I'm back!
Here's Chapter One of a brand new J/D fic:
Letter
Normal disclaimer applies, of course: Not mine, Sorkin's,
finally getting their stuff together under Wells? Knock on wood
for me, will ya?
I can't tell you. I don't think I can ever tell you.
Damn you.
That's not what I was talking about in the first sentence, but I mean it a thousand times over, and you know I do.
Damn you, Joshua Lyman.
Not anniversary flowers. Telling me how lucky you are to have met me, and that you didn't really want me skiing anyway, because I could've gotten hurt, in the cover of a book. Do you have any idea how many times I've sat in my easy chair holding that book preparing to tear it into little shreds? Do you know that it's the only book I let sit out on my coffee table, even though I always thought having books on your coffee table was too much clutter? Do you know how many teardrops have fallen on and near that book, because of that book? Do you know how many times I've fallen asleep in that chair, with that book lying on my chest, because you can't be there?
I think it bears repeating. Damn you.
Complimenting my dress. Asking me to tie your bowtie, even though I've caught you tying it by yourself. You tie it horribly, but that's not the point. Dating Amy Gardner. Twice. Putting your hand on my back. Protecting me with Cliff Calley. Saving me after I screwed up with Jack, throwing snowballs at my window…did you know one got into my apartment and nearly missed my TV?...and telling me I looked amazing. Taking me back.
You flew to Germany and wouldn't leave until you knew for sure I was going to be okay. You stayed after you saw me kiss Colin. You stayed. You came when I needed you to, right before my surgery, and I knew you were scared to death, I could see it in your eyes. But you held my hand and gave me a reason to hold on, even though I was so weak I could have easily just…slipped. Had you not been there, Josh, I think I might've. I might have let go, but I saw you, and I didn't think of anything else except that someone might need to tie your bowtie for you, because when you do it looks like crap. Someone needs to know which sandwich you like from the place down the street. Someone needs to know exactly how your suitcase is packed, because lord knows you never remember and end up throwing everything out onto your hotel bed, wrinkling it up, looking for a razor. Someone needs the patience to teach you how to swipe the hotel key. Someone needs to know that if you could have anything happen to you, if you could have any dream come true at all, you would have Mike Piazza call you 'dude.'
Someone needs to love you, and no one else can like I do. I know you better than you do. I know you better than I know me, and guess what, I need that too. I needed you right then. I needed to hold your hand. I needed to know that the person who knows me better than anyone in the world wanted me to pull through and believed I could.
I wonder if this is anything like you felt in Rosslyn. God, I hope you felt nothing like I felt. Watching you…you almost died, Joshua. I almost didn't get the chance to know you this well. I was there every second I could be. No week in the office could compare to the stress and anxiety and anguish of those days in the hospital, watching you as machines mimicked your heartbeat and wires and tubes latched to you, and I swear if you had died, I would've had no less than to be taken right with you just to get away from all the machines. I couldn't take you being that helpless, so I was your strength. I couldn't have left you.
I must have forgotten that. I must have forgotten that feeling of desperation as you lent your soul away. I should have remembered, and known you must have been going through the same pain and the same everything, and that I just…left.
I left.
I still don't believe I left. I never thought it would be like this, and I'm not sure I can handle it being like this. Now we sit here, separate offices this time. Separate jobs, the only common link being the candidate. You were right. He's brilliant. He's inspiring. He has an inner strength. We both know he's no Bartlet, and we're sure as hell glad he's no Russell.
I don't even remember what I was planning on saying to you. I guess that's how life goes.
D
------
Donna set the pen down.
Slowly, she stood up, the tears still streaming down her face. She stood, and looked around her office. It was small, but seemed to stretch for miles. Nearly empty space surrounded her from all corners, and she wanted so badly for Josh to come in and ask her if she'd found his memo about the Estate Tax yet, cause it was hell today on the Hill and God knew he'd never find it anywhere, because he can't do anything right, according to some damn congressman.
Her career felt completely overrated. She could've been sitting in her and Josh's living room, cleaning up Legos while Josh force-fed their son broccoli, making the same disgusted look as his child at the steamed vegetable. Tonight, she could've climbed into cold sheets next to Josh's warm body and wrap her arms around him and kiss him goodnight before falling asleep with her head on his chest. She didn't need a reputation or to feel more important. Even on the days Josh drove her so far up the wall she was standing on the ceiling, she knew she meant the world to him. She didn't know what she meant to him at all anymore.
Tonight, she could've been happy. Instead, she was headed to another empty apartment, lonely and afraid to call the first guy who ever made her truly believe she didn't have to feel lonely anymore.
And, alone, she packed her suitcase. Alone, she put on her jacket. Alone, she shut her office door behind him. Alone, she listened as her heels clicked down the corridor and alone, she headed home, where she would sleep another night alone.
------
Josh knocked on the office door. He hadn't been down here yet.
No, he'd been down here. Obviously. This was the White House. He knew every corner of this building. It was already going to take him enough to adjust being in Leo's office; now he had to come down to this one and know, every time, it was Donna's office. He was no part of that anymore. The thought made him choke.
No one had answered yet.
He looked both ways and listened before opening the office door, making him feel like a second grader trying to cross the street. But…he had to take precautions.
Slowly the office was revealed to him. It was nearly empty. There was a box on the desk, and a couple of files sitting out. Other than that, it was white and echoing.
He walked inside and shut the door behind him.
Quietly, he crossed to the desk and glimpsed inside the box. Some of her knick-knacks from last time were inside, and his eyes darted away as if the sight had slapped him away.
They darted to a slightly wrinkled piece of paper. It was handwritten, and he recognized it easily. He still maintained that he was the only person in DC who could decipher the scribbles. He reached down and picked up the paper, only to find another, and another. He picked up the last piece of paper and saw his face, next to a radiant and beaming Donna, in a picture from the second Inauguration. His eyes trailed back to the stack of papers in his hand, and feeling disabled, he felt himself slip slowly down into Donna's desk chair as he followed the first line of the 'distinctive' handwriting.
I can't tell you. I don't think I can ever tell you.
Damn you.