Chapter 2
A/N: I'm having a little trouble with my timeline. I'm trying to make sure that everyone's ages are correct and that Josh and Donna waited a year after the election to get married, so if I messed something up with Brooke's age, that is my fault. I'm thinking Donna is 36ish when she gets married, so Brooke could be a little older. Right? Right.
A/N 2: Also, I said I'd stay with canon, and I will, but I have to add a few things to get Brooke in the story and then add a few things to keep her there. So, if in an ep there was no way that Donna took time to call her friend, just pretend, okay?
Feedback: It's like Donna not stopping for red lights—you gotta do it.
Donna working for Josh had nothing to do with me, nor did her quitting to go back to Robert. That was before Donna and I met. Donna thought that Joshiah "Jed" Bartlet sounded like a good candidate and he sounded even better when her boyfriend (and I use the term loosely) broke up with her for the umpteenth time and she couldn't stand to stay in Wisconsin a second longer. Fibbing her way into the office, impressing Josh, getting to stay and be as important to him as oxygen? She did that all by herself. See, that's the problem. I get blamed for the advice that kept them apart, but if I'd be around for the "Should I work for Bartlet?" or "Should I go back to Robert and make it work?" era, then Donna could say, "In the beginning her advice was really good." because I would have told her to work for Bartlet (I voted for him twice) and for Josh (you could look at him in the papers and see he was gonna run the show one day) and I would have forbidden her to go back to Robert because he was no more the one for Donna than Toby is, but at least Toby is funny.
I met Donna six months into campaigning when she brought Sam (what a cutie!) into my office in Virginia, just on this side of D.C. Sam had fallen from a ladder while hanging a Bartlet for America sign and Donna had been entrusted (ordered?) to take him to a doctor. Sam didn't want to be in every paper, so she took him to a small family doctor's office she had seen near her dermatologist. ("With skin like that, you needed a dermatologist?" I used to ask.) I treated Sam, thinking all the while that she should get off her phone and pay attention to the man she was with. "Sorry, Sam, Josh couldn't find 'the thing'," she reported and they both laughed. Not in on the joke, I examined his wrist, declared it not broken, wrapped it, gave him a prescription for pain meds and sent them on their way.
When Donna returned two days later to retrieve her sunglasses that had been left behind, my receptionist was at lunch and I helped Donna look for them. She seemed nice and I guess she thought I did too, because we were having a great conversation about politics, but we were interrupted several times by her cell phone. She apologized and took the calls, but kept talking to me and I was enjoying it. I had friends, of course, but Donna was a little younger, and I liked her vivacity and the way she seemed to worship the man she swore would be the next president. Finally, after the phone had rang six times in 20 minutes, Donna finished the call and turned to me. "Dr. Bairstow, I do apologize for taking up so much of your time. Thanks for helping me find my sunglasses. I do have to get back though. Josh can't live without me."
I assumed she meant her husband and I agreed. "Chris would forget his head if I didn't remind him to take it with him each morning." Donna laughed and I smiled and it felt warm, friendly.
"Josh is actually my boss," she said and walked toward the door. "Would you wanna grab lunch or something sometime?" she asked shyly, as if she wasn't sure I'd want to.
"Sure—if Josh can stop calling you for two minutes," I joked. "When is good for you?"
"I'll have to check my calendar and call you, but I should warn you…" she trailed off and I thought, 'Oh, great, this is when the crazy comes out.'
"Yeah?" I prompted.
"My life is very hectic and I work for Josh…Lyman and I get called away a lot, so if I have to cancel or run out, please don't be offended." She smiled. "I just want to warn you up front." At the point, I had no idea who Josh Lyman was or how right she was.
I smiled. "Sure. Call my receptionist and book lunch one day."
She smiled, a true, big smile that time. "Okay. Bye, Dr. Bairstow."
"I think you can call me Brooke, Donna."
Another huge smile and she was gone.
That was almost ten years ago and we've been friends ever since. We've been through everything together: the birth of my child, Grace; Josh being shot, Donna being blown up, Chris and I separating for all of a day, Donna realizing she was in love with Josh, but still dating Cliff and Jack; what I wasn't around for was her leaving Josh and the Bartlet campaign for about six weeks to go back to Robert. When we talked about it later, she said it was a mistake and when I pressed for more information, Donna withdrew a bit and said she was running from Josh, not to Robert and she'd made a horrible mistake. I was so tempted to ask what she meant by "running from Josh" but somewhere in my heart, I knew. She had fallen for him early and she couldn't love him and work for him, so she left. I nodded without making her say it aloud, but I did ask one more question: "Why come back?" When she told me the stopping for a beer story, I was disgusted, but I laughed.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No," I cried, as my laughter got louder and longer and seemed to mock her even more.
"Yes, you are."
"No, it's just who in the hell does that?" After I said that and kept laughing, Donna cracked a smile and then joined in and soon the Mexican restaurant we were eating (and drinking margaritas) in was a lot louder. We couldn't control ourselves.
When we both got control, Donna wiped her eyes and grew serious. "Josh took me back."
"That's good." I wanted to say that he couldn't live without her, that he was lucky she came back, that she was lucky he didn't say more than he did, but instead I kept my mouth shut. I didn't know Donna that well and who was I to stick my nose in?
"Yes, it is. I'm so happy with Jo…at the White House," she said and took the last drink of her margarita.
I ignored the slip, finished my drink, paid the check and we walked out—me to go home to bed, her back to work at 9:00 on a Sunday night.
