioned claw foot tub that I've always dreamed about, but it's deep and long and the both of us can fit in with relative comfort.
"I'm into it," he assures me, and I can't help the grin that takes over my face. I stand up on tiptoe and press a quick kiss to his mouth.
"Give me five to ten minutes," I whisper. "Let me get cleaned off and I'll fill up the tub and we'll let the bubbles take us away."
"Okay." He gives me another kiss. "I'll go put away your clothes."
I completely freeze as he starts to move away from me, my mouth falling open. "Josh, did you break something?"
He turns, cocking his head like a confused puppy. "Did I break something?"
"Did you forget something or lose a bet or did I land in an alternate universe?"
He makes a face at me, understanding what I'm getting at. "I can toss your dirty clothes into the laundry basket for you, you know. You don't have to act like it's something I never—yeah, I heard it. Look—I just want to make your life easier, so while you're cleaning yourself, I'll take care of some of this other stuff so you won't feel like you have to before we go to bed tonight. Is that a crime?"
I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back my grin, wisely keeping my comments to myself. Instead, I just shake my head. "No crime at all. Thank you, honey."
He nods, looking pleased with himself. I peel off my undergarments and toss them into the room before I shut the bathroom door. I can hear him make a noise but I turn on the water before I can hear if he makes any comment. I waste no time in adjusting to the water to as hot as I can stand it and climb in, moaning a little as it hits my tired muscles. I adjust myself, tilting my head back so the water can pelt down on my head.
I stand there for several minutes, just feeling my body unwind a little.
It's not that I mind traveling, or that I mind spending that kind of time with Mrs. Santos, or that being away from my boyfriend for a week and a half stresses me out…truthfully, I didn't realize I was this bunched up until a couple of days ago, and I've been doing my best to ignore it since. This was just the first big trip the First Lady has done on her own since her husband took office, therefore it was my first trip alone as Chief of Staff. While there wasn't nearly as much riding on it as there would be for the President, I still wanted to make sure that every single bit of it was successful, and that nothing we did would reflect badly on the administration. It certainly helps that neither of us are the type to go out and party and get sloppy drunk at some trendy club in Paris. Unless we had an event scheduled or were traveling, our evenings were spent tucked away in our hotels, usually going over the schedule for the next day or so before crashing for a few hours.
I pull myself out of my stupor and grab my shampoo, lathering up my hair. The less I dawdle, the sooner I can get to bath time with Josh. Still, I can't entirely get my limbs to cooperate, feeling sluggish as I go through the motions of cleaning myself off. We managed to travel through a lot of time zones over the last ten days—more so than the end of the last campaign—and did it without getting a whole lot of actual sleep in between. Half the time, if I hadn't already written down the time difference in each location compared to where we'd just been and also to what it was at home, I wouldn't have known what time of day it was. Even now, it's all just a blur.
Remember that show Seinfeld and how it was about nothing? That's what this fic is about. Seriously. It's a waste of cyberspace and I've been working on it for far too long, and it's way too long for something that's garbage. If you like this part…well, remember that when you read the later chapters because this story became the trash pile for all of my random ideas.
I couldn't think of a title for this effer to save my life and I am wholly unsatisfied with what I came up with. Don't be surprised if it changes.
The last part of this story will require a rating change. I'll let you know when that's about to happen if you prefer to not read such things.
But also…thank you to anyone who reads this.
