A/N: Hey folks! This chapter is nothing new, I just thought I should split up what was originally the first chapter. For the new stuff, proceed to chapter three! Thanks for reading!

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Donna idly spins her phone on her countertop, seemingly unable to keep it long out of reach. She was going to call him. No, she wasn't going to call him. She had no reason to call him. She'd make one up. No, she wouldn't.

It was the inner monologue that had been going on ever since she'd gotten home an hour ago, and it certainly wasn't helping her to finish her section of the congressman's address on oil next Tuesday. It had been three days since she'd seen Josh. It was ridiculous, she'd gone eight months without so much as speaking to him, but now, she was overcome with a desire to see him.

The dinner had been fun. A tad ridiculous, maybe, but fun. She'd left his apartment on a buzz of banter and the pleasant lull of good food, but it was almost the instant she'd pulled away from the building that she'd realized they hadn't planned anything more. Neither of them had suggested they do it again soon. Neither had promised to call. And neither of them had.

They couldn't possibly be back where they'd been last week, given the fools they'd been acting that night. Like old times. But what if that's what he wanted? He hadn't called either.

She was being ridiculous. She should call.

No. She shouldn't.

Did she really want to allow Joshua Lyman back into her life, to such a weighty place? Did she really want to need to see him? Did she want to give him that kind of influence, after how well it ended last time?

Things are different, she argues to herself. He missed me.

She wasn't sure why that thought made all the difference, but it did. Before she can back down, she grabs her cell and dials his number. She still hadn't taken him off speed dial. Hurricanes and Merry-go-Rounds.

Ring. Ring.

This was a bad idea. She should hang up.

Ring. Ring.

Oh, god. It was too late. He'd see that she called. What was she going to say when he picked up?

Ring. Ring.

What would she say if he didn't? Should she leave a message? Should-

"Hello?"

"Oh. Umm, hi."

"...You sound surprised. Did you expect someone else to answer?"

"Hmm? Oh. Nope. No. Hi Josh."

"Hi, Donna."

Whichever he'd recognized, her voice or her number, she's glad for it.

"...You called, Donna?"

"Yes. I did do that."

"Is there a reason that you did do that?"

"There is." Umm, umm. "Look, are you busy tonight?"

"Not really."

Honestly, she was doing him a favor. He'd probably spend all night at the office if it weren't for her.

Alright, how to phrase this... She needed a reason for him to come over. "I need your help."

Well, damn, now it sounded like that's all she wanted from him.

"With what?"

"I, umm. Okay. I need to balance my checkbook."

"...Right now?"

"Well, ya know." Could she have been more vague?

"Donna, you still don't know how to balance your checkbook?" She could be wrong, but he sounds amused.

"You always did it for me." Now she sounds whiny. Oh well. He'd never done well against her whining.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Josh."

"Donna."

"Please."

She imagines him weighing the options; he knows which one he'll choose, but doesn't want her to know that he's such a pushover. "Fine."

"Okay. I'm at home."

"I have to come to you to balance your checkbook?"

"Yes."

"Oh, you owe me."

"More like I own you, really."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on my way."

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"So you're telling me that you spent the majority of your first paycheck on shoes?"

"I didn't ask you here for your judgment, okay?"

He smirks at her from where he sits at her kitchen counter, flipping through receipts. "That part's free of charge."

"Fantastic."

"Always glad to be of service."

She stands on the other side of the counter, watching him almost shamelessly. She'd brought a report into the kitchen to read with her, to appear as though she was doing something, but it holds little of her attention. Surely he had work to be doing as well, but here he is, balancing her checkbook and making fun of her.

Things had gone better than expected.

Shodo, shoby do... Shodo, shoby do...

"How was work today?" She asks idly, refraining from humming whatever's on her radio.

"Not bad." That was certainly an improvement over last time she'd asked. "Was just wrapping a campaign thing up when you called. How bout you?"

"How bout me what?"

"How was work?"

"Oh." How strange it was to think that she spent her hours on tasks so vastly different from his; that they should no longer be a team. How nice that he was asking. "It was alright. I'm writing a section for the Congressman's speech on Tuesday, it's my first big address."

"You'll do well."

"Yeah?"

"You've always had a way with words." He sends her half a smile, and within an instant, she's beaming.

Shodo, shoby do... Shodo, shoby do...

They'd had trouble deciding on a radio station ("That has a flute, we're not listening to it" - "Well then we're not listening to Journey, either") but it'd been too quiet without it on, and they were both too strung out to want the news on as background noise. They'd settled on the 'oldies-but-goodies' station, if only for laughs.

In the still of the night... I held you...

Ah, damn. She feels heat rushing to her face as the romantic ballad progresses, and she wonders if it'd be too obvious were she to turn it off then and there.

Held you tight... Cause I love you...

She makes a beeline for the radio, but is surprised to find that he's looking up at her. Not uncomfortably, not teasingly, but with incredible warmth. It's entirely unfounded warmth, and undeserved, but there it was. He was looking at her like she'd cast the stars and the moon and all the space between them, and fucking In The Still of the Night was playing to soundtrack it.

She makes an incredibly bad decision, then.

"You should dance with me."

"I should? Why should I?" He cocks his head at her, all smarmy brown eyes and boyish charm, and she never should've called him.

"Because you want to."

He stands and walks toward her slowly, offering a hand. "I guess I can't argue with that."

Tentatively, she places one hand on his shoulder, and clasps the other with his. He places his on her waist, and she remembers all too suddenly that without shoes on, he's got a good four inches on her. She tucks her chin on his shoulder, eliminating any space between them, but at least she can't see his face anymore. If she were to endure another second of him looking at her that way, she might've done something incredibly stupid.

As if this wasn't enough.

They sway, slowly, without real purpose or direction, and she wonders if a more intimate scenario had existed. She closes her eyes. She felt so secure, here, nicely settled between his shoulders. She tries not to think of them fitting together like puzzle pieces, like something out of a trashy romance novel. There probably wasn't a better place to be.

"So, was this what you listened to as a kid?"

"I... What?"

As ever, humor was the best misdirection. "You know, as a teeny-bopper. One of the greasers, hanging out at the drive-in."

"This song came out in, what, fifty-six?"

"Something like that."

"So I would've been, let's see, negative eight."

"Ah. So I'll take that as a no."

"You'd be correct."

She smiles. She hadn't quite diffused the tension, but maybe that was alright. There was a certain amount of this that was okay, his body pressed so closely to hers.

Realizing something suddenly, she jerks her head off his shoulder. "Josh!"

He cranes back slightly to look at her, confused. "What?"

"I missed your birthday!"

His expression is slightly puzzled. "What, in September? I mean, yeah..."

She shakes her head. "It was your thirty eighth birthday."

He looks away dismissively. "Wasn't a big deal."

"It is a big deal! It should've been a big deal, I mean, and I should've... called, or something. Anything. God, I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I'm awful. I can't believe I didn't-"

"Donna, cut it out." He pulls away from her entirely, taking a couple steps back, and she feels the loss of his body beside hers immediately.

She looks at him in confusion. "What?"

"You didn't call, okay? You didn't call for eight months, and don't act like..." He smiles sadly. "Don't act like I just slipped your mind, alright?"

She bites her lip. "Okay."

"It wasn't like it was an accident."

"It wasn't like I was ducking calls from you either, Josh."

He turns away, running a hand through his hair. "You left. Why would I have been the one to call? That wasn't up to me. You left me."

You left me. Her lips tremble. "And I should've known that you wanted me to keep in touch, the send off you gave me? You sulked in your office for days! You didn't even... You didn't say goodbye."

He doesn't look at her. "Because you were leaving! What was I supposed to do? Beg you to stay, like some pathetic... Look, you left and you never came back, how's any of that my fault?"

"Well what do you think made me leave?"

She knows she's hurt him. She can see it in his eyes. He turns away again. "I should go."

He heads into the hall, grabbing his coat off the hook. For a moment, she's rooted to the spot. This can't be happening. She can't go back to this; not again.

"Josh. Wait."

He turns to face her, reluctantly, a couple steps outside of her apartment. "What?"

"I didn't leave you." She needs to make this abundantly clear. "I left my job, I didn't leave you."

He stands stock still, staring at her. "You never came back for me, though, did you?"

"How was I supposed to know you wanted me to?"

After a moment, he bursts out laughing. It's loud, raucous laughter, and she almost fears the neighbors will start to wonder. Brow furrowed, she takes a few harried steps toward him. "...Josh?"

It takes a moment for him to stop laughing, arms falling to his sides decidedly. He smiles at her wryly. "We're prize idiots, Donna, just top-notch imbeciles."

She opens her mouth incredulously. "Speak for yourself."

He continues to grin, maddeningly. "I'm serious. We're real idiots."

After a moment, she understands what he means. She can't help a small smile, just watching him proclaim it with such confidence. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm going to come back inside."

"Okay."

He brushes past her, flinging his coat back up on the rack. "I'm going to balance your damn checkbook, you're going to order a pizza, and you can leave the radio on, because I was having a good time."

She's grinning widely, now, as well. "Okay."