Hour Follows Hour
Category: Josh and Donna
Rating: PG- 13... R eventually, probably, maybe.
Notes and Disclaimer: This is total Josh and Donna drama/fluff. I figured someone had to make them happy and it mine as well be me. I stole a lot of my ideas from another fic I am writing so if and when the two start appearing together then be forewarned that they may seem a bit similar. As for the usual disclaimer, I make no money doing this (although let me tell you if I did I'd be an very, very happy girl) and these characters are the intellectual property of Aaron Sorkin and now the proverbial property of John Wells... the verdicts still out as to how I feel about that.
Summary: "You should go then," he responds finally. All I can do is nod. His smile returns, if only briefly. "Harvard," he repeats with the remnants of a grin. "You still have my sweatshirt don't you?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. I look away, trying to hide my embarrassment. Sure it's slight, but still. Then I see him smile again and before the smile fades it seems for an instant that all is right in the world. "I never meant to pressure you," he adds quietly. "I mean with the job, I just though..."
Special Thanks: to 107.7 the Lake, a job without which I'd have any time to write. Ani DiFranco, who writes amazing music, including the song the inspired this story, "Hour Follows Hour". And as usual, Laura and Amy, for taking the chance on the first part of this... Thing.
Hour follows hour like water follows water. Everything is governed by the rule of one thing leads to another. You can't really place blame 'cause blame is much to messy. Some was bound to get on you while you were trying to put it on me. And don't fool yourself into thinking that things are simple. Nobody's lying, still the stories don't line up. Ani DiFranco "Hour Follows Hour"
Part I – Hour Follows Hour
I never thought it would feel this way.
I knew there'd be sadness and confusion and, after just a few weeks as the assistant to the elusive Joshua Lyman, a place for me after this administration.
But I never, ever, though I'd be faced with so much indecision.
I AM sad. I AM confused. And, as predicted, there IS a place for me immediately after we leave here. A good place, with my own office, with a window, and my own assistant and... maybe even something more, but I'm not too sure that it's what. At least not anymore.
If you had asked me four months ago... I would have been elated. I would have known EXACTLY what I wanted and smiled because I was pretty confident that I was on my way there. Three months prior to that, even though things had been good, and I mean really good, I had this harebrained idea, as I often do, that I, Donnatella Moss, wanted to go back to school and finish the degree I never hung around long enough to get. I did... I do... of course I couldn't really share this though. At least not with the one who really mattered. And by that, I of course mean, the ever present, Joshua Lyman. Because all roads lead to Josh. He would have laughed me out of the west wing, I'm sure of it. So, in a moment of weakness, I confided in one Claudia Jean Cregg who along with Leo, and what even surprised me, the President and Doctor Bartlet, wrote me GLOWING recommendations to send along to any college of my choosing. In the end, I sent applications to Berkley, Georgetown, Southeastern, Duke, and... Harvard. I knew it was a long shot, even with the 4.0 I pulled in Wisconsin, but I was determined. And, passing even my outlandish ways of understanding, I was accepted into each and every school, some, with scholarships. Not that cost had ever been something I'd thought about when I choose those five, practically at random. Originally it was a pipedream, but as the acceptance letters came tumbling in one, by one, I couldn't contain myself. I wanted to share in my joy, with everyone, but instead I kept to myself celebrating, with no specifics, at a small uptown bar south of the city with CJ. In the end, no one knew where I had applied, where had actually accepted me, and where I wanted to go. I intended on keeping it that way. I didn't need the opinions of the peanut gallery swaying my final decision.
It was a toss up for a while. Berkley or Harvard? From one extreme to the other. And then one night, as I pulled an old sweatshirt out of the back of my closet to cover up in the dead of winter, I looked down at the big maroon letter embossed on the front and I knew. It was Josh's, something I'd "borrowed" with no intention of course of ever returning, a while back when I was staying with him after my thing in Gaza. Truth was, I guess I had always had my heart set on Harvard. With half of the tuition paid by a scholarship assigned specifically to nontraditional students, I figured I'd save money all summer and then just take out student loans to pay for the rest. I know first hand what its like to be a girl on a budget.
Then Doctor Bartlet presented me with "the gift" as CJ and I have now coined it. A check for forty five thousand dollars marked Presidential Scholarship, in big block letters on the bottom. I nearly fainted. Harvard, even only for the two years that I needed to complete before graduation, was the most costly of them all. So I had graciously accepted the gift, hiding it in the safe underneath my bed until I figure out what the hell I want to do with the rest of my life.
The verdicts still out.
It's half past one in the afternoon on January the Nineteenth, two thousand and seven. As I sit at my desk on our last day here I realize that I haven't gotten much accomplished. I've been working slowly, and even slowly might be an understatement, to clear out my desk and file any last minute paperwork. And between doing that I've been trying to advert my eyes from staring at Josh's dark, hard wood door. Its been closed a majority of the morning. He's been brooding. Actually, I think he has brought new meaning to the action of brooding. This is saying a lot coming from Joshua Lyman. Then again, there has been a lot in general coming from Josh these days. I can't tell if it's the thought of leaving the white house, or the prospect of the new job – Lyman and Cregg Consulting.
This is where I fit in, the consulting firm, where I have a job, if I so choose, and a chance at a future as a political operative running circles round the beltway. I'm assuming you can see where I'd be torn as to what I'm now going to refer to as indecision two thousand and eight.
The decision about the firm comes of course, after the vacations. The plan is as follows. I'm slated to spend a two-week stretch at the luxurious Moss complex (insert sarcasm) in downtown Wisconsin. After Wisconsin, I've been invited on an airfare paid trip to Paris with CJ who, after spending a week in Ohio to see her dad is meeting Josh in Orange County where they are going to run amuck with Sam. Before California, Josh is going to Florida to see his mom. I know all about his travel plans, I booked them. The firm itself isn't going to officially be up and running until sometime in April with no real set start date, just a location. The brownstone next to Josh's condo, which has been purchased and is currently being remolded to suite the needs of the operation. As a surprise to all of us, Josh has footed the bill for the entire project, plus start up funding by cashing in on a trust that was bestowed upon him just this past month on his forty fifty birthday.
Yes folks, Josh Lyman if forty five years old.
At the ripe age of thirty-five, I am in love with a man ten years my senior.
Where in lies my problem. Eight years later, I can finally admit to myself that yes, I am in love with the brooding, charismatic, overbearing, egomaniac Joshua Lyman. God it feels good to say, well think, that out loud. I have yet to decide what to do with this knowledge, other than curse myself, and move as far away as humanly possible, but it is definitely playing hard on my current dilemma. CJ would beat me to death, and then kill me again if she knew for even a moment that I was making one of the most important decisions of my life based upon something she spotted too long ago for me to feel comfortable with. Regardless, there it is, like a big pink elephant in the middle of the room, staring down at me.
Pink elephants... I've always hated the movie Dumbo.
Josh's voice startles me as he speaks, placing a warm, strong hand, on my shoulder.
"Donna," his tone is soft and more welcoming than I ever thought possible. Who is this man and what have they done with my hard ass boss? Lately I've been thinking that a lot.
When I look up at him he's smiling. My god those dimples. I do everything in my power not to lift a hand to touch his face. I've got it bad. Eight years and one hell of a receding hairline (which gives him character I just wanted to add) later, on today of all days, I've got it bad.
"Yes," I finally reply sweetly with a bright smile of my own.
"Can I see you for a minute?" he asks, shifting his hand, sliding it slowly down my arm. "In my office," he nudges his head towards the door and I think that I actually quiver.
"Sure," I reply as I stand, all too quickly as the room dips below me, and eagerly follow him into his office. For reasons passing understanding, I close the door.
Things between Josh and I, in the last month, have been... different. Not exactly –I'd better close the door someone may be looking – different, just... different. So when I close the door, I guess in the back of my mind, it's not completely without reason. Hell, I might even say I actually do have concrete reason. And that scares me more than the prospect of anything else in this moment. As I've just recently discovered, at least on a conscious level, that I have feelings for Josh, that doesn't mean that he's always used filters. About two years ago, after a particularly trying day on the Hill, Josh came home, got completely obliterated and continued to spill the beans, figuratively and literally.
It was the summer after my thing in Gaza – my choice description, no one else's. And Josh, being... well Josh, decided, because no matter what happens in life he will always be plagued with guilt, that while I recovered I was going to move in with him so that he could take care of me as I took care of him after his thing at Rosslyn – his choice description, not mine.
The summer was long, warm, and tiring. One particularly brutal evening while I was doped up on way more pain medication that I should have been, Josh fell into a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and professed his undying love for me, at the top of his lungs, immediately before wrenching the entire contents of his stomach, all over the hardwood floor of his dining room. I got butterflies and a good laugh. Josh got humiliation and a hangover. And the incident was never brought up again. Except after that night, things had shifted. Only slightly at first, but then increasingly more so as time passed and we came to a silent agreement to just let whatever happened happen.
And then Josh took a figurative bullet for the President in a move I will never quite forgive the man I've come to admire more than my own father, for. After that, everything changed. His posttraumatic stress disorder was made public and as his life went through the ringer he became more withdrawn than I have ever witnessed before. During those months I thanked every deity above for blessing me with the plans to apply to five of the top schools in the nation and not tell Josh. It was all the beginning of the cleansing, to rid my life of all things Lyman. Then, at Christmas, because the gods hate me I'm convinced, we had a breakthrough. Apologies were made, things were said, as well as implied and despite every warning bell going off in my head, Josh and I made good. Well better. And now, as I sit before this man, the man I am so obviously in love with that sometimes I think I should get t-shirts made, I'm practically shaking because he just took my hand in his.
When we first entered the office I watched him. He rounded the desk, situated a small stack of files, the only thing left on his desk, and then sat down. He took one look at me, standing, still frozen by the door and then smiled. Damn those dimples, and once again rounded the desk, this time, approaching me, taking my hands as he led me to sit in one visitors chair in front of his desk while he quickly swung around to take the other.
"You okay?" he asks as my hands quickly move from his and into my hair, fidgeting, smoothing it back, before resting again nervously on my lap.
I nod, again too quickly, and I think he laughs. I can't really say because I'm too focused on his eyes, the brilliant brown pools that open right up into his soul. Oh my god I'm so screwed.
"Donna..." again with the soft, almost sultry, if that's even possible, tone. My mind and in turn eyes, drift to his lips. "Donna..." he speaks again and I look up at his expectant eyes. "I just talked to the President. He would like you to join myself and the remainder of the senior staff at the residence for dinner at six thirty," Josh smiles and my heart skips a beat. "He says you deserve to be treated like one of us because you do my job better than I do."
This time I smile back, if only to offset the hot tears that suddenly begin streaming down my face.
"Hey, hey..." Josh begins as he brings a hand to my face to stop the tears with his thumb. "No tears. This is going to be a happy day," he pauses. "New beginnings..." his voice gets quiet. "At least for now. Look..." and there he goes trailing off. Never a good sign. He reaches across the desk and grabs an envelope sitting on the center of the pile of files. "I don't..." he pauses again, pressing his lips together as he thinks. "I know I... I don't..." he laughs nervously and I'm scared because in all of the years that I've known Josh I have never seen him act like this before. "I did this a while ago and I wasn't sure but... I... you... you can say no, I mean CJ just... don't get mad, she told me. I... I had no idea. I don't wanna...Donna please just..."
"Josh," I finally find my voice having wanted to interrupt him after the first pause but unable to stop watching him fumble. I have no idea what is going on, but whatever it is, it's making me extremely nervous.
"CJ told me," he says finally. "I didn't... I didn't know Donna," he takes my hand in his and begins tracing small circles on my palm. The entire process has me entranced. "I don't want to pressure you. The job offer was... the job... Donna you're totally qualified, eight years of this... maybe even over qualified, but I understand. I understand that you feel like you need, that you want to go back. I mean I get it I just..."
"Josh," I sputter, having just begin to figure out his obscene train of thought. "I wanted to tell you, I did, but I was scared. I..."
"You shouldn't have," he interrupts me and I almost laugh because, neither of us are making much sense. "What I meant to say was that you don't... you don't need to run things by me. I don't own you," he sighs. "I wish you would have told me though," and again. God he looks so cute when he's concerned. "I... Donna I would have moved the earth to get you into whatever school you wanted to go to."
I smile despite the fact that he has just described exactly why I didn't tell him in the first place.
"I know," I reply, giving him the look I reserve only for self serving Josh. "That's why I..." I laugh. "I mean its not entirely why I... Josh," I pause to take a breath and smile. "I wanted to... needed to do this on my own, just to... just to know that I could, that I can..."
I get the dimple smile again.
"And now?" he asks quietly.
"I did..." I'm smiling again, at least for now. There are no more tears, just ridiculous smiles to be had all around. "I can," I continue.
"CJ said she didn't know, I mean she knew you ere accepted places, but she didn't even know where you applied," he smirks. "I guess what I'm trying to ask is..."
I cut him off.
"Berkley, Georgetown, Southeastern, Duke and..." I can't help but smile as I finish off the list that I have practiced reciting so many times in my head. "Harvard."
I'm greeted with more dimples.
"Did you make a decision?" he asks with unadulterated excitement in his eyes.
"I really want Harvard," I reply simply and just as fast as my smile appeared it fades as I watch, with the dawning of the situation at hand, his face fall.
And then there's silence.
"You should go then," he responds finally. All I can do is nod. His smile returns, if only briefly. "Harvard," he repeats with the remnants of a grin. "You still have my sweatshirt don't you?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. I look away, trying to hide my embarrassment. Sure it's slight, but still. Then I see him smile again and before the smile fades it seems for an instant that all is right in the world. "I never meant to pressure you," he adds quietly. "I mean with the job, I just though..."
It's my turn to interrupt.
"No," I begin firmly. "No Josh, don't. You didn't pressure me in any way I just..." I stop, really I have no idea what I'm going to say next, the words are just flowing out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea. "This is about me wanting to..." I stop again. For some reason he looks hopeful. Its like cause and affect when the words escape my lips. "I could go to Georgetown."
"Donna..."
"I could," truth was, I'd been thinking about it more and more lately. "And I could work for you and CJ part time."
"No."
Not at all the answer I had expected so I choose to ignore.
"There's always night classes."
"Donna what are you doing?" he asks as he stands and begins to pace.
"Weighing my options," I reply suddenly nervous again.
"You want Harvard, you're going to Harvard even if I have to pay for it."
"I got a scholarship."
"Because I can you know."
"Josh I..."
"Donna..." he sits down again. "You can't... we..." he snorts obviously annoyed with himself.
"Look, lets talk about... when do you have to make a decision?"
"End of next month."
"Early admissions?"
"Yeah."
I can tell he's resisting another proud smile. This is torture; I never wanted things here, on our last day in the white house, to end this way.
"Well then," he sighs as he sits back in the chair and for the first time since we've broken contact I realize that I miss his touch. "I..." he laughs. "The reason I called you in here in the first place," he moves back to the envelops on the edge of the desk and for the first time I notice that there is also a small blue-ish green wrapped package sitting next to it. "This is for you," he smiles. "I know that you planned on going to Wisconsin for two weeks but..." he shakes his head. "I dunno, I couldn't get the tickets for any other time," he's still shaking his head, and now laughing, as he presents me with the envelope. With a quizzical look I open it. Inside is a round trip ticket to Maui and a hand written itinerary in Josh's small neat handwriting. My heart melts.
"Josh you didn't have to..." I try to protest but he starts waving a hand in front of me to stop it.
"I wanted to," he's smiling again. "I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, how much you've done for me."
"You remembered?"
"How could I forget?"
"Are you going too?"
Dimples.
"Yes."
And now he's moving closer, so close I can feel his breath and like the north pole to the south, I actually seem to feel gravity pulling me towards him. Our mouths are merely centimeters away from each other when a knock at the door springs us apart.
"Donna?"
It's Ginger. Josh closes his eyes and smiles as I stand.
"Yeah," I say opening the door.
"It's..." Ginger looks around, unsure if she'd been interrupting a moment. "It's two... we're all heading over to the mess but..." she looks to Josh. "We'll understand if..."
"Senior Assistants Association," I provide, turning to Josh who is starting at me blankly. "Last chance to gossip."
He nods and for a record time, I get more dimples.
"Go," he says shoeing me away. I smile and then follow Ginger out of the room.
"What's that?" she asks, motioning to the envelope as I stuff it into my bag.
"Nothing," I reply, trying to sound as convincing as possible. Although I'm pretty sure, it doesn't work.
Category: Josh and Donna
Rating: PG- 13... R eventually, probably, maybe.
Notes and Disclaimer: This is total Josh and Donna drama/fluff. I figured someone had to make them happy and it mine as well be me. I stole a lot of my ideas from another fic I am writing so if and when the two start appearing together then be forewarned that they may seem a bit similar. As for the usual disclaimer, I make no money doing this (although let me tell you if I did I'd be an very, very happy girl) and these characters are the intellectual property of Aaron Sorkin and now the proverbial property of John Wells... the verdicts still out as to how I feel about that.
Summary: "You should go then," he responds finally. All I can do is nod. His smile returns, if only briefly. "Harvard," he repeats with the remnants of a grin. "You still have my sweatshirt don't you?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. I look away, trying to hide my embarrassment. Sure it's slight, but still. Then I see him smile again and before the smile fades it seems for an instant that all is right in the world. "I never meant to pressure you," he adds quietly. "I mean with the job, I just though..."
Special Thanks: to 107.7 the Lake, a job without which I'd have any time to write. Ani DiFranco, who writes amazing music, including the song the inspired this story, "Hour Follows Hour". And as usual, Laura and Amy, for taking the chance on the first part of this... Thing.
Hour follows hour like water follows water. Everything is governed by the rule of one thing leads to another. You can't really place blame 'cause blame is much to messy. Some was bound to get on you while you were trying to put it on me. And don't fool yourself into thinking that things are simple. Nobody's lying, still the stories don't line up. Ani DiFranco "Hour Follows Hour"
Part I – Hour Follows Hour
I never thought it would feel this way.
I knew there'd be sadness and confusion and, after just a few weeks as the assistant to the elusive Joshua Lyman, a place for me after this administration.
But I never, ever, though I'd be faced with so much indecision.
I AM sad. I AM confused. And, as predicted, there IS a place for me immediately after we leave here. A good place, with my own office, with a window, and my own assistant and... maybe even something more, but I'm not too sure that it's what. At least not anymore.
If you had asked me four months ago... I would have been elated. I would have known EXACTLY what I wanted and smiled because I was pretty confident that I was on my way there. Three months prior to that, even though things had been good, and I mean really good, I had this harebrained idea, as I often do, that I, Donnatella Moss, wanted to go back to school and finish the degree I never hung around long enough to get. I did... I do... of course I couldn't really share this though. At least not with the one who really mattered. And by that, I of course mean, the ever present, Joshua Lyman. Because all roads lead to Josh. He would have laughed me out of the west wing, I'm sure of it. So, in a moment of weakness, I confided in one Claudia Jean Cregg who along with Leo, and what even surprised me, the President and Doctor Bartlet, wrote me GLOWING recommendations to send along to any college of my choosing. In the end, I sent applications to Berkley, Georgetown, Southeastern, Duke, and... Harvard. I knew it was a long shot, even with the 4.0 I pulled in Wisconsin, but I was determined. And, passing even my outlandish ways of understanding, I was accepted into each and every school, some, with scholarships. Not that cost had ever been something I'd thought about when I choose those five, practically at random. Originally it was a pipedream, but as the acceptance letters came tumbling in one, by one, I couldn't contain myself. I wanted to share in my joy, with everyone, but instead I kept to myself celebrating, with no specifics, at a small uptown bar south of the city with CJ. In the end, no one knew where I had applied, where had actually accepted me, and where I wanted to go. I intended on keeping it that way. I didn't need the opinions of the peanut gallery swaying my final decision.
It was a toss up for a while. Berkley or Harvard? From one extreme to the other. And then one night, as I pulled an old sweatshirt out of the back of my closet to cover up in the dead of winter, I looked down at the big maroon letter embossed on the front and I knew. It was Josh's, something I'd "borrowed" with no intention of course of ever returning, a while back when I was staying with him after my thing in Gaza. Truth was, I guess I had always had my heart set on Harvard. With half of the tuition paid by a scholarship assigned specifically to nontraditional students, I figured I'd save money all summer and then just take out student loans to pay for the rest. I know first hand what its like to be a girl on a budget.
Then Doctor Bartlet presented me with "the gift" as CJ and I have now coined it. A check for forty five thousand dollars marked Presidential Scholarship, in big block letters on the bottom. I nearly fainted. Harvard, even only for the two years that I needed to complete before graduation, was the most costly of them all. So I had graciously accepted the gift, hiding it in the safe underneath my bed until I figure out what the hell I want to do with the rest of my life.
The verdicts still out.
It's half past one in the afternoon on January the Nineteenth, two thousand and seven. As I sit at my desk on our last day here I realize that I haven't gotten much accomplished. I've been working slowly, and even slowly might be an understatement, to clear out my desk and file any last minute paperwork. And between doing that I've been trying to advert my eyes from staring at Josh's dark, hard wood door. Its been closed a majority of the morning. He's been brooding. Actually, I think he has brought new meaning to the action of brooding. This is saying a lot coming from Joshua Lyman. Then again, there has been a lot in general coming from Josh these days. I can't tell if it's the thought of leaving the white house, or the prospect of the new job – Lyman and Cregg Consulting.
This is where I fit in, the consulting firm, where I have a job, if I so choose, and a chance at a future as a political operative running circles round the beltway. I'm assuming you can see where I'd be torn as to what I'm now going to refer to as indecision two thousand and eight.
The decision about the firm comes of course, after the vacations. The plan is as follows. I'm slated to spend a two-week stretch at the luxurious Moss complex (insert sarcasm) in downtown Wisconsin. After Wisconsin, I've been invited on an airfare paid trip to Paris with CJ who, after spending a week in Ohio to see her dad is meeting Josh in Orange County where they are going to run amuck with Sam. Before California, Josh is going to Florida to see his mom. I know all about his travel plans, I booked them. The firm itself isn't going to officially be up and running until sometime in April with no real set start date, just a location. The brownstone next to Josh's condo, which has been purchased and is currently being remolded to suite the needs of the operation. As a surprise to all of us, Josh has footed the bill for the entire project, plus start up funding by cashing in on a trust that was bestowed upon him just this past month on his forty fifty birthday.
Yes folks, Josh Lyman if forty five years old.
At the ripe age of thirty-five, I am in love with a man ten years my senior.
Where in lies my problem. Eight years later, I can finally admit to myself that yes, I am in love with the brooding, charismatic, overbearing, egomaniac Joshua Lyman. God it feels good to say, well think, that out loud. I have yet to decide what to do with this knowledge, other than curse myself, and move as far away as humanly possible, but it is definitely playing hard on my current dilemma. CJ would beat me to death, and then kill me again if she knew for even a moment that I was making one of the most important decisions of my life based upon something she spotted too long ago for me to feel comfortable with. Regardless, there it is, like a big pink elephant in the middle of the room, staring down at me.
Pink elephants... I've always hated the movie Dumbo.
Josh's voice startles me as he speaks, placing a warm, strong hand, on my shoulder.
"Donna," his tone is soft and more welcoming than I ever thought possible. Who is this man and what have they done with my hard ass boss? Lately I've been thinking that a lot.
When I look up at him he's smiling. My god those dimples. I do everything in my power not to lift a hand to touch his face. I've got it bad. Eight years and one hell of a receding hairline (which gives him character I just wanted to add) later, on today of all days, I've got it bad.
"Yes," I finally reply sweetly with a bright smile of my own.
"Can I see you for a minute?" he asks, shifting his hand, sliding it slowly down my arm. "In my office," he nudges his head towards the door and I think that I actually quiver.
"Sure," I reply as I stand, all too quickly as the room dips below me, and eagerly follow him into his office. For reasons passing understanding, I close the door.
Things between Josh and I, in the last month, have been... different. Not exactly –I'd better close the door someone may be looking – different, just... different. So when I close the door, I guess in the back of my mind, it's not completely without reason. Hell, I might even say I actually do have concrete reason. And that scares me more than the prospect of anything else in this moment. As I've just recently discovered, at least on a conscious level, that I have feelings for Josh, that doesn't mean that he's always used filters. About two years ago, after a particularly trying day on the Hill, Josh came home, got completely obliterated and continued to spill the beans, figuratively and literally.
It was the summer after my thing in Gaza – my choice description, no one else's. And Josh, being... well Josh, decided, because no matter what happens in life he will always be plagued with guilt, that while I recovered I was going to move in with him so that he could take care of me as I took care of him after his thing at Rosslyn – his choice description, not mine.
The summer was long, warm, and tiring. One particularly brutal evening while I was doped up on way more pain medication that I should have been, Josh fell into a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and professed his undying love for me, at the top of his lungs, immediately before wrenching the entire contents of his stomach, all over the hardwood floor of his dining room. I got butterflies and a good laugh. Josh got humiliation and a hangover. And the incident was never brought up again. Except after that night, things had shifted. Only slightly at first, but then increasingly more so as time passed and we came to a silent agreement to just let whatever happened happen.
And then Josh took a figurative bullet for the President in a move I will never quite forgive the man I've come to admire more than my own father, for. After that, everything changed. His posttraumatic stress disorder was made public and as his life went through the ringer he became more withdrawn than I have ever witnessed before. During those months I thanked every deity above for blessing me with the plans to apply to five of the top schools in the nation and not tell Josh. It was all the beginning of the cleansing, to rid my life of all things Lyman. Then, at Christmas, because the gods hate me I'm convinced, we had a breakthrough. Apologies were made, things were said, as well as implied and despite every warning bell going off in my head, Josh and I made good. Well better. And now, as I sit before this man, the man I am so obviously in love with that sometimes I think I should get t-shirts made, I'm practically shaking because he just took my hand in his.
When we first entered the office I watched him. He rounded the desk, situated a small stack of files, the only thing left on his desk, and then sat down. He took one look at me, standing, still frozen by the door and then smiled. Damn those dimples, and once again rounded the desk, this time, approaching me, taking my hands as he led me to sit in one visitors chair in front of his desk while he quickly swung around to take the other.
"You okay?" he asks as my hands quickly move from his and into my hair, fidgeting, smoothing it back, before resting again nervously on my lap.
I nod, again too quickly, and I think he laughs. I can't really say because I'm too focused on his eyes, the brilliant brown pools that open right up into his soul. Oh my god I'm so screwed.
"Donna..." again with the soft, almost sultry, if that's even possible, tone. My mind and in turn eyes, drift to his lips. "Donna..." he speaks again and I look up at his expectant eyes. "I just talked to the President. He would like you to join myself and the remainder of the senior staff at the residence for dinner at six thirty," Josh smiles and my heart skips a beat. "He says you deserve to be treated like one of us because you do my job better than I do."
This time I smile back, if only to offset the hot tears that suddenly begin streaming down my face.
"Hey, hey..." Josh begins as he brings a hand to my face to stop the tears with his thumb. "No tears. This is going to be a happy day," he pauses. "New beginnings..." his voice gets quiet. "At least for now. Look..." and there he goes trailing off. Never a good sign. He reaches across the desk and grabs an envelope sitting on the center of the pile of files. "I don't..." he pauses again, pressing his lips together as he thinks. "I know I... I don't..." he laughs nervously and I'm scared because in all of the years that I've known Josh I have never seen him act like this before. "I did this a while ago and I wasn't sure but... I... you... you can say no, I mean CJ just... don't get mad, she told me. I... I had no idea. I don't wanna...Donna please just..."
"Josh," I finally find my voice having wanted to interrupt him after the first pause but unable to stop watching him fumble. I have no idea what is going on, but whatever it is, it's making me extremely nervous.
"CJ told me," he says finally. "I didn't... I didn't know Donna," he takes my hand in his and begins tracing small circles on my palm. The entire process has me entranced. "I don't want to pressure you. The job offer was... the job... Donna you're totally qualified, eight years of this... maybe even over qualified, but I understand. I understand that you feel like you need, that you want to go back. I mean I get it I just..."
"Josh," I sputter, having just begin to figure out his obscene train of thought. "I wanted to tell you, I did, but I was scared. I..."
"You shouldn't have," he interrupts me and I almost laugh because, neither of us are making much sense. "What I meant to say was that you don't... you don't need to run things by me. I don't own you," he sighs. "I wish you would have told me though," and again. God he looks so cute when he's concerned. "I... Donna I would have moved the earth to get you into whatever school you wanted to go to."
I smile despite the fact that he has just described exactly why I didn't tell him in the first place.
"I know," I reply, giving him the look I reserve only for self serving Josh. "That's why I..." I laugh. "I mean its not entirely why I... Josh," I pause to take a breath and smile. "I wanted to... needed to do this on my own, just to... just to know that I could, that I can..."
I get the dimple smile again.
"And now?" he asks quietly.
"I did..." I'm smiling again, at least for now. There are no more tears, just ridiculous smiles to be had all around. "I can," I continue.
"CJ said she didn't know, I mean she knew you ere accepted places, but she didn't even know where you applied," he smirks. "I guess what I'm trying to ask is..."
I cut him off.
"Berkley, Georgetown, Southeastern, Duke and..." I can't help but smile as I finish off the list that I have practiced reciting so many times in my head. "Harvard."
I'm greeted with more dimples.
"Did you make a decision?" he asks with unadulterated excitement in his eyes.
"I really want Harvard," I reply simply and just as fast as my smile appeared it fades as I watch, with the dawning of the situation at hand, his face fall.
And then there's silence.
"You should go then," he responds finally. All I can do is nod. His smile returns, if only briefly. "Harvard," he repeats with the remnants of a grin. "You still have my sweatshirt don't you?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. I look away, trying to hide my embarrassment. Sure it's slight, but still. Then I see him smile again and before the smile fades it seems for an instant that all is right in the world. "I never meant to pressure you," he adds quietly. "I mean with the job, I just though..."
It's my turn to interrupt.
"No," I begin firmly. "No Josh, don't. You didn't pressure me in any way I just..." I stop, really I have no idea what I'm going to say next, the words are just flowing out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea. "This is about me wanting to..." I stop again. For some reason he looks hopeful. Its like cause and affect when the words escape my lips. "I could go to Georgetown."
"Donna..."
"I could," truth was, I'd been thinking about it more and more lately. "And I could work for you and CJ part time."
"No."
Not at all the answer I had expected so I choose to ignore.
"There's always night classes."
"Donna what are you doing?" he asks as he stands and begins to pace.
"Weighing my options," I reply suddenly nervous again.
"You want Harvard, you're going to Harvard even if I have to pay for it."
"I got a scholarship."
"Because I can you know."
"Josh I..."
"Donna..." he sits down again. "You can't... we..." he snorts obviously annoyed with himself.
"Look, lets talk about... when do you have to make a decision?"
"End of next month."
"Early admissions?"
"Yeah."
I can tell he's resisting another proud smile. This is torture; I never wanted things here, on our last day in the white house, to end this way.
"Well then," he sighs as he sits back in the chair and for the first time since we've broken contact I realize that I miss his touch. "I..." he laughs. "The reason I called you in here in the first place," he moves back to the envelops on the edge of the desk and for the first time I notice that there is also a small blue-ish green wrapped package sitting next to it. "This is for you," he smiles. "I know that you planned on going to Wisconsin for two weeks but..." he shakes his head. "I dunno, I couldn't get the tickets for any other time," he's still shaking his head, and now laughing, as he presents me with the envelope. With a quizzical look I open it. Inside is a round trip ticket to Maui and a hand written itinerary in Josh's small neat handwriting. My heart melts.
"Josh you didn't have to..." I try to protest but he starts waving a hand in front of me to stop it.
"I wanted to," he's smiling again. "I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, how much you've done for me."
"You remembered?"
"How could I forget?"
"Are you going too?"
Dimples.
"Yes."
And now he's moving closer, so close I can feel his breath and like the north pole to the south, I actually seem to feel gravity pulling me towards him. Our mouths are merely centimeters away from each other when a knock at the door springs us apart.
"Donna?"
It's Ginger. Josh closes his eyes and smiles as I stand.
"Yeah," I say opening the door.
"It's..." Ginger looks around, unsure if she'd been interrupting a moment. "It's two... we're all heading over to the mess but..." she looks to Josh. "We'll understand if..."
"Senior Assistants Association," I provide, turning to Josh who is starting at me blankly. "Last chance to gossip."
He nods and for a record time, I get more dimples.
"Go," he says shoeing me away. I smile and then follow Ginger out of the room.
"What's that?" she asks, motioning to the envelope as I stuff it into my bag.
"Nothing," I reply, trying to sound as convincing as possible. Although I'm pretty sure, it doesn't work.