Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like to play with them for a little
while and then return them relatively unharmed. I make no money off
writing this, so no point in suing me! :)
Feedback: Please! I love it!
Archive: Sure, just ask first please! It'll also be available on
http://www.pixies-bookshelf.com/fic/archive.asp.
Summary: Donna's thoughts at the end of "War Crimes".
Spoilers: all the way up through "War Crimes"
Category: Donna/Other, Josh/Donna, romance, angst
Notes: This is just a short bit of thoughts that popped in to my head and demanded to be written up. I may yet write Josh and Cliff's thoughts as well, just remains to be seen if they come nagging. ;) Thanks to the people on the JDFF list for the idea of Donna having written about her thoughts on Josh's PTSD in her diary.
****************
I'm sitting on a park bench on a Sunday night with Joshua Lyman. Not a bad gig, really, you would think. Except for the fact is, the reason we're sitting here is because of me, because I screwed up.
I lied about having a diary. I told them in my deposition I didn't have one, and Cliff, that bastard, called me on it. I'm glad I had the nerve to say to him the only way he found it was when he went looking for his boxers. Smug bastard, that shut him up.
So now we sit here in silence, waiting for Cliff to return and either let me off the hook or cause even more trouble. Josh has tried to do the smalltalk thing in the meantime. It's sweet, really.
It makes me wonder though why he doesn't seem so angry with me like he was earlier. I expected it, for him to stay mad at me until I had done enough penance to his liking. Not that he holds grudges...well, only when someone has hurt him deeply. And that was the look he gave me. When he yelled at me. Like I'd plunged a knife into him.
God, my thoughts are all over the place tonight. I went in to that deposition with a stomach full of butterflies and right now it feels like elephants. Heavy. Weighted.
I feel Josh's hand rest gently on my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. I wish I felt like I deserved to have his arm around me right now, but I don't. I've messed it all up because I didn't want to admit I had a diary. How stupid was that?
And what was in the diary? Mindless fluff? Sure. Deep thoughts? Yes, I do actually have those from time to time. Every range of emotion over finding a job I love with people I care about? Hell yeah! Worry about my friend and boss because of how sick he was, how non-Josh-like he was behaving, but I didn't have a name for it?
My train of thought is broken as I feel a finger tap me on the shoulder. I focus in on Josh, who nods in the direction of the fountain. Cliff is returning. His expression is neutral. I hate when people look like that, you never really know what they're thinking.
Josh and I stand up, waiting for Cliff to approach us. I glance at my boss, trying to read his expression. He's got the neutral look going as well. I guess that's why they're both in politics, they know how to play the game. Never give away what you're thinking, never show your feelings. And I guess that's why I'd make a terrible politician.
I turn and look at Cliff, waiting to hear what he has to say. Time to face the music.
THE END
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like to play with them for a little
while and then return them relatively unharmed. I make no money off
writing this, so no point in suing me! :)
Feedback: Please! I love it!
Archive: Sure, just ask first please! It'll also be available on
http://www.pixies-bookshelf.com/fic/archive.asp.
Summary: Donna's thoughts at the end of "War Crimes".
Spoilers: all the way up through "War Crimes"
Category: Donna/Other, Josh/Donna, romance, angst
Notes: This is just a short bit of thoughts that popped in to my head and demanded to be written up. I may yet write Josh and Cliff's thoughts as well, just remains to be seen if they come nagging. ;) Thanks to the people on the JDFF list for the idea of Donna having written about her thoughts on Josh's PTSD in her diary.
****************
I'm sitting on a park bench on a Sunday night with Joshua Lyman. Not a bad gig, really, you would think. Except for the fact is, the reason we're sitting here is because of me, because I screwed up.
I lied about having a diary. I told them in my deposition I didn't have one, and Cliff, that bastard, called me on it. I'm glad I had the nerve to say to him the only way he found it was when he went looking for his boxers. Smug bastard, that shut him up.
So now we sit here in silence, waiting for Cliff to return and either let me off the hook or cause even more trouble. Josh has tried to do the smalltalk thing in the meantime. It's sweet, really.
It makes me wonder though why he doesn't seem so angry with me like he was earlier. I expected it, for him to stay mad at me until I had done enough penance to his liking. Not that he holds grudges...well, only when someone has hurt him deeply. And that was the look he gave me. When he yelled at me. Like I'd plunged a knife into him.
God, my thoughts are all over the place tonight. I went in to that deposition with a stomach full of butterflies and right now it feels like elephants. Heavy. Weighted.
I feel Josh's hand rest gently on my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. I wish I felt like I deserved to have his arm around me right now, but I don't. I've messed it all up because I didn't want to admit I had a diary. How stupid was that?
And what was in the diary? Mindless fluff? Sure. Deep thoughts? Yes, I do actually have those from time to time. Every range of emotion over finding a job I love with people I care about? Hell yeah! Worry about my friend and boss because of how sick he was, how non-Josh-like he was behaving, but I didn't have a name for it?
My train of thought is broken as I feel a finger tap me on the shoulder. I focus in on Josh, who nods in the direction of the fountain. Cliff is returning. His expression is neutral. I hate when people look like that, you never really know what they're thinking.
Josh and I stand up, waiting for Cliff to approach us. I glance at my boss, trying to read his expression. He's got the neutral look going as well. I guess that's why they're both in politics, they know how to play the game. Never give away what you're thinking, never show your feelings. And I guess that's why I'd make a terrible politician.
I turn and look at Cliff, waiting to hear what he has to say. Time to face the music.
THE END