Disclaimer: Unfortunately they aren't mine. Damn. They belong to Aaron
Sorkin, NBC and some other people non of which are me.
Notes: Yes, this is one big fandom cliché. Feel free to roll your eyes and smirk in a superior fashion. Reviews are most welcome, constructive criticism encouraged, flames ignored.
I went from crutches to cane two months earlier than anyone thought I would. I did so without my doctor's permission or even his knowledge. As far as he knows I am being a good little girl and continuing to hobble about like the decrepit wonder I actually am. I have, in fact been walking relatively unassisted for the past three weeks. I'm not doing it for the sake of my vanity, nor am I doing it for fear of my crutches inadvertently tripping up some hapless White House official. I'm doing it for Josh. To stop him from looking at me like I'm a puppy he ran over with his car. I'm doing it to keep the guilt out of his face and eyes.
Everyone else at work knows this. CJ threatened to kick Josh's ass for making me feel guilty about him feeling guilty. Toby told me that he would gladly even the score by breaking Josh's leg in three places and seeing if he can manage without crutches after less than six months. I understand their reactions but they can't change my mind. They don't know Josh like I know Josh. He blames himself for what happened. Of course he does. I know the pain he went through everyday of my recovery – I went through the same thing for him after all. I won't hurt him every time I limp into a room.
To keep both sides happy, I have developed a routine: I only use the cane when Josh is not around to see. The crutches are reserved for use at home. I have also discovered an awkward but effective technique of getting out of my chair using only my left leg as well as standing close enough to Josh's desk that he can't tell I'm standing there one-footed. I have ways to get around using the bad leg. Damned if I'm going to let Josh see the pain I'm still in.
Some days are bad. Some days we're so busy I don't get a second in which I can sit at my desk or perch on the edge of someone else's. Some days it hurts so badly that I can barely walk by the time I make it home.
Josh doesn't know.
I intend to keep it that way.
Today, however, was a good day. Josh, miracle of miracles, left work before noon. His mother is driving up from Florida and he has to clean his apartment. Having seen his apartment, I can believe this. Josh leaving work early means that I am free to gimp about to my heart's content. It also means that I have significantly less work to do myself. Thus, for the first time in over two years, excluding, of course, last fall's shutdown, I have been home since three in the afternoon.
I am now in the process of enjoying an evening of lounging on the couch drinking Diet Pepsi, eating Chinese take out and watching re-runs of "I Love Lucy". My apartment is quiet and I'm glad. Gillian, my roommate of four years moved out this time last fall to live with her boyfriend-turned- fiancé. Sometimes I miss the presence of another human being, filling the quiet with ceaseless chatter and too-loud country music. Now is not one of those times.
The window is open but it offers little relief from the humidity of the evening. It is late October but we are enjoying an Indian summer. Looking out into the darkening street, I can see gauzy wisps of fog drifting lazily past the window. It's getting cooler outside, but the air is still damp. The fog will be hanging thick over the beltway by now. I'm glad I don't have to drive anywhere tonight. Turning back to the television, I stretch languidly, absently massaging the top of my right thigh, thumb tracing the scars that are only just starting to fade, livid against my pale skin.
The night is sticky and uncomfortable. I consider abandoning "Lucy" for a glass of red wine and a bath. Before I can make up my mind, there's a knock at the door. Frowning at this unexpected interruption, I gather my crutches from where I have unceremoniously dumped them on the floor and struggle to my feet.
I know it's not Josh, so I'm unconcerned with the amount of noise I make as I hop-thud to the door. I take twice the normal time to get there as I keep getting my crutches tangled in the furniture. The person on the other side of the can obviously hear me coming because they don't knock again. After what seems to be a embarrassingly long time but what is really only about thirty seconds I reach my destination and squint through the peephole. The person waiting patiently in the hall is immediately recognizable and my heart gives a small, strangled lurch in my chest.
I don't like how unsteady my hands feel as I unlatch the sliding dead bolt and release the lock. Overcome with apprehension, I open the door.
"Leo?" I say. It's a question, not a greeting. There are certain people whose uninvited presence in my doorway can only mean bad news.
Leo McGarry is one of them.
There is no pre-emptive greeting. No "hi Donna how're you doing?" to break the tension and assure me that nothing is wrong. Instead the first words out of Leo's mouth as he steps into the room are "Donna you might want to have a seat."
My heart plummets to somewhere in the pit of my stomach. My hands go numb and my mouth goes dry.
I guess the look on my face must really be something because the next thing he says is "Josh is fine."
I make a funny little sound of relief that is a cross between a laugh and a sob but my hands are still numb. If Leo isn't here to tell me that Josh is hurt, or sick, or dead, then why is he here? There's a faint buzzing in my head that I think might be my brain trying to regain control of my body.
Because I haven't said more then one word and because I haven't moved except to blink stupidly and gape at him, Leo takes me by the elbow and steers me in the direction of the couch, which is no easy feat considering I'm leaning almost my full weight onto my crutches.
"Donna," he says once I am safely seated, "You gonna be ok?"
"Yes," I reply, feeling my face grow warm and nodding harder than I have to, "you just... I wasn't expecting.... You surprised me is all." I want to yell at him for scaring me so badly and show him how my hands are shaking, but I can't. Especially since I can see in his eyes that, while Josh hasn't died, something still isn't right.
Leo sits down on the love seat perpendicular to me, "yeah, I realized. Sorry." He apologizes. I wait for him to continue. "There was an accident." He says finally.
And suddenly, in rush of understanding that hits me like a freight train, I know. I know what's wrong and I'm thinking it might be a good time to pass some law that says that no members of the Bartlet administration or their families should ever be allowed near cars because this is ridiculous and it doesn't sound like me who says "Oh Leo. No. Please no."
I watch my boss's boss age twenty years as he nods slowly and draws in a weary breath. I swallow hard against the lump that has risen to the back of my throat and bite my lower lip until it hurts and tears sting my eyes. "She's all he has." I say softly realizing that I've used the wrong tense and choking audibly on the last word. "What happened?"
"There was an accident." Leo repeats, "on the Washington beltway. Eight cars, four dead so far, including..." He stops, pressing middle and forefinger to his right temple as if warding against the headache that is threatening to manifest itself. "It was this damn fog. They didn't even see the others cars until they hit them."
I close my eyes a moment. I can hear the roar of flames and the crunch and groan of twisting metal. I'm not sure if I'm imagining or remembering. "Does Josh know?" I ask without opening my eyes.
"No. The hospital phoned the White House first. It's only seven thirty. Any other day Josh would still be there. I told them I'd tell him myself."
I nod, "I want to come with you. I want to be there."
The corners of Leo's mouth twitch into the ghost of something like a smile, "That's why I came here first."
I'm dressed in the cotton shorts and T-shirt I sleep in on especially warm nights and I'm shivering, though not with cold, "I need to change,"
Leo waits on the love seat until I emerge from the bedroom wearing the first clothes I could find. He goes to the door and holds it open for me, "Donna, you don't have your crutches," Leo says gently, as though I've forgotten them in my haste and shock.
I shake my head, "I know," I say and follow Leo out of the apartment.
Notes: Yes, this is one big fandom cliché. Feel free to roll your eyes and smirk in a superior fashion. Reviews are most welcome, constructive criticism encouraged, flames ignored.
I went from crutches to cane two months earlier than anyone thought I would. I did so without my doctor's permission or even his knowledge. As far as he knows I am being a good little girl and continuing to hobble about like the decrepit wonder I actually am. I have, in fact been walking relatively unassisted for the past three weeks. I'm not doing it for the sake of my vanity, nor am I doing it for fear of my crutches inadvertently tripping up some hapless White House official. I'm doing it for Josh. To stop him from looking at me like I'm a puppy he ran over with his car. I'm doing it to keep the guilt out of his face and eyes.
Everyone else at work knows this. CJ threatened to kick Josh's ass for making me feel guilty about him feeling guilty. Toby told me that he would gladly even the score by breaking Josh's leg in three places and seeing if he can manage without crutches after less than six months. I understand their reactions but they can't change my mind. They don't know Josh like I know Josh. He blames himself for what happened. Of course he does. I know the pain he went through everyday of my recovery – I went through the same thing for him after all. I won't hurt him every time I limp into a room.
To keep both sides happy, I have developed a routine: I only use the cane when Josh is not around to see. The crutches are reserved for use at home. I have also discovered an awkward but effective technique of getting out of my chair using only my left leg as well as standing close enough to Josh's desk that he can't tell I'm standing there one-footed. I have ways to get around using the bad leg. Damned if I'm going to let Josh see the pain I'm still in.
Some days are bad. Some days we're so busy I don't get a second in which I can sit at my desk or perch on the edge of someone else's. Some days it hurts so badly that I can barely walk by the time I make it home.
Josh doesn't know.
I intend to keep it that way.
Today, however, was a good day. Josh, miracle of miracles, left work before noon. His mother is driving up from Florida and he has to clean his apartment. Having seen his apartment, I can believe this. Josh leaving work early means that I am free to gimp about to my heart's content. It also means that I have significantly less work to do myself. Thus, for the first time in over two years, excluding, of course, last fall's shutdown, I have been home since three in the afternoon.
I am now in the process of enjoying an evening of lounging on the couch drinking Diet Pepsi, eating Chinese take out and watching re-runs of "I Love Lucy". My apartment is quiet and I'm glad. Gillian, my roommate of four years moved out this time last fall to live with her boyfriend-turned- fiancé. Sometimes I miss the presence of another human being, filling the quiet with ceaseless chatter and too-loud country music. Now is not one of those times.
The window is open but it offers little relief from the humidity of the evening. It is late October but we are enjoying an Indian summer. Looking out into the darkening street, I can see gauzy wisps of fog drifting lazily past the window. It's getting cooler outside, but the air is still damp. The fog will be hanging thick over the beltway by now. I'm glad I don't have to drive anywhere tonight. Turning back to the television, I stretch languidly, absently massaging the top of my right thigh, thumb tracing the scars that are only just starting to fade, livid against my pale skin.
The night is sticky and uncomfortable. I consider abandoning "Lucy" for a glass of red wine and a bath. Before I can make up my mind, there's a knock at the door. Frowning at this unexpected interruption, I gather my crutches from where I have unceremoniously dumped them on the floor and struggle to my feet.
I know it's not Josh, so I'm unconcerned with the amount of noise I make as I hop-thud to the door. I take twice the normal time to get there as I keep getting my crutches tangled in the furniture. The person on the other side of the can obviously hear me coming because they don't knock again. After what seems to be a embarrassingly long time but what is really only about thirty seconds I reach my destination and squint through the peephole. The person waiting patiently in the hall is immediately recognizable and my heart gives a small, strangled lurch in my chest.
I don't like how unsteady my hands feel as I unlatch the sliding dead bolt and release the lock. Overcome with apprehension, I open the door.
"Leo?" I say. It's a question, not a greeting. There are certain people whose uninvited presence in my doorway can only mean bad news.
Leo McGarry is one of them.
There is no pre-emptive greeting. No "hi Donna how're you doing?" to break the tension and assure me that nothing is wrong. Instead the first words out of Leo's mouth as he steps into the room are "Donna you might want to have a seat."
My heart plummets to somewhere in the pit of my stomach. My hands go numb and my mouth goes dry.
I guess the look on my face must really be something because the next thing he says is "Josh is fine."
I make a funny little sound of relief that is a cross between a laugh and a sob but my hands are still numb. If Leo isn't here to tell me that Josh is hurt, or sick, or dead, then why is he here? There's a faint buzzing in my head that I think might be my brain trying to regain control of my body.
Because I haven't said more then one word and because I haven't moved except to blink stupidly and gape at him, Leo takes me by the elbow and steers me in the direction of the couch, which is no easy feat considering I'm leaning almost my full weight onto my crutches.
"Donna," he says once I am safely seated, "You gonna be ok?"
"Yes," I reply, feeling my face grow warm and nodding harder than I have to, "you just... I wasn't expecting.... You surprised me is all." I want to yell at him for scaring me so badly and show him how my hands are shaking, but I can't. Especially since I can see in his eyes that, while Josh hasn't died, something still isn't right.
Leo sits down on the love seat perpendicular to me, "yeah, I realized. Sorry." He apologizes. I wait for him to continue. "There was an accident." He says finally.
And suddenly, in rush of understanding that hits me like a freight train, I know. I know what's wrong and I'm thinking it might be a good time to pass some law that says that no members of the Bartlet administration or their families should ever be allowed near cars because this is ridiculous and it doesn't sound like me who says "Oh Leo. No. Please no."
I watch my boss's boss age twenty years as he nods slowly and draws in a weary breath. I swallow hard against the lump that has risen to the back of my throat and bite my lower lip until it hurts and tears sting my eyes. "She's all he has." I say softly realizing that I've used the wrong tense and choking audibly on the last word. "What happened?"
"There was an accident." Leo repeats, "on the Washington beltway. Eight cars, four dead so far, including..." He stops, pressing middle and forefinger to his right temple as if warding against the headache that is threatening to manifest itself. "It was this damn fog. They didn't even see the others cars until they hit them."
I close my eyes a moment. I can hear the roar of flames and the crunch and groan of twisting metal. I'm not sure if I'm imagining or remembering. "Does Josh know?" I ask without opening my eyes.
"No. The hospital phoned the White House first. It's only seven thirty. Any other day Josh would still be there. I told them I'd tell him myself."
I nod, "I want to come with you. I want to be there."
The corners of Leo's mouth twitch into the ghost of something like a smile, "That's why I came here first."
I'm dressed in the cotton shorts and T-shirt I sleep in on especially warm nights and I'm shivering, though not with cold, "I need to change,"
Leo waits on the love seat until I emerge from the bedroom wearing the first clothes I could find. He goes to the door and holds it open for me, "Donna, you don't have your crutches," Leo says gently, as though I've forgotten them in my haste and shock.
I shake my head, "I know," I say and follow Leo out of the apartment.