Author's Notes:
This story takes place during the missing year (so anything before "Impact Winter" is fair game). Leo had his heart attack and is now Advisor to the President, CJ is White House Chief of Staff, Charlie is Special Assistant to the White House Chief of Staff, Annabeth Schott is Deputy Press Secretary, and Josh and Donna are still at the White House.
The West Wing and all its characters (Donnatella Moss, Joshua Lyman, Leo McGarry, Jed Bartlet, CJ Cregg, Charlie Young, Toby Ziegler, Will Bailey, Annabeth Schott, Kate Harper, Margaret, Carol, Bonnie, Ginger, Stanley Keyworth, etc.) belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, NBC, and whomever else they belong to (but not me – or else Josh and Donna would have shared at least a passionate kiss by now). Any character you don't recognize is a figment of my demented imagination.
This fic (and its title) is obviously influenced by "Noel" and all those interventions gone wrong I've seen on various movies and television shows over the years (i.e. ER and Party of Five). The line "AA people think everyone's got a problem" comes from NYPD Blue (alcoholic Detective Diane Russell, referring to recovering alcoholic Detective Andy Sipowicz).
Thanks to my betas (Megan for editing the content and Bex for her expertise on drug addictions and recovery). I owe you "the finest bagels and muffins in all the land."
And without further ado, I bring you …
Donna Falls Into A Hole
Chapter I
Office of the White House Chief of Staff
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Morning
Donnatella Moss entered the office of the White House Chief of Staff, arms folded across her chest. She wasn't feeling particularly sociable today; the next person who wished her a "Merry Christmas" could shove it. If Josh hadn't called looking for that damn Brickman file, she probably would have just stayed in bed. "You wanted to see me." It was more of a statement than a question.
"Donna, yes, have a seat," CJ said.
It was then that she noticed the other occupants in the room. Josh, Toby, Charlie, the President, and … "Leo?" She took a step back. "Someone want to tell me what's going on here?"
"Sit down, Donna," CJ repeated. The Chief of Staff waited for the younger woman to comply before continuing. "The reason I asked you to come to my office – and why everyone else is here – is because we're worried about you."
She scoffed. "Why would you be worried about me? I'm doing my job, aren't I?" She turned to Josh. "Well?" she asked her boss. "Are my job skills lacking?"
"No, Donna, your job skills …" he began, looking around for some assistance.
What the hell are you looking at them for? She wanted to yell. You got a problem with me, say it to my face.
Leo cut to the chase. "We think you have a drug problem."
She raised one eyebrow. "Really, now? You know what they say, don't you? AA people think everyone's got a problem." You're a damn hypocrite, Leo. Get off your high horse, why don't you.
"Donna," CJ warned. Josh said nothing; his mouth was agape.
"I would appreciate you treating Leo with more respect," President Bartlet admonished her. "If you want to talk to Josh like that in private, by all means – the two of you seem to tolerate each other quite well. But I don't ever want to hear you speaking to Leo – or any other member of my staff – that way again."
"She's never spoken to me like that, sir," Josh informed the President. He turned to his assistant. "You've been moody lately," he told her. "One minute you're dragging yourself because your leg hurts or you can't even move because you're having some kind of panic attack … ten minutes later, you're bouncing off the walls and trying to do fifty things at once."
"Have I had any attacks lately?" Donna asked him. In response to his shaking head, she said, "So you see? The meds prevent the panic attacks. Are we good now?" Who the hell do these sons of bitches think they are? They need to get their heads examined. I feel great. No, I feel like shit. But it's none of their business. She moved to get out of the chair but was stopped by Leo's voice.
"We're not done yet, Donna," he said sternly. She sank back into her seat.
"I found you rearranging files in Josh's office," Charlie contributed.
"So? He's a slob – what's wrong with cleaning up a little?"
Josh ran a hand through his unruly hair. "This was after you alphabetized my junk food collection" – he gave CJ an apologetic smile – "and lined up all my staplers. And the files weren't in any normal order." They were in order, you idiot.
"They were in order," she said. She stood up and marched over to where Josh was leaning against the wall. "They were arranged by degree of you pissing people off. But if that's too difficult a concept for you to grasp …"
"You've been having violent mood swings," the Deputy Chief of Staff continued. Don't you dare interrupt me, Lyman. "I've seen you laughing and joking around, then fly into a rage over the littlest thing."
"You were a bastard after Rosslyn – did anyone accuse you of abusing drugs?"
"I've always been a prick; ask anyone who knows me." He shot a dimpled grin her way, obviously hoping to elicit a smile. Fat chance, pal. You're not gonna make me any less pissed at you. "But you – you used to be one of the sweetest women I know. Now, I can't even open my mouth without worrying whether you're going to curse at me or tear apart my office."
Office of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff
Sometime in the Last Four Months
Josh hung up the phone and rubbed his temples. Forty minutes spent trying to knock some sense into Senator Coleman equaled forty minutes wasted. Unless the White House added his rider to the Nora and Brianne Simpson Traffic Safety Bill (named for two sisters killed because they weren't buckled up), they would not be getting his vote. Now he had to tell the President – and figure out how to change James Coleman's mind.
"Donna!" He bellowed. As if on cue, his assistant appeared in his doorway. She looked exhausted, but duty called. "Where's the file on the Traffic Safety Bill?"
"Probably somewhere under the crap on your desk."
He smiled. "Which you put there."
She shook her head and proceeded to rifle through the papers on the desk until she found the file in question. "Ta da!" she said triumphantly.
He took the file and placed it to the side. "What would I do without you?"
"Be pathetically lost, I'm sure." He began skimming over his notes on the Simpson Bill, hoping to find some way to accommodate Coleman.
"What did Senator Coleman want?" It's been over seven years and I'm still amazed that woman can read my mind.
"He wants to add a rider to the Simpson Bill. Thinks traffic cops should arrest
every person over legal driving age who isn't wearing a seat belt. Or don't buckle in their kids."
"Perfect," she said dryly. "We already clog our prisons with people who should
be receiving psychiatric care or drug rehab." She began absent-mindedly rearranging papers on his desk.
"The Senator's trying to teach those people a lesson. What could be more
effective than spending a night behind bars?" He interlocked his hands behind his head and leaned back into his chair. "Seat belts save lives, yet so many people continue to refuse to wear them."
"But there has to be a better way. Where will they put the real criminals?" Donna
asked. "You know, rapists, murderers, thieves?"
"I hear there's room at the Holiday Inn." He waited for his assistant to shoot back
a witty response, but heard nothing. She was staring at something on his desk with the typical Donnatella Moss look of disapproval he knew so well. "What's wrong?"
"That cup's out of place," Donna observed.
He raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"
She picked up the Harvard mug he used as a pen and pencil holder and placed it on the other side of his desk. "That's better."
"Donna, it's a pen holder."
"Everything has its place, Josh," she explained.
He shook his head, still trying to wrap his brain around her newfound obsession with order. "As long as I can grab a pen when I need one, who cares where you put the mug?" He expected her to tease him. He expected her to attempt to defend her rationalization for placing the penholder in a certain spot on his desk. He did not expect her to lose her temper.
"Fuck you, Josh!" she screamed. "I hate you. You know that? I hate you. You are so goddamn helpless it's pathetic. You can't even tie your own ties. What would you do if I wasn't here to find missing files?"
"Isn't that what I pay you for?" He asked. He watched wide-eyed as her arm swept the mass of files and paperwork to the floor. Wrong answer. His lucky Harvard mug – the one he'd had since college and on every campaign he'd ever been part of – crashed to the ground and shattered, spilling pens, pencils, markers, and letter openers across the carpet. He decided to ignore the broken cup and instead reached for Donna's arm. "Hey, calm down, would you. I was kidding. I was just …"
"Shut up! Shut the hell up!" She jerked her arm from his grasp and slapped him hard across the face. "Bastard!" Suddenly, her demeanor softened. "You have senior staff in ten minutes," she informed him before walking out of the room as if her outburst never happened.
Office of the White House Chief of Staff
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Morning
"Oh? And you got a problem with that? I was almost blown up, and every day I come here and have to watch explosions cycle on TV. I think I'm entitled to feel a bit moody now and then, don't you?"