Disclaimer: I don't own them, you know that, I know this, so why are we kidding ourselves. Why do we play this little disclaimer game? Why? Stupid laws.
Author's note: Ok so this is a quick little series, I guess it's a drabble series or something. Tiny events that occur on the Santos for a Brighter America Campaign trail, snapshots if you will. I will tell you that I am planning on having two endings. This is weird, I normally don't write short chapters. Did anyone notice my stories were getting shorter? Any way my dear friends: Enjoy. By the way I don't love the title so any suggestions?
Donna rubbed her dry itchy eyes realizing she had become a Visine commercial. She signed as the words blurred together on the sentence she had been trying to read for the last half hour. This was so typical of Josh, she thought to herself. Of course, why stop to breathe, eat or sleep while on the campaign trail? 16 hour days with a least another three left. Why didn't the staff riot and try to overthrow him? Because they're young and don't know any better. She pressed her fingertips to her closed eye lids one more time, it didn't help.
How did she get here, 2500 feet above the ground in the Santos for a Brighter America plane?
"I can't do this without you." He whispered as he gazed down at her shoes.
"You seem to do just fine without me so far." She bit back.
"No, I'm not." It was the quite desperation in his husky voice, as if every shred of his pride was being crushed by admitting the truth, which convinced her.
That and rent was due.
Since joining the trail, he had spoken a grand total of seven words to her. She didn't count any grunt or various noises he made in his sleep. Again typical Lyman, bears his soul long enough to get me on the plane and forget me all together. Her eye lids were getting heavy and her legs were crossed in the comfortable position that made her never want to move again.
Things had changed so much between us, the list itself is unbearable, and it was childish to think we would be "us" again. We had our time. It passed. She fought back that old bitterness that kept her company during the Russell Campaign. A part of her cursed her earlier thought, no, we never had our time; it was always someone's time. Never ours.
She rubbed her temples, hoping to fight off the early stages of an exhaustion headache. A sensation and warm tingled crossed her cheek. She wasn't sure if the gasp her mind yelped left her lips. Her eyes flickered for a second. White, she saw white.
"Here." Josh stood in the isle with the coffee cup in his hand.
Her eyes followed up his arm, to his chest, finally to his eyes. Those eyes, soft, sweet, she had seen him look at her like that before, nearly everyday for eight years. A soft quiver of a smile crossed her lips.
"Thanks." The word left her mouth. She watched him nod and head back down the isle to his seat. She watched him the entire way as the aroma of the coffee filled her nose and cleared her vision. Her stomach flipped as he turned back to glance at her way. His dimples made their first appearance.
Newly awaken, her thoughts were divide, the sentence she had been fighting with, the warm coffee rushing down her throat, and Josh. In eight and half years she brought him coffee once, it was her line in the sand, never to be crossed, never to be totally subservient to him. He never brought her coffee either, because he was her superior, at least in his mind. Tonight, they were friends and equals.