Donna
October 2000
I watch them tear apart my best friend.
I watch a blue glove become a deep red.
I watch silver metallic tools precisely utilised inside of Josh's chest.
I watch them fix him. Because they have to fix him.
He's Josh Lyman. Josh is like titanium- strong, unyielding, resistant to corrosion, beautiful. But titanium is not always bulletproof and apparently Josh is not either.
They have to fix him though. I want to go in there and tell the doctors about all the people that love Josh, that wouldn't know what to do without him. I want to tell them about all the people who Josh has helped, all the people Josh still wants to help.
I want to tell them about his mother who has lost her only daughter and husband. Ruth Lyman is a strong and beautiful woman with a sharp wit and a heavy heart. Her son cannot be taken away from her. Her son who rarely calls but when he does, takes his time talking with her. Her son who went to Florida without being asked to so he could make sure where she was moving into was safe. Her son who is constantly maddening and loves harder than anyone I have ever known.
I want to tell them about Leo McGarry. Leo who loves Josh like a son, who would blame himself for his death. Leo McGarry who promised Josh's father to look after him, Leo McGarry who tries to look after everyone he loves with a ferocity to rival only Josh's. Leo McGarry who has demons they cannot imagine, who has a sense of duty that is unassailable.
I want to tell them about Sam Seaborn. Sam Seaborn who met Josh when they were both naive and cocky, more than they are now, who trusts Josh above anyone else. Sam Seaborn with his lofty idealism whose world would darken without his best friend, his brother. I want to tell them about Toby and C.J. and Zoey Bartlet and Charlie Young.
I want to tell them about the President of the United States. The President who originally hated Josh, thought he was spineless and a hack and slimy. The President who realized that he was incredibly wrong. The President who realized that Josh is protective and whip smart and cursed by his heart of gold. The President who was won over by Josh's ability to make himself look stupid, by Josh who is a comfort to his friends in tragedy and who looks his friends in the eye, by Josh who wanted to be a ballerina when he was younger, by Josh who matched the President in his tendency towards melodrama.
I want to tell them that about me. The girl from Wisconsin who walked in off the street who Josh saw god-knows-what in and decided to take with him to the White House. The girl who can complain and gripe about him til the sun goes down but can't keep the smile off her face as she does it. The girl who drinks his beer and steals his fries. The girl who is his partner in crime, celebrating his triumphs and commiserating his failures. The girl who is in love with him.
I place my hand on the window, needing to feel closer.
"Josh?" I whisper, my voice not sounding like my own. "You promised, okay? You said you were going to marry me. One day. When our time at the White House is done. Josh, you can't do that if you die. Don't make me a widow without ever having been married. Don't, Josh. Please."
Josh is the focus right now. Maybe it's stupid to be saying this outloud. Maybe he'd be upset with me for saying these things out loud, these things we only say aloud in our weaker moments, in our less than sober moments, in our life is too good with you to not moments. That's for tomorrow, whenever this hell of a day has passed. My feet hurt but that's for tomorrow too. My eyes sting from the everflowing silent tears running down my face but that's for tomorrow- when I can stop.
The President could threaten to throw me in Guam and I would not move from this spot. Josh has to be okay. I have to see them stitch him up. I have to watch his monitor continue an even pace. I have to or I will fall apart.
I watch as silver tweezers enter the cavity they'd created in Josh. I'm too far away to know what they pulled out as it's dropped into a small silver pan. I'm starting to hate the color silver. I think it's the bullet. I've read about the impact a bullet makes. How it burrows into your skin, white-hot and determined to inflict damage. Josh had to be scared. How was he one of the only ones hit? Who was around him? Who found him? I wonder if it was Toby. There was a hauntedness in his eyes that were not in others. I should have been there. I should have been right by his side, I should have held his hand and threatened him. That he had to stay. I could have done the whole clucking like a chicken thing and he absolutely would have willed himself into living.
I wonder how much Josh is fighting.
It almost seems like a silly thing to wonder. Josh is known for fighting! He walks through the world like a man on a life-or-death mission. But I've seen Josh when he sits down. I've seen Josh when he's contemplative and when he's tired and when he's disappointed people he cares about.
Josh has had too much loss in his life. Josh has fought for so long. What if he doesn't fight for this? He has to be so tired.
"Josh." I press a hand to the glass. "Don't you dare." I whisper, unconcerned with how ridiculous I seem to anyone who may be around. I'm not conscious of my periphery right now. Just Josh. It's only ever been Josh.
"Donna?" I think that is Dr. Bartlet. "They're almost done. They're going to need this room, come on. Let's go wait with everyone else." The First Lady's voice is soothing and maternal. I tell myself that maybe if I walk out with her, this will be over sooner, that Josh will be able to come out of surgery, that I'll sit by his bedside, that he'll wake up and his eyes will heal my soul.
Josh
May 2004
I watch through the plane window as we descend into Landstuhl. This flight seemed quicker than I expected. Having Donna's emails to keep me company was both a distraction and a very specific brand of hell. A hell where they cover you with tiny pins and slowly push and twist, where your loved ones watch and laugh at your misery. I know no one is laughing at this. I could see the worry behind CJ's eyes, I could see the concern in Leo. I heard the urgency in Toby's voice, even after he knew Andy was safe. I saw the tears in Ginger's eyes.
Our plane seems to be taking its sweet time making the way to the ground. I can't keep my eyes off of it as we get closer. I don't know what I'm going to find when I finally get there. I imagine touching down and turning on my phone. A missed call from Leo, with an urgent voicemail telling me to call him back. I imagine Margaret answering with a choked up voice as she puts me through. I imagine Leo saying he was sorry, that there was nothing that could be done. I imagine booking a flight back.
I wouldn't go back to D.C.
I'd go to my mom's first. When her pity got too much for me to handle, I would go to a forest of some sort. Finally proving to Donna that I am indeed an outdoorsman. My short bark of a laugh is cut off by the woman next to me looking at me like I'm insane. I am.
I feel absolutely off my rocker.
I'm mad at everyone. There isn't a person in this world who I am not vehemently irate with.
I'm even mad at Donna. If she could have just been happy! If she could have just not nagged me about doing more! I never would have put her on that trip. I internally sear myself for this one. I'm not really mad at her. I'm mad at me. Reasons why, too innumerous.
Fatigue pokes at my body but I tense and convince myself that it's a problem for another goddamn day.
I wonder who found her. I wonder what the paramedic response is in that part of the world. Obviously it was military but were they well trained? Were they careful enough with the single most decent and sharp and kind and beautiful woman on this planet?
If she does live through this, will she remember? Will she have the same kind of nightmares I do? Will she be sucked into the same darkness I have been?
Was there a moment before it all went dark that she realized? Where she had regrets? Where she wondered if she had done enough? Where she wondered if her time was up? Where she had screamed? Where she had watched Admiral Fitzwallace be sprayed with glass?
I have a million questions and this plane cannot land fast enough.
Did she know? Could she even begin to comprehend how much I love her? Did she think of me? I wonder if she saw visions of our children as she swims in her subconscious- like I did when I was shot. I wonder if she feels death pull at that vision of the future like I did. I wonder if she could hold on long enough to fight for that vision of the future.
Donna
January 2011
It took some nagging but I finally convinced Josh to help me into the wheelchair and wheel me to the nursery. Nora Joan Moss-Lyman is seven pounds and four ounces. She's in the little glass hospital crib. She's squirming quite a bit as she sleeps. I'll blame Josh for that.
"Donna?" Josh whispers, so quietly I'm surprised he's capable of the low tone. We're just outside the nursery, watching through the glass. "Thank you."
"Joshua, lean down here and kiss me before we go in." Josh smirks for a second before turning to look me in the eyes and place a kiss on my lips. I try to tell him everything I can't put into words. The ineffable degree to which I love him. How much it was all worth it. My gratefulness to him. My excitement to be a mother, a mother of his child.
There are dark moments in our past but that's for all the yesterdays. There are going to be trying times in our future but that's for tomorrow.
Right now I want to hold my daughter and watch Josh watch her. Because looking through the glass isn't enough. I plan on living this life with Josh by my side, hand-in-hand.