Reaching Out
By Len
Spoilers: ITSOTG1 and 2
Rating: PG-13
Teaser: Donna POV
Notes: This is a response to the plot bunny lobbed out into the void by Susan. It was in reference to erin's fabulous 'Always Here When I Need Her', and asked what would happen if Josh _had_ managed to call Donna before Toby found him? Well, here's (kinda) my answer to that. I realize now I may have missed the point...oh well.
Thanks: To erin, for the brilliant story that inspired this one (which you can find on my site!), and Shelley for bringing the beta and the ego-boosts. Mad props to both of you.
More notes: Feedback? Why yes, thank you, I'd love some...
Still More Notes: this and all of my other fic can be found on my site: http://www.geocities.com/sekhmet_poppy/JD_FF.html 'Reaching Out' was originally posted on the JoshDonnaFF Yahoo! Group, which you should really join if you enjoy this couple. nudge, nudge...
I'm not sulking. I don't sulk. Sulking, as my mother used to inform me - usually on Sundays while she stuffed me into uncomfortably frilled church clothes - is not lady-like.
And I am a lady. I guess. Therefore, the expression on my face at the moment can be classified as neither sulky nor pouty nor petulant. Peevish, perhaps. That sounds a little less child-like.
That's it. I'm peeved. I'm peeved at Josh for not making me come to the Newseum thing tonight. I really have no idea why he didn't try harder to change my mind. When he gave in and let me go, I almost fell backwards in shock. You know, like when you're playing tug-of-war and the other team suddenly drops the rope? It was like that.
The plans I was supposed to have don't exist. Not at all. I didn't have any plans to stay in _or_ go out - my plan was to give Josh a hard time, extract a measure of stimulating banter, and go watch in action the man who inspired me to cross half a country in a 1984 Jeep Laredo.
Josh calls it a jeep o' junko. He thinks he's so funny.
But as I mentioned before, my craftily-plotted reverse-psychology plan failed. Instead I ended up in my empty apartment, with nothing to do but re-organize my CD collection. I mean, sure - I could do those things that I'm always complaining I never have enough time to do. Like clean the bathroom. Or work my way through the various strata of junk mail that has accumulated on the coffee table. My room-mate Cammie is incapable of throwing things away, and I - being the thrifty girl I am - like to look for coupons. But I really can't figure out why Josh let me off the hook.
The funny thing is - Josh looked like he was on the verge of delivering his final argument - the wheedling 'pleeeease, Donna....' when he suddenly stopped. The funniest expression crossed his face, but just for a second. Then he shook his head, shrugged, and let me go.
Curses. Foiled again. I wonder if I'll ever be able to predict what Josh will decide to be stubborn about on any given day. Probably not. I'll say that for him - he's not the least bit boring.
There. The CD's are all organized - everything from Ace of Base to ZZ Top. And now I have nothing to do.
Nothing at all.
Right now, I could be watching the President of the United States wow the public. I could be joking with Sam. I could be conspiring with CJ to take over the world under the guise of comparing skin care products. I could be with Josh...just being with Josh. But no. I'm here. And I bet they're all having a great time.
I wonder if they're showing anything about the President's lecture on CSPAN.
Nope. It's some ferret-faced senator from the mid-west on the floor, talking about a bill whose acronym I've never heard of. Judging from the way he's fumbling around with words, I'm guessing the senator's never heard of it either.
I really need to curb the cynicism. I think this may be the peevishness talking. I'm sure the ferret-faced senator is actually very well-spoken and is just having a rough night.
Speaking of rough night, a bowl of Rocky Road sounds really good right now.
I'm just getting off of the couch to get one when my phone rings. It's probably Josh calling to tell me how the President blew the doors off the place at the Newseum lecture, and how I should be prepared to bring him the finest bagels in the land. The ring has a kind of urgency to it - it's funny how you can imagine the mood of the caller by listening to the ring, isn't it? I smile slightly and go answer it.
"Hi Josh, how'd it go?"
Silence.
Actually, that's a lie. There's a whole lot of noise in the background. It sounds like everyone is cheering, or maybe Josh's fan club got out of hand and they're all doing the swooning teeny-bopper thing. But no-one is actually saying anything into the phone.
"Hey, Josh. Are you there?" I'm hearing something. Not screaming, not talking. But breathing. It is breathing? It sounds funny... "Josh. I know it's you. I have caller ID, remember. You'd better not be trying a dirty phone call..." I warn.
Then he finally makes a noise distinct enough for me to identify. Sometimes, when he knows he's in trouble, or he's just done something really stupid, he'll suck in his breath. He does stupid things quite frequently, so I know the sound well. "Donna?" he says slowly, quietly. He sounds very confused.
Why would he sound confused? What did he do now?
The screaming in the background is rising to a deafening pitch, and I begin to hear the faint whine of sirens....
Sirens. Sirens and screaming. Why are they screaming?
Icy needles of fear stab into my spine, leaving me clutching the phone, paralyzed. "Josh, what's going on?" I demand.
The sirens grow louder and louder. They're so loud I can't hear the funny bubbly breathing sound anymore. I can vaguely make out the sound of Josh repeating something over and over to himself, but he's mumbling. It sounds almost like 'I shouldn't be at the meeting'. I think something is wrong.
Something is very wrong.
Toby. I hear Toby. He's yelling - but when isn't he yelling? Something about a doctor? He needs help?
Oh God. What's happened?
The paralysis leaves my limbs and I start to shiver. Something is so wrong. All the screaming and the noise. Why can't they stop screaming so I can ask Josh's what's going on? What's happened to the President?
I just want them to shut up so I can hear him.
God, I can't hear him anymore.
There's a loud crash in my ear - the kind of noise that happens when the person on the other end drops the phone. This is another sound associated with Josh that I'm familiar with. He has a tendency to pace while he talks on the phone, and Josh being Josh....well, he trips over things.
Maybe he dropped his phone in all the commotion.
If only I could just stop shivering. Why is it so cold in here? It's the middle of summer. I clutch the receiver to my chest I try to control my shaking.
CSPAN is still droning on and on, so I turn it to CNN to see if they have any better coverage of the Newseum and what's going on there. It's probably some fire-alarm mishap that got out of hand, and people got hysterical.
Right. I'm sure that's what it is. I just need to stay calm. And I need those people to stop screaming. They should know that's not going to help anything. I point the remote at the frazzled-looking reporter on the screen and turn the volume up.
"-I repeat, shots have been fired at the Presidential entourage. Anywhere from three to twelve shots have been reported...no word yet on the President, but we will keep you-"
Shots. Shots fired? The phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor, but my eyes remain riveted to the television screen, looking for any clue that can tell me what's happening to my friends.
But there's nothing. What is she saying? Damn it! What happened to the President?
I think the CNN sound person screwed up. I can see the reporter's lips moving, but I can't hear anything she's saying. The screaming is too loud. I can't hear anything over the screaming. Why can't those people just shut the hell up so I can find out what's going on? I just can't...
Josh. Josh is going to need me there. I need to go to the hospital. If - oh God - the President has been...hurt...Josh'll need to help Leo out, and of course this means that he'll need me. He always needs me. And this time, it's important.
Most of Washington seems to be screaming. I can't concentrate. I write out a quick note for Cammie, but as I'm leaving the apartment, I can't remember anything it said. The neighbors next door are yelling something about shots fired. The homeless man who sleeps in the doorway is crying.
I realize I've left my cell on the kitchen table. I hope Josh doesn't freak out when he can't reach me. I'll get to him soon enough.
After a few minutes spent frantically working the pedals, the jeep roars to life. The screams are still echoing in my ears, and I turn on the radio to drown them out. It's NPR.
"...The President has been taken to GW hospital, but there has been no confirmed count of the casualties caused by shots fired seven minutes ago. We will let you know as soon as we have more information. In case you are just now tuning in, seven minutes ago, shots were fired at the President as he left the Newseum in Rosslyn, Virginia..."
The End
By Len
Spoilers: ITSOTG1 and 2
Rating: PG-13
Teaser: Donna POV
Notes: This is a response to the plot bunny lobbed out into the void by Susan. It was in reference to erin's fabulous 'Always Here When I Need Her', and asked what would happen if Josh _had_ managed to call Donna before Toby found him? Well, here's (kinda) my answer to that. I realize now I may have missed the point...oh well.
Thanks: To erin, for the brilliant story that inspired this one (which you can find on my site!), and Shelley for bringing the beta and the ego-boosts. Mad props to both of you.
More notes: Feedback? Why yes, thank you, I'd love some...
Still More Notes: this and all of my other fic can be found on my site: http://www.geocities.com/sekhmet_poppy/JD_FF.html 'Reaching Out' was originally posted on the JoshDonnaFF Yahoo! Group, which you should really join if you enjoy this couple. nudge, nudge...
I'm not sulking. I don't sulk. Sulking, as my mother used to inform me - usually on Sundays while she stuffed me into uncomfortably frilled church clothes - is not lady-like.
And I am a lady. I guess. Therefore, the expression on my face at the moment can be classified as neither sulky nor pouty nor petulant. Peevish, perhaps. That sounds a little less child-like.
That's it. I'm peeved. I'm peeved at Josh for not making me come to the Newseum thing tonight. I really have no idea why he didn't try harder to change my mind. When he gave in and let me go, I almost fell backwards in shock. You know, like when you're playing tug-of-war and the other team suddenly drops the rope? It was like that.
The plans I was supposed to have don't exist. Not at all. I didn't have any plans to stay in _or_ go out - my plan was to give Josh a hard time, extract a measure of stimulating banter, and go watch in action the man who inspired me to cross half a country in a 1984 Jeep Laredo.
Josh calls it a jeep o' junko. He thinks he's so funny.
But as I mentioned before, my craftily-plotted reverse-psychology plan failed. Instead I ended up in my empty apartment, with nothing to do but re-organize my CD collection. I mean, sure - I could do those things that I'm always complaining I never have enough time to do. Like clean the bathroom. Or work my way through the various strata of junk mail that has accumulated on the coffee table. My room-mate Cammie is incapable of throwing things away, and I - being the thrifty girl I am - like to look for coupons. But I really can't figure out why Josh let me off the hook.
The funny thing is - Josh looked like he was on the verge of delivering his final argument - the wheedling 'pleeeease, Donna....' when he suddenly stopped. The funniest expression crossed his face, but just for a second. Then he shook his head, shrugged, and let me go.
Curses. Foiled again. I wonder if I'll ever be able to predict what Josh will decide to be stubborn about on any given day. Probably not. I'll say that for him - he's not the least bit boring.
There. The CD's are all organized - everything from Ace of Base to ZZ Top. And now I have nothing to do.
Nothing at all.
Right now, I could be watching the President of the United States wow the public. I could be joking with Sam. I could be conspiring with CJ to take over the world under the guise of comparing skin care products. I could be with Josh...just being with Josh. But no. I'm here. And I bet they're all having a great time.
I wonder if they're showing anything about the President's lecture on CSPAN.
Nope. It's some ferret-faced senator from the mid-west on the floor, talking about a bill whose acronym I've never heard of. Judging from the way he's fumbling around with words, I'm guessing the senator's never heard of it either.
I really need to curb the cynicism. I think this may be the peevishness talking. I'm sure the ferret-faced senator is actually very well-spoken and is just having a rough night.
Speaking of rough night, a bowl of Rocky Road sounds really good right now.
I'm just getting off of the couch to get one when my phone rings. It's probably Josh calling to tell me how the President blew the doors off the place at the Newseum lecture, and how I should be prepared to bring him the finest bagels in the land. The ring has a kind of urgency to it - it's funny how you can imagine the mood of the caller by listening to the ring, isn't it? I smile slightly and go answer it.
"Hi Josh, how'd it go?"
Silence.
Actually, that's a lie. There's a whole lot of noise in the background. It sounds like everyone is cheering, or maybe Josh's fan club got out of hand and they're all doing the swooning teeny-bopper thing. But no-one is actually saying anything into the phone.
"Hey, Josh. Are you there?" I'm hearing something. Not screaming, not talking. But breathing. It is breathing? It sounds funny... "Josh. I know it's you. I have caller ID, remember. You'd better not be trying a dirty phone call..." I warn.
Then he finally makes a noise distinct enough for me to identify. Sometimes, when he knows he's in trouble, or he's just done something really stupid, he'll suck in his breath. He does stupid things quite frequently, so I know the sound well. "Donna?" he says slowly, quietly. He sounds very confused.
Why would he sound confused? What did he do now?
The screaming in the background is rising to a deafening pitch, and I begin to hear the faint whine of sirens....
Sirens. Sirens and screaming. Why are they screaming?
Icy needles of fear stab into my spine, leaving me clutching the phone, paralyzed. "Josh, what's going on?" I demand.
The sirens grow louder and louder. They're so loud I can't hear the funny bubbly breathing sound anymore. I can vaguely make out the sound of Josh repeating something over and over to himself, but he's mumbling. It sounds almost like 'I shouldn't be at the meeting'. I think something is wrong.
Something is very wrong.
Toby. I hear Toby. He's yelling - but when isn't he yelling? Something about a doctor? He needs help?
Oh God. What's happened?
The paralysis leaves my limbs and I start to shiver. Something is so wrong. All the screaming and the noise. Why can't they stop screaming so I can ask Josh's what's going on? What's happened to the President?
I just want them to shut up so I can hear him.
God, I can't hear him anymore.
There's a loud crash in my ear - the kind of noise that happens when the person on the other end drops the phone. This is another sound associated with Josh that I'm familiar with. He has a tendency to pace while he talks on the phone, and Josh being Josh....well, he trips over things.
Maybe he dropped his phone in all the commotion.
If only I could just stop shivering. Why is it so cold in here? It's the middle of summer. I clutch the receiver to my chest I try to control my shaking.
CSPAN is still droning on and on, so I turn it to CNN to see if they have any better coverage of the Newseum and what's going on there. It's probably some fire-alarm mishap that got out of hand, and people got hysterical.
Right. I'm sure that's what it is. I just need to stay calm. And I need those people to stop screaming. They should know that's not going to help anything. I point the remote at the frazzled-looking reporter on the screen and turn the volume up.
"-I repeat, shots have been fired at the Presidential entourage. Anywhere from three to twelve shots have been reported...no word yet on the President, but we will keep you-"
Shots. Shots fired? The phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor, but my eyes remain riveted to the television screen, looking for any clue that can tell me what's happening to my friends.
But there's nothing. What is she saying? Damn it! What happened to the President?
I think the CNN sound person screwed up. I can see the reporter's lips moving, but I can't hear anything she's saying. The screaming is too loud. I can't hear anything over the screaming. Why can't those people just shut the hell up so I can find out what's going on? I just can't...
Josh. Josh is going to need me there. I need to go to the hospital. If - oh God - the President has been...hurt...Josh'll need to help Leo out, and of course this means that he'll need me. He always needs me. And this time, it's important.
Most of Washington seems to be screaming. I can't concentrate. I write out a quick note for Cammie, but as I'm leaving the apartment, I can't remember anything it said. The neighbors next door are yelling something about shots fired. The homeless man who sleeps in the doorway is crying.
I realize I've left my cell on the kitchen table. I hope Josh doesn't freak out when he can't reach me. I'll get to him soon enough.
After a few minutes spent frantically working the pedals, the jeep roars to life. The screams are still echoing in my ears, and I turn on the radio to drown them out. It's NPR.
"...The President has been taken to GW hospital, but there has been no confirmed count of the casualties caused by shots fired seven minutes ago. We will let you know as soon as we have more information. In case you are just now tuning in, seven minutes ago, shots were fired at the President as he left the Newseum in Rosslyn, Virginia..."
The End