Title: Shattered Innocence
Author: Amber (Ambino1111@prodigy.net)
Category: Comedy, Romance J/D
Spoilers: ITSOTG. It's AU in that Bartlet doesn't win reelection. For some
reason, I wrote it like that.
Summary: A drunken Josh shows up at Donna's one night and ends up doing
something he regrets.
Author's Notes: I got the inspiration for this from an episode of Three's
Company. No copyright infringement is intended. Fun and games for all.
Title: Shattered Innocence 1/6 Author: Amber (ambino1111@prodigy.net)
The hot water pounding on my skin feels absolutely, sensationally wonderful. I never knew what I was missing before this "massage" setting on my new shower head.
I'm not sure how long I've been in here, pretty much just rotating under the jet stream, and I don't care. In just a few minutes, probably, the water will start to get cooler, and that's my cue to hurry and wash my hair and body before all the hot water has disappeared from the tank forever, or at least for a few hours.
For now, I'm perfectly content to get the closest thing to a massage I can afford. I need to release all the stress that's been building up inside of me for the past few months... years.
And particularly the past five days.
This has, by far, been the worst week of my life. Worse than the whole Cliff incident. Worse than the MS fiasco. Far, far worse than the week I was grounded for sneaking off to a concert in Chicago. It's almost, though not quite, worse than Rosslyn.
It is pretty bad, though. I never thought I'd have to live through something like it.
"It's all over!" I hear a voice moan. At least, I think I do. And it sounds an awful lot like Josh's voice.
'It can't be, though,' I tell myself, banishing the thought from my head. How pathetic am I? I'm starting to imagine Josh's voice in my head. I sigh and put my chin on my chest, letting the rapid pulses of water work their magic on my neck. 'It's Friday night, Josh let me leave early, and he -'
"Donna!" I hear a loud bellow, a bellow I would recognize anywhere.
Dear Lord, what is he doing? It's twelve thirty on a Friday night, er, Saturday morning, and he's screaming at the top of his lungs on my doorstep.
I mutter various complaints about Josh and his incessant need to be annoying as I regretfully turn off the water and step out of the wonderfully warm shower. I quickly wrap a towel around my hair, another around my body, and leave behind the comfortable steam in the bathroom for the jarring chilliness of the hallway.
"Hang on, Josh!" I call, rolling my eyes at his repeated knocking. Like there was a chance I wouldn't know he was out there, even if I had been sleeping.
I brace myself for the onslaught of cold air as I unchain the door and swing it open.
AGH!
I'm instantly covered with ice. At least, it feels that way. Stupid November.
"Josh, what do you want?" I ask tiredly, hiding as much of my body behind the door as I can.
He doesn't seem to notice a) I'm wearing a towel, or b) I'm hiding behind the door because it's cold outside. He has an arm on the doorframe which is probably supporting him, and the other is hanging in the air, fingers still in knocking position.
He blinks, realizes I'm standing in front of him, and smiles.
"Hi, Donna."
"You're drunk," I reply, unable to hide the disgust in my voice. I'm not in the mood to deal with this tonight. _I_ wanted to get drunk, dammit. Me! Now I'm going to have to take care of a drunken _him_.
"It's all over!" He wails, and I recognize the words from the ones I heard earlier in the shower. "We're all out of jobs!"
"Josh! Quiet down!" I grab the arm that is hanging in the air and yank him inside the apartment.
Unfortunately, I must have caught him off-balance, because he crumbles like a cheap piece of chocolate to the floor. I close and lock the door behind him, bolting it up again, and turn around to stare down at my boss. I make sure the towel is on tightly and put my hands on my hips, shaking my head.
"Josh," I say impatiently. I'm met with silence. "Josh?"
Receiving no response the second time, I tentatively nudge him with my frozen foot. Still nothing. With a sigh I walk to the kitchen, fill a small glass with cold water, and return to Josh's side.
"Wha-" Josh sputters, jerking back into consciousness with a start. He wipes his face as his pupils dilate and focus on me. "Donna? What was that for?"
I stare down at him, crossing my arms in front of me.
"You know perfectly well what that was for!"
Josh continues to stare at me, dumbfounded. "What the hell is going on?"
I sigh. Then I collapse into the couch and take a moment to collect my thoughts.
"Josh... Joshua... You let me leave early tonight. I thought that meant that I wouldn't see you again until the usual ungodly hour you-" I stop mid- rant as my roommate's three cats approach Josh, who is attempting to stand. I watch in silence as they circle the oblivious man, their ears slipping back into predator mode. I wish Kelly wasn't sleeping at Tom's tonight so she could watch, too. Josh manages to get his two feet under him, swaying on his shaky legs, just as the cats pounce.
"AIEEE!!" Josh's high-pitched scream frightens the cats even more. They heighten their attack, ears twitching further backwards, now almost completely flat. I step in before they can do much damage, ushering them into the bathroom and securely closing the door. I relish in the warm breeze that floats out before returning to the living room.
"Are you okay, Josh?" I can't hide the amusement in my voice. Josh is too preoccupied to notice.
"Donna, I hate those cats," he whines, checking the scratch marks on his arms for blood. He finds none, but keeps looking.
"I know, I know. You might have mentioned that one or ten times."
"No, Donna. I HATE those cats," his voice contains more fear than anger this time. "They are evil."
"They only hate competition, Josh," I comfort sarcastically, gently grabbing his arm and helping him to his feet. "Now, you know the drill. Take your coat off and sit on the couch. I'll go make some coffee."
Josh nods, grows dizzy, and falls to his knees. Of course, I hadn't yet released his arm and go tumbling to the ground with him. Our predicament is astonishingly humorous to Josh, who begins laughing hysterically, literally rolling on the ground with laughter.
I, on the other hand, am frantically getting back to my feet before he can roll on top of me in his inebriated euphoria. I adjust my towel indignantly and spin around to go to my room.
I've dealt with a drunk, irrational Josh many, many times. There is really no trick - it just requires a lot of patience.
"Donna, where are you going?" Josh asks once his laughter dies down and he sees me disappearing down the hall.
"I'm putting some clothes on. I'll never be able to deal with you if I'm in a towel," I yell over my shoulder before ducking in my room.
"Agh!" I mutter, swinging open my closet door. "That man is something else!"
I rifle through my closet and my dresser and manage to uncover clean underwear, a sweatshirt, a pair of clean sweatpants, and warm, fuzzy wool socks.
I slip the large sweatshirt over my head - ah, the warmth - and just as I'm about to pull the sweatpants up, the door swings open and in walks Josh.
"AHHHH!" I shriek, somehow pulling up my pants and doubling over in one move. Josh doesn't even realize what's going on. He stumbles through the doorway without even looking at me and makes a beeline for the bed.
"Donna, do you have any coffee?" He asks sleepily, collapsing on his stomach on my comforter.
"Josh," I growl, feeling my blood pressure rising. I try to take a few calming breaths as I hop from foot to foot to put on my socks. "Josh, Josh, Josh."
"Hmm?" He turns his head to look at me. I shake my head.
"Take your coat off, Josh," I command, wringing some of the excess water from my damp hair and retreating to the kitchen as quickly as possible.
I hear a crash and a muttered curse. Fearing the worst, I fly down the hallway and back into my room, where Josh is half-sitting, half-standing next to my bed. He's staring at the floor, and, with a sinking feeling, my eyes search out the target of his vision.
"JOSH!" I scream angrily, lurching forward and down on my knees. I gingerly pick up a jagged piece of what was formerly my most prized possession.
"Donna, I'm sorry. I'm soooo sorry," He immediately starts to apologize. In my anger I fail to acknowledge the sincerity behind his words, but I know he is sorry. And if he isn't, he soon will be. "It was an accident. Honest. I was taking off my coat and... I'm really sorry, Donna."
"Josh, do you know what you've done?" I ask, looking up at him as tears start to well up in my eyes. I canNOT believe this!
He looks like he's about to cry, too, but for an entirely different reason. "No?" He asks quietly, unsure of what to say. "I didn't mean to hit it, but, uh, if it's any consolation... it sure is pretty."
"It _was_ pretty," I snap, arranging the many, many broken pieces of the glass music box into a pile. "My great-grandmother Victoria made it. She died when I was eleven. She was the most amazing woman. She was the oldest of nine children. Her family grew up in Chicago, and they were so poor that she shared a bed with three of her sisters. She dropped out of school in seventh grade to care for her younger siblings, and by the time she would have graduated high school, she was working full time and still taking care of her family. My great-grandfather married her when she was twenty, but he died before I was born. She had three children of her own, ran a successful restaurant with my great-grandpa, and eventually, when she was sixty-nine, earned her GED and enrolled in some classes at the local community college."
Josh sinks into my bed, looking horrible and overflowing with guilt. "Donna, I really am sorry. Can I... can I buy you a new one?" He inquires tentatively. I think he already knows what I'm about to tell him.
"No, you can't. She made this for me when I was born. She was seventy and absolutely adored her glassworks class. My mom told me she worked for five months on it."
"Wasn't it just a box?" Josh asks. I can tell he's not trying to be mean, but the question nevertheless hurts.
"No, Josh. First off, it was a music box. It was an original music box, a one-of-a-kind, and I loved it deeply. And second of all, it was a reminder of my great-grandma. She died in 1995, and I miss her dearly."
Josh looks ready to crawl into a hole. I stand up and slowly walk to the kitchen to get a small paper bag. I don't know if I want to dispose of the broken music box - I think I'll keep it in the irrational hope I can have it fixed.
When I reenter my room carrying the paper bag and a dustpan and brush, Josh is sound asleep. I suppress a sigh at the sight of him sleeping on his back, his coat hanging off of his left arm. Looks like he was too drunk to even take his coat off properly.
I squat down and sweep the broken glass bits into the pan and slowly tip it into the brown bag, watching the shards reflect rainbows of lamplight as they slide into it. When the only part that remains is the actual music box, I turn the tiny knob a little and listen to the song.
I feel slightly better when it ends, but I'm still mad at Josh for breaking it.
"Honestly, Josh," I say, the anger gone from my voice as I put the tray on the top of my dresser. I lean over the bed and wrangle the rest of his arm out of the sleeve. "I don't know why I put up with you sometimes. All the abuse, all the taking-me-for-granted. I swear you treat me more like your mother than your assistant."
After his jacket is neatly hung on the back of my desk chair and the brown bag is tucked away in my closet, I begin the arduous task of rousing Joshua. If he goes to sleep without any coffee in his system, both of our mornings will be hell. Not to mention the fact that I'd have yet another suit of his to drop off at the cleaner's.
To my surprise, Josh awakens at the first shake. I help him sit up, then pour and hand him a cup of the warm, rejuvenating liquid. After one sip he looks scarily sober.
"I'm so sorry, Donna. About the music box."
I manage a half-smile. "It's okay, Josh. I'll get over it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Don't worry about it."
He runs a hand through his unruly hair and sighs. "What happened?"
"Huh?"
"What happened?"
"What happened?" I repeat, confused. "You knocked over my beloved glass music box."
"No, I - well, I know I did that, but I mean... Life was going so well, and then... and now...we're out of jobs, Donna."
"I know," I say softly, pouring myself a mug and sitting at the foot of the bed. It's been almost a week, but everyone is still having trouble digesting the election results. We campaigned our butts off, and for what? To sit around for a few more months as lousy lame ducks, waiting for the inevitable day we'll have to pack up our things and leave the place and the people we all love dearly.
It is too depressing to think about.
"I don't have a job."
I don't bother correcting him. Sure, he has a job for the next two months, but after that... "I know," I repeat soothingly.
"Neither do you."
"Yes, that was covered in your earlier statement."
"We're currently unemployed."
"Not yet. We've just been given notice."
"Doesn't matter. Two months will go by like that," He snaps to reinforce the severity of his words, but suddenly discovers he can't snap. He stares at his nonworking fingers for a few more moments, trying to get them to make the appropriate noise, before giving up with a shrug and downing another swig of coffee. "I don't want to leave, you know? It's not our time yet. We're supposed to have four more years."
I have run out of verbal responses. I merely nod.
"And I'm never gonna see you again." The sudden lost-little-boy quality of his voice breaks my heart. This is not the Josh I know; this isn't even drunk-and-depressing Josh.
"Don't be silly, Josh. We'll see each other all the time," I try to use as much conviction as possible, but even to my ears it sounds forced, contrived. He might be trashed, but he's not stupid.
I swear his lower lip starts quivering, but it could be my imagination. "I'm gonna miss you, Donna."
"This isn't graduation day, Josh. You can always hire me as your assistant when you decide where you're going. I'll follow you anywhere." I surprise myself with my words, but I know in my heart they are one hundred percent true. Besides, what does it matter if I tell him? He never remembers anything in the morning anyhow.
Josh's eyes roam the room. He is either deep in thought or about to pass out again. I can never really tell which.
"You make me happy, Donna," he says at last, turning slightly to face me. His eyes are bright with emotion, and if not for his breath I might question whether or not he'd been drinking at all.
"I try my best," I reply truthfully, cringing at the corniness of the statement.
"I don't think I could live without you."
My body tenses. This is not the way it is supposed to happen.
"No, Josh. We're not having this discussion."
"What dis- **hiccup**-cussion?"
I have to fight to keep the emotion out of my voice. "Josh, please, not now. Not when you won't remember anything."
Josh leans forward across the bed and kisses me. The suddenness of his move catches me by surprise, and I let the kiss last longer than it should have. Finally, my senses meet up with me, and I pull away. I fight the urge to slap him.
"Dammit, Josh!" I shout, trying to catch my breath. "What were you-"
"I'll remember _that_," He assures me quietly, then leans backwards and falls instantly asleep.
I groan, looking heavenward for help. I feel like crying now. Damn him! How dare he wait all these years to kiss me and - and be drunk!
I have to get more coffee into him eventually, but I certainly don't have to ever mention the kiss again. Not that it was a bad kiss, on the contrary - it was probably the best kiss I've ever had from a drunken politician -but I can't tell him that. And I won't tell him that. He crossed the line, the line I've always dreamed he would someday cross, but he was drunk.
He was drunk, and I'm the fool. Why does that always happen?
I stand up and leave him on the bed, fleeing to the kitchen for some cookie- dough ice cream. I wish I didn't have to wake him, I wish he'd be gone in the morning and we could pretend nothing had happened.
Then again, as long as I'm wishing, I'll wish President Bartlet had been reelected.
I close the freezer door with a sigh. Why am I always out of ice cream when I need it?
I sink into a chair at the kitchen table and stare into space, absently listening to Josh's soft snores as they drift down the hallway and into the kitchen. What am I going to do? What are all of us going to do? We have faced world crises, overcome personal and professional hazards, and now... after fighting so gallantly for so long... we have to surrender.
I want a list of all the registered voters who picked Ritchie over Bartlet. I want a list of all the registered voters who didn't even bother to show up on election day. I will go to each house, each and every individual house, and ask them why, why they wanted to ruin my life, ruin everyone's lives. I want answers. I deserve answers. I can get answers.
Ah, but what good will answers do? Really, in the long run? It is too late. The votes have been counted and tallied. It is official.
Maybe I'll just go to the houses of the electorates and punch them. It would make me, and maybe everyone else, feel better. But only a little bit.
I walk back into my bedroom to retrieve my cup of coffee. Josh continues to snore loudly as I settle on the corner of my bed and sip thoughtfully.
When my cup is empty, I try to wake Josh one last time. It's useless. He is so far gone that I doubt even the reemergence of Kelly's cats could do much in making him open his eyes and ingest some cool coffee. I just pray he drank enough to make him function somewhat normally tomorrow.
I yawn and begin to undress my boss. We've had a hell of a week, and I certainly am not going to top it off by having to run Josh's suit to the cleaners first thing in the morning.
'He's a log,' I think to myself with a half-smile. 'He's a log with arms and legs. A log in a rumpled suit.'
Josh doesn't even make a sound as I strip him down to his boxers. Since he's sleeping on top of the comforter, I pull the usual drunken-Josh-on-the- couch blanket from the linen closet and carefully drape it over him. Then I ruffle his hair, broken music box and drunken kiss almost, but not quite, forgiven, and carry his suit to my closet, where I carefully arrange it on a hanger and hang it on the doorknob.
Then I turn off the light, partially close the door, and head to Kelly's room. I know she won't mind me sleeping in her bed for the night.
End part 1/6
Title: Shattered Innocence 1/6 Author: Amber (ambino1111@prodigy.net)
The hot water pounding on my skin feels absolutely, sensationally wonderful. I never knew what I was missing before this "massage" setting on my new shower head.
I'm not sure how long I've been in here, pretty much just rotating under the jet stream, and I don't care. In just a few minutes, probably, the water will start to get cooler, and that's my cue to hurry and wash my hair and body before all the hot water has disappeared from the tank forever, or at least for a few hours.
For now, I'm perfectly content to get the closest thing to a massage I can afford. I need to release all the stress that's been building up inside of me for the past few months... years.
And particularly the past five days.
This has, by far, been the worst week of my life. Worse than the whole Cliff incident. Worse than the MS fiasco. Far, far worse than the week I was grounded for sneaking off to a concert in Chicago. It's almost, though not quite, worse than Rosslyn.
It is pretty bad, though. I never thought I'd have to live through something like it.
"It's all over!" I hear a voice moan. At least, I think I do. And it sounds an awful lot like Josh's voice.
'It can't be, though,' I tell myself, banishing the thought from my head. How pathetic am I? I'm starting to imagine Josh's voice in my head. I sigh and put my chin on my chest, letting the rapid pulses of water work their magic on my neck. 'It's Friday night, Josh let me leave early, and he -'
"Donna!" I hear a loud bellow, a bellow I would recognize anywhere.
Dear Lord, what is he doing? It's twelve thirty on a Friday night, er, Saturday morning, and he's screaming at the top of his lungs on my doorstep.
I mutter various complaints about Josh and his incessant need to be annoying as I regretfully turn off the water and step out of the wonderfully warm shower. I quickly wrap a towel around my hair, another around my body, and leave behind the comfortable steam in the bathroom for the jarring chilliness of the hallway.
"Hang on, Josh!" I call, rolling my eyes at his repeated knocking. Like there was a chance I wouldn't know he was out there, even if I had been sleeping.
I brace myself for the onslaught of cold air as I unchain the door and swing it open.
AGH!
I'm instantly covered with ice. At least, it feels that way. Stupid November.
"Josh, what do you want?" I ask tiredly, hiding as much of my body behind the door as I can.
He doesn't seem to notice a) I'm wearing a towel, or b) I'm hiding behind the door because it's cold outside. He has an arm on the doorframe which is probably supporting him, and the other is hanging in the air, fingers still in knocking position.
He blinks, realizes I'm standing in front of him, and smiles.
"Hi, Donna."
"You're drunk," I reply, unable to hide the disgust in my voice. I'm not in the mood to deal with this tonight. _I_ wanted to get drunk, dammit. Me! Now I'm going to have to take care of a drunken _him_.
"It's all over!" He wails, and I recognize the words from the ones I heard earlier in the shower. "We're all out of jobs!"
"Josh! Quiet down!" I grab the arm that is hanging in the air and yank him inside the apartment.
Unfortunately, I must have caught him off-balance, because he crumbles like a cheap piece of chocolate to the floor. I close and lock the door behind him, bolting it up again, and turn around to stare down at my boss. I make sure the towel is on tightly and put my hands on my hips, shaking my head.
"Josh," I say impatiently. I'm met with silence. "Josh?"
Receiving no response the second time, I tentatively nudge him with my frozen foot. Still nothing. With a sigh I walk to the kitchen, fill a small glass with cold water, and return to Josh's side.
"Wha-" Josh sputters, jerking back into consciousness with a start. He wipes his face as his pupils dilate and focus on me. "Donna? What was that for?"
I stare down at him, crossing my arms in front of me.
"You know perfectly well what that was for!"
Josh continues to stare at me, dumbfounded. "What the hell is going on?"
I sigh. Then I collapse into the couch and take a moment to collect my thoughts.
"Josh... Joshua... You let me leave early tonight. I thought that meant that I wouldn't see you again until the usual ungodly hour you-" I stop mid- rant as my roommate's three cats approach Josh, who is attempting to stand. I watch in silence as they circle the oblivious man, their ears slipping back into predator mode. I wish Kelly wasn't sleeping at Tom's tonight so she could watch, too. Josh manages to get his two feet under him, swaying on his shaky legs, just as the cats pounce.
"AIEEE!!" Josh's high-pitched scream frightens the cats even more. They heighten their attack, ears twitching further backwards, now almost completely flat. I step in before they can do much damage, ushering them into the bathroom and securely closing the door. I relish in the warm breeze that floats out before returning to the living room.
"Are you okay, Josh?" I can't hide the amusement in my voice. Josh is too preoccupied to notice.
"Donna, I hate those cats," he whines, checking the scratch marks on his arms for blood. He finds none, but keeps looking.
"I know, I know. You might have mentioned that one or ten times."
"No, Donna. I HATE those cats," his voice contains more fear than anger this time. "They are evil."
"They only hate competition, Josh," I comfort sarcastically, gently grabbing his arm and helping him to his feet. "Now, you know the drill. Take your coat off and sit on the couch. I'll go make some coffee."
Josh nods, grows dizzy, and falls to his knees. Of course, I hadn't yet released his arm and go tumbling to the ground with him. Our predicament is astonishingly humorous to Josh, who begins laughing hysterically, literally rolling on the ground with laughter.
I, on the other hand, am frantically getting back to my feet before he can roll on top of me in his inebriated euphoria. I adjust my towel indignantly and spin around to go to my room.
I've dealt with a drunk, irrational Josh many, many times. There is really no trick - it just requires a lot of patience.
"Donna, where are you going?" Josh asks once his laughter dies down and he sees me disappearing down the hall.
"I'm putting some clothes on. I'll never be able to deal with you if I'm in a towel," I yell over my shoulder before ducking in my room.
"Agh!" I mutter, swinging open my closet door. "That man is something else!"
I rifle through my closet and my dresser and manage to uncover clean underwear, a sweatshirt, a pair of clean sweatpants, and warm, fuzzy wool socks.
I slip the large sweatshirt over my head - ah, the warmth - and just as I'm about to pull the sweatpants up, the door swings open and in walks Josh.
"AHHHH!" I shriek, somehow pulling up my pants and doubling over in one move. Josh doesn't even realize what's going on. He stumbles through the doorway without even looking at me and makes a beeline for the bed.
"Donna, do you have any coffee?" He asks sleepily, collapsing on his stomach on my comforter.
"Josh," I growl, feeling my blood pressure rising. I try to take a few calming breaths as I hop from foot to foot to put on my socks. "Josh, Josh, Josh."
"Hmm?" He turns his head to look at me. I shake my head.
"Take your coat off, Josh," I command, wringing some of the excess water from my damp hair and retreating to the kitchen as quickly as possible.
I hear a crash and a muttered curse. Fearing the worst, I fly down the hallway and back into my room, where Josh is half-sitting, half-standing next to my bed. He's staring at the floor, and, with a sinking feeling, my eyes search out the target of his vision.
"JOSH!" I scream angrily, lurching forward and down on my knees. I gingerly pick up a jagged piece of what was formerly my most prized possession.
"Donna, I'm sorry. I'm soooo sorry," He immediately starts to apologize. In my anger I fail to acknowledge the sincerity behind his words, but I know he is sorry. And if he isn't, he soon will be. "It was an accident. Honest. I was taking off my coat and... I'm really sorry, Donna."
"Josh, do you know what you've done?" I ask, looking up at him as tears start to well up in my eyes. I canNOT believe this!
He looks like he's about to cry, too, but for an entirely different reason. "No?" He asks quietly, unsure of what to say. "I didn't mean to hit it, but, uh, if it's any consolation... it sure is pretty."
"It _was_ pretty," I snap, arranging the many, many broken pieces of the glass music box into a pile. "My great-grandmother Victoria made it. She died when I was eleven. She was the most amazing woman. She was the oldest of nine children. Her family grew up in Chicago, and they were so poor that she shared a bed with three of her sisters. She dropped out of school in seventh grade to care for her younger siblings, and by the time she would have graduated high school, she was working full time and still taking care of her family. My great-grandfather married her when she was twenty, but he died before I was born. She had three children of her own, ran a successful restaurant with my great-grandpa, and eventually, when she was sixty-nine, earned her GED and enrolled in some classes at the local community college."
Josh sinks into my bed, looking horrible and overflowing with guilt. "Donna, I really am sorry. Can I... can I buy you a new one?" He inquires tentatively. I think he already knows what I'm about to tell him.
"No, you can't. She made this for me when I was born. She was seventy and absolutely adored her glassworks class. My mom told me she worked for five months on it."
"Wasn't it just a box?" Josh asks. I can tell he's not trying to be mean, but the question nevertheless hurts.
"No, Josh. First off, it was a music box. It was an original music box, a one-of-a-kind, and I loved it deeply. And second of all, it was a reminder of my great-grandma. She died in 1995, and I miss her dearly."
Josh looks ready to crawl into a hole. I stand up and slowly walk to the kitchen to get a small paper bag. I don't know if I want to dispose of the broken music box - I think I'll keep it in the irrational hope I can have it fixed.
When I reenter my room carrying the paper bag and a dustpan and brush, Josh is sound asleep. I suppress a sigh at the sight of him sleeping on his back, his coat hanging off of his left arm. Looks like he was too drunk to even take his coat off properly.
I squat down and sweep the broken glass bits into the pan and slowly tip it into the brown bag, watching the shards reflect rainbows of lamplight as they slide into it. When the only part that remains is the actual music box, I turn the tiny knob a little and listen to the song.
I feel slightly better when it ends, but I'm still mad at Josh for breaking it.
"Honestly, Josh," I say, the anger gone from my voice as I put the tray on the top of my dresser. I lean over the bed and wrangle the rest of his arm out of the sleeve. "I don't know why I put up with you sometimes. All the abuse, all the taking-me-for-granted. I swear you treat me more like your mother than your assistant."
After his jacket is neatly hung on the back of my desk chair and the brown bag is tucked away in my closet, I begin the arduous task of rousing Joshua. If he goes to sleep without any coffee in his system, both of our mornings will be hell. Not to mention the fact that I'd have yet another suit of his to drop off at the cleaner's.
To my surprise, Josh awakens at the first shake. I help him sit up, then pour and hand him a cup of the warm, rejuvenating liquid. After one sip he looks scarily sober.
"I'm so sorry, Donna. About the music box."
I manage a half-smile. "It's okay, Josh. I'll get over it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Don't worry about it."
He runs a hand through his unruly hair and sighs. "What happened?"
"Huh?"
"What happened?"
"What happened?" I repeat, confused. "You knocked over my beloved glass music box."
"No, I - well, I know I did that, but I mean... Life was going so well, and then... and now...we're out of jobs, Donna."
"I know," I say softly, pouring myself a mug and sitting at the foot of the bed. It's been almost a week, but everyone is still having trouble digesting the election results. We campaigned our butts off, and for what? To sit around for a few more months as lousy lame ducks, waiting for the inevitable day we'll have to pack up our things and leave the place and the people we all love dearly.
It is too depressing to think about.
"I don't have a job."
I don't bother correcting him. Sure, he has a job for the next two months, but after that... "I know," I repeat soothingly.
"Neither do you."
"Yes, that was covered in your earlier statement."
"We're currently unemployed."
"Not yet. We've just been given notice."
"Doesn't matter. Two months will go by like that," He snaps to reinforce the severity of his words, but suddenly discovers he can't snap. He stares at his nonworking fingers for a few more moments, trying to get them to make the appropriate noise, before giving up with a shrug and downing another swig of coffee. "I don't want to leave, you know? It's not our time yet. We're supposed to have four more years."
I have run out of verbal responses. I merely nod.
"And I'm never gonna see you again." The sudden lost-little-boy quality of his voice breaks my heart. This is not the Josh I know; this isn't even drunk-and-depressing Josh.
"Don't be silly, Josh. We'll see each other all the time," I try to use as much conviction as possible, but even to my ears it sounds forced, contrived. He might be trashed, but he's not stupid.
I swear his lower lip starts quivering, but it could be my imagination. "I'm gonna miss you, Donna."
"This isn't graduation day, Josh. You can always hire me as your assistant when you decide where you're going. I'll follow you anywhere." I surprise myself with my words, but I know in my heart they are one hundred percent true. Besides, what does it matter if I tell him? He never remembers anything in the morning anyhow.
Josh's eyes roam the room. He is either deep in thought or about to pass out again. I can never really tell which.
"You make me happy, Donna," he says at last, turning slightly to face me. His eyes are bright with emotion, and if not for his breath I might question whether or not he'd been drinking at all.
"I try my best," I reply truthfully, cringing at the corniness of the statement.
"I don't think I could live without you."
My body tenses. This is not the way it is supposed to happen.
"No, Josh. We're not having this discussion."
"What dis- **hiccup**-cussion?"
I have to fight to keep the emotion out of my voice. "Josh, please, not now. Not when you won't remember anything."
Josh leans forward across the bed and kisses me. The suddenness of his move catches me by surprise, and I let the kiss last longer than it should have. Finally, my senses meet up with me, and I pull away. I fight the urge to slap him.
"Dammit, Josh!" I shout, trying to catch my breath. "What were you-"
"I'll remember _that_," He assures me quietly, then leans backwards and falls instantly asleep.
I groan, looking heavenward for help. I feel like crying now. Damn him! How dare he wait all these years to kiss me and - and be drunk!
I have to get more coffee into him eventually, but I certainly don't have to ever mention the kiss again. Not that it was a bad kiss, on the contrary - it was probably the best kiss I've ever had from a drunken politician -but I can't tell him that. And I won't tell him that. He crossed the line, the line I've always dreamed he would someday cross, but he was drunk.
He was drunk, and I'm the fool. Why does that always happen?
I stand up and leave him on the bed, fleeing to the kitchen for some cookie- dough ice cream. I wish I didn't have to wake him, I wish he'd be gone in the morning and we could pretend nothing had happened.
Then again, as long as I'm wishing, I'll wish President Bartlet had been reelected.
I close the freezer door with a sigh. Why am I always out of ice cream when I need it?
I sink into a chair at the kitchen table and stare into space, absently listening to Josh's soft snores as they drift down the hallway and into the kitchen. What am I going to do? What are all of us going to do? We have faced world crises, overcome personal and professional hazards, and now... after fighting so gallantly for so long... we have to surrender.
I want a list of all the registered voters who picked Ritchie over Bartlet. I want a list of all the registered voters who didn't even bother to show up on election day. I will go to each house, each and every individual house, and ask them why, why they wanted to ruin my life, ruin everyone's lives. I want answers. I deserve answers. I can get answers.
Ah, but what good will answers do? Really, in the long run? It is too late. The votes have been counted and tallied. It is official.
Maybe I'll just go to the houses of the electorates and punch them. It would make me, and maybe everyone else, feel better. But only a little bit.
I walk back into my bedroom to retrieve my cup of coffee. Josh continues to snore loudly as I settle on the corner of my bed and sip thoughtfully.
When my cup is empty, I try to wake Josh one last time. It's useless. He is so far gone that I doubt even the reemergence of Kelly's cats could do much in making him open his eyes and ingest some cool coffee. I just pray he drank enough to make him function somewhat normally tomorrow.
I yawn and begin to undress my boss. We've had a hell of a week, and I certainly am not going to top it off by having to run Josh's suit to the cleaners first thing in the morning.
'He's a log,' I think to myself with a half-smile. 'He's a log with arms and legs. A log in a rumpled suit.'
Josh doesn't even make a sound as I strip him down to his boxers. Since he's sleeping on top of the comforter, I pull the usual drunken-Josh-on-the- couch blanket from the linen closet and carefully drape it over him. Then I ruffle his hair, broken music box and drunken kiss almost, but not quite, forgiven, and carry his suit to my closet, where I carefully arrange it on a hanger and hang it on the doorknob.
Then I turn off the light, partially close the door, and head to Kelly's room. I know she won't mind me sleeping in her bed for the night.
End part 1/6