Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 12
Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr
Email:
Category: General, Josh/Donna
Rating: PG
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.
Josh POV
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. Glancing references to many other shows, but this has veered pretty much into the realm of the plotless (and pointless)
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.
Feedback would be hugely appreciated
I am amazed.
I have had the day from hell in which I've managed to worry my assistant, confuse my friends and generally make a complete jackass out of myself. I had thought that the best I could hope for at the end of it all was to get home in one piece, which would at least one up on my chinchilla who was, presumably, in many, many pieces.
Consequently, I am, as I said, amazed, because I never would have expected the gift that Donna has just given me.
She is smiling. The smile is for me and me alone. I am basking in her glow.
Despite the fact that I have made her worry about me, shouted at her and even accused her of espionage within the space of a few short hours, she can find it in herself to do this thing for me. I am a terrible boss, an appalling slave-driver, a grouch and a grouse, and I should be beating myself about the head and pleading for forgiveness because I don't deserve her.
I do neither of these things, however. I just smile back.
I just told her about George. She said,
"That's adorable, Josh"
Donna thinks I'm adorable.
In effect, I am so far gone that you couldn't haul me back even with a three-day headstart, a team of bloodhounds and a compass the size of a dinner plate.
I am pointing this out, because it is not my usual practice to leap ten-feet in the air and let out a high-pitched yelp whenever anyone bursts unannounced into my office.
Unfortunately, this is precisely what I do when Leo marches in shouting,
"JOSHUA LYMAN! What the hell is this story about a dead rat? And you better have a damn good explanation, or so help me God, I'll have you impeached for wasting the President's time."
For a stunned moment when I'm reeling about, trying to locate my feet on the carpet, I spot CJ and Sam crowding into the room behind the irate Chief of Staff. They are trying to telegraph apology and warning with their hands and eyes but it makes them look like bad mime artists and I have to close my eyes to shut out the sight before I start giggling.
When I open them again, I see that Donna has managed to insinuate herself between Leo and me and is trying not to make it look obvious. She's gone into 'guard and protect' mode and I have to resist the temptation to shout, 'Donna, attack!' Instead I say the first thing that pops into my head,
"What rat?"
"Your rat George, who's dead", pipes up Sam with scant regard for grammar.
What is wrong with these people?
"George isn't a rat."
Leo, looking understandably confused rounds on Sam,
"You told me George was a rat!"
Sam rounds on me,
"YOU told me George was a rat!"
"No I didn't."
Did I?
"Yes, I did, sorry."
"Ah-ha!" cries Sam, vindicated at last.
CJ's started to look a lot frustrated.
"For the love of God, will someone tell me! Is he a rat or not?"
"NO!"
"He's not a rat?" Sam's face has fallen.
I take a deep breath to respond to this, when Donna pipes up in a very calm and clear voice,
"George is not a rat. As far as I know, there never has been a rat named George. George is…or more accurately, was, a chinchilla."
"…a chinchilla?"
"…Aww, that's cute."
"…what's a chinchilla?"
Leo's shaking his head. He's beginning to look tired.
"Chinchilla, rat, whatever. What I want to know is why you implied that it was George Faraday that was dead!"
"…Faraday? Like the scientist?"
"…that's Michael Faraday, CJ."
"Will you two shut up! Answer the question, Josh."
I've got my head buried in my hands at this point, because it's been a very long day, and I very badly want this conversation to end.
"I never implied that." I say tiredly, "I just said that I named my chinchilla after George Faraday."
"…what did you do a thing like that for?"
"…he named his chinchilla after a scientist?"
"…will someone please tell me what a chinchilla is?"
That's it. I've officially had enough.
"SHUT UP!"
They shut up. Even Donna backs away from me. I'm using the voice I normally reserve for Senators.
"My name is Joshua Lyman. I had a chinchilla. I named him George. This was obviously a stupid thing to do, and I apologize, but now he's road-kill, so it hardly matters anymore. I have learned my lesson. I will never buy another chinchilla, in fact I may never own another pet again. If I do, I will call it a less confusing name.
"I know you've been worried about me, and I'm touched, but my nerves can't take the strain, and if this subject is ever alluded to again, I won't be responsible for the consequences! So, will everyone please, please, please just go away now?"
They must be able to hear the end-of-my-tether tone in my voice because although there are a few hard glares, and a shuffling of feet, they do indeed go away.
Donnatella Moss, for reasons only known to her, didn't include herself in my request, starts laughing.
"Donna…"
"Oh, Josh, that was masterful, it was truly masterful."
I hate it when she does this.
"I'm so proud of you, the way you stunned them with your rhetoric. I will never buy another chinchilla…"
"Donna, shut up…"
"…you should save these little speeches of yours for when you're in the Senate…"
She's standing in front of me now, in full-on torture Josh mode. Her eyes are sparkling.
I wish she'd be quiet.
"…you could start a campaign for mis-named pets. You'd start with Socks the cat, and move on to…"
I so want to shut her up that my thought processes shut off completely and I do something I never dreamed I would be doing when I woke up this morning.
I kiss her.
I am kissing Donna.
Wow.
It's not a particularly long kiss, or even a very passionate one but, boy, it's heady. It's like that moment in a movie when the violins swoop up to a crescendo and the cameras rush in for a close up. It's like that moment of awe when you see the sunrise from the beach or hear the Verdi Requiem for the first time.
It feels like the first thing I've done right all day.
When my mouth leaves hers, I find myself standing with my fingers entwined in her hair and her hands have a stranglehold on my tie. Donna has her eyes closed and her head is still tilted back as though she hasn't realized that the kissing part is over. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks like a Botticelli, or a flaxen-haired Rossetti. She looks like Dante's Beatrice.
When her lids slowly open, every instinct in my body is telling me to kiss her again, already. But I don't. When you're batting a thousand, you don't try to load the bases.
Instead, my hands release her very slowly and carefully to fall to my sides and her grip on my tie loosens until she's just holding the very end of it. She says,
"Well, that was…surprising."
I can't help it, I laugh.
"Yes, it was"
Donna laughs too and with one of her sudden changes of mood, dances away from me. My assistant is back.
"You have Staff at five o'clock and you're seeing Callahan at six, so don't forget to read the notes I left on your desk."
"Okay."
"Okay."
She walks back to her desk, a definite spring in her step and I think I must have a very silly grin on my face because when she turns slightly at the doorway, I can see that she is smiling.
RIP George. Thanks, buddy.
THE END