Disclaimer: They still aren't mine
Author notes: Thank you to all the really nice people who have reviews this so far. Your thoughts are appreciated enormously. Here's part two, as promised. I have to admit to feeling a little guilty for putting poor Josh through this, but y'know. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon. As always, reviews are welcome, constructive criticism encouraged and flames ignored. Enjoy!
My mother, like me, has never been the most punctual person in the world. In fact, if she says that she will be somewhere at a specific time, you can safely bet on her being at least a half an hour later. What can I say? We Lymans have absolutely no internal clock. We learn to deal.
For this reason, the fact that she has not arrived now, at a quarter to eight when Mom told me to expect her around seven does not alarm me. In fact, I would be far more alarmed if she had shown up on time.
My apartment is spotless enough that even Donna would approve. I have rented some movies that we can mock and am now busying myself by making a pot of coffee. I have just finished locating the pink mug specifically reserved for when my mother visits when I hear someone at the door.
Assuming that it's Mom once again trying to remember which key unlocks my door, I smirk a little when she can't find it and has to knock. I'm already forming a witty remark about how she's losing her memory in her old age (even though I'll have it known that Ellen Lyman is still sharp as a tack) as I saunter out of the kitchen to let her in.
Deciding that I would feel rather foolish if I opened the door and found that it was not my mother, I take a quick look through the fish eye lens that lets me see into the hall. I am considerably surprised to see not the greying auburn head of my mom, but the distinctive golden blond that could only belong to my assistant. I'm a tad bemused by the sight of Donna hovering outside my door at this hour, but I don't mind. I know Mom would love to have Donna join us in a round of "mock the cheesy B movie," while alternately embarrassing me with stories of my dubiously eventful childhood.
"Donna!" I exclaim, swinging open the door in an over extravagant gesture that makes her jump, "couldn't be away from me for one day could..." I stop abruptly as I realize that Donna is not alone.
"Uh, hey Leo," I say feeling thoroughly bewildered. I can't help but stare at this incongruous pair, Donna dressed more casually than I've ever seen her in light blue sweat pants and a grey hooded sweatshirt, Leo dressed as always in an impeccably neat suit and tie. "D'you guys want to come in or something?" I add, hoping I sound less perplexed than I feel.
I start to feel a little worried when neither of them move. I feel downright alarmed when the two of them look at each other then back at me as though they are about to tell me I have a terminal disease.
"Christ, what the Hell's wrong?" I ask, frowning at them.
Donna makes a strangled little squeaking noise and looks at Leo again as though asking for help. There is a funny look on her face that I'm sure I've seen before, though I can't place where. Leo finally takes a few steps into the apartment, Donna following close behind. I notice she's limping a little.
"Do you want to sit down?" I nod in Donna's direction and gesture towards the sofa.
Donna makes that peculiar squeaking noise again and says, "Josh, I..."
"'Cause you're limping,"
"Josh," she says again, throwing another distressed look at Leo. She's still got that look on her face and I know I could figure out why it's familiar to me if I had a moment to think about it.
Before I can ponder the matter further, Leo says, "Son, have a seat,"
I stare at him. This is not good. Leo does not call me "son" just because he's feeling randomly paternal and the tone of his voice tells me that he's not suggesting I sit out of concern for my comfort. I look back at Donna and suddenly I flash back seven years and I know where I've seen that face before.
"Oh God," I say.
Donna's eyes are wide, uncharacteristically solemn, glazed with tears. She has her teeth clenched in the effort to stay professional and matter-of-fact but her lower lip is trembling just slightly and the muscles in her neck and jaw are tense. The last time Donna looked like that was the night of the Illinois Primary. The last time Donna looked like that she was about to tell me that my father had died.
"Josh," Leo says, "I'd really like you to sit down."
"No," I shake my head, "No, tell me what's happened."
Leo opens his mouth but for a moment is unable to say anything. He tries again, "Josh..."
"Dammit Leo, tell me what's happened!"
Leo closes his eyes in resignation and says, very gently, "There's been an accident."
I hold up one hand as if that will stop the next words from coming, "Leo..."
Leo plunges on regardless, his eyes never leaving my face, "It was foggy and no one could see what they were doing. It was over as soon as the first car hit its breaks. We just got the call at work."
Now I do sit down, hard, and am saved from falling right to the floor by the arm of the couch though it is only by sheer luck that I manage to make contact with it. Donna takes an automatic step forward but stops before she reaches me, probably deterred by the fact that I am quite certain a look about five seconds way from vomiting.
Leo pauses only briefly to ensure that I am not, in fact, going to be sick yet, "Josh, your mother... There was nothing she could have done, nothing anyone could do. She was gone by the time the emergency team got there."
I'm on my feet again, in a convulsive movement that makes Donna jump back with a little yelp of alarm. I turn my back to both of them and stalk the length of the room, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the window. My head is quite literally ringing and I shake it hard as if to clear away the noise but that only makes things worse.
I drag my hands through my hair. This can't be happening. This simply can not be happening. I have no control over my body. My hands are at my face, on my hips, in my hair. I won't accept this, this is not happening to me. Not again. Oh God, please not again.
The roar in my ears is deafening and there are black spots in my vision. I'm deaf and blind and my family is dead.
My sister, my father, my mother, all gone. Joanie, Dad, Mom, oh Mom, don't leave me here alone. What have I done to deserve this? Everyone I love, everyone important to me, gone. Why is knowing me a death sentence? Why do I lose everyone I care about to the flames?
I feel a hand on my arm and I know it's Donna because only she can be so gentle but so firm at the same time. Her touch pulls me back to earth like a grounding wire and I finally turn to look at her. For a moment, it isn't Donna that I see, but a scorched and blackened strip of road in Gaza and an empty hospital bed with blood on the sheets.
"Josh," Donna says raising one hand to tilt my face down so she can see my eyes, "Josh, look at me."
I am looking at her, but I'm not really seeing her and Donna knows this. This is, of course, why Leo brought her along. Only Donna understands.
I blink slowly as though I'm waking from a trance, which I guess I sort of am. The haze fogging my vision clears and I look at my assistant. There are tears on her face, but I don't think she notices. Her eyes meet mine, something like relief and something like anguish reflect in those blue depths.
"Donna." I say because I can't say anything else.
She nods, tightens her grip on my arm, "I'm here."
Author notes: Thank you to all the really nice people who have reviews this so far. Your thoughts are appreciated enormously. Here's part two, as promised. I have to admit to feeling a little guilty for putting poor Josh through this, but y'know. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon. As always, reviews are welcome, constructive criticism encouraged and flames ignored. Enjoy!
My mother, like me, has never been the most punctual person in the world. In fact, if she says that she will be somewhere at a specific time, you can safely bet on her being at least a half an hour later. What can I say? We Lymans have absolutely no internal clock. We learn to deal.
For this reason, the fact that she has not arrived now, at a quarter to eight when Mom told me to expect her around seven does not alarm me. In fact, I would be far more alarmed if she had shown up on time.
My apartment is spotless enough that even Donna would approve. I have rented some movies that we can mock and am now busying myself by making a pot of coffee. I have just finished locating the pink mug specifically reserved for when my mother visits when I hear someone at the door.
Assuming that it's Mom once again trying to remember which key unlocks my door, I smirk a little when she can't find it and has to knock. I'm already forming a witty remark about how she's losing her memory in her old age (even though I'll have it known that Ellen Lyman is still sharp as a tack) as I saunter out of the kitchen to let her in.
Deciding that I would feel rather foolish if I opened the door and found that it was not my mother, I take a quick look through the fish eye lens that lets me see into the hall. I am considerably surprised to see not the greying auburn head of my mom, but the distinctive golden blond that could only belong to my assistant. I'm a tad bemused by the sight of Donna hovering outside my door at this hour, but I don't mind. I know Mom would love to have Donna join us in a round of "mock the cheesy B movie," while alternately embarrassing me with stories of my dubiously eventful childhood.
"Donna!" I exclaim, swinging open the door in an over extravagant gesture that makes her jump, "couldn't be away from me for one day could..." I stop abruptly as I realize that Donna is not alone.
"Uh, hey Leo," I say feeling thoroughly bewildered. I can't help but stare at this incongruous pair, Donna dressed more casually than I've ever seen her in light blue sweat pants and a grey hooded sweatshirt, Leo dressed as always in an impeccably neat suit and tie. "D'you guys want to come in or something?" I add, hoping I sound less perplexed than I feel.
I start to feel a little worried when neither of them move. I feel downright alarmed when the two of them look at each other then back at me as though they are about to tell me I have a terminal disease.
"Christ, what the Hell's wrong?" I ask, frowning at them.
Donna makes a strangled little squeaking noise and looks at Leo again as though asking for help. There is a funny look on her face that I'm sure I've seen before, though I can't place where. Leo finally takes a few steps into the apartment, Donna following close behind. I notice she's limping a little.
"Do you want to sit down?" I nod in Donna's direction and gesture towards the sofa.
Donna makes that peculiar squeaking noise again and says, "Josh, I..."
"'Cause you're limping,"
"Josh," she says again, throwing another distressed look at Leo. She's still got that look on her face and I know I could figure out why it's familiar to me if I had a moment to think about it.
Before I can ponder the matter further, Leo says, "Son, have a seat,"
I stare at him. This is not good. Leo does not call me "son" just because he's feeling randomly paternal and the tone of his voice tells me that he's not suggesting I sit out of concern for my comfort. I look back at Donna and suddenly I flash back seven years and I know where I've seen that face before.
"Oh God," I say.
Donna's eyes are wide, uncharacteristically solemn, glazed with tears. She has her teeth clenched in the effort to stay professional and matter-of-fact but her lower lip is trembling just slightly and the muscles in her neck and jaw are tense. The last time Donna looked like that was the night of the Illinois Primary. The last time Donna looked like that she was about to tell me that my father had died.
"Josh," Leo says, "I'd really like you to sit down."
"No," I shake my head, "No, tell me what's happened."
Leo opens his mouth but for a moment is unable to say anything. He tries again, "Josh..."
"Dammit Leo, tell me what's happened!"
Leo closes his eyes in resignation and says, very gently, "There's been an accident."
I hold up one hand as if that will stop the next words from coming, "Leo..."
Leo plunges on regardless, his eyes never leaving my face, "It was foggy and no one could see what they were doing. It was over as soon as the first car hit its breaks. We just got the call at work."
Now I do sit down, hard, and am saved from falling right to the floor by the arm of the couch though it is only by sheer luck that I manage to make contact with it. Donna takes an automatic step forward but stops before she reaches me, probably deterred by the fact that I am quite certain a look about five seconds way from vomiting.
Leo pauses only briefly to ensure that I am not, in fact, going to be sick yet, "Josh, your mother... There was nothing she could have done, nothing anyone could do. She was gone by the time the emergency team got there."
I'm on my feet again, in a convulsive movement that makes Donna jump back with a little yelp of alarm. I turn my back to both of them and stalk the length of the room, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the window. My head is quite literally ringing and I shake it hard as if to clear away the noise but that only makes things worse.
I drag my hands through my hair. This can't be happening. This simply can not be happening. I have no control over my body. My hands are at my face, on my hips, in my hair. I won't accept this, this is not happening to me. Not again. Oh God, please not again.
The roar in my ears is deafening and there are black spots in my vision. I'm deaf and blind and my family is dead.
My sister, my father, my mother, all gone. Joanie, Dad, Mom, oh Mom, don't leave me here alone. What have I done to deserve this? Everyone I love, everyone important to me, gone. Why is knowing me a death sentence? Why do I lose everyone I care about to the flames?
I feel a hand on my arm and I know it's Donna because only she can be so gentle but so firm at the same time. Her touch pulls me back to earth like a grounding wire and I finally turn to look at her. For a moment, it isn't Donna that I see, but a scorched and blackened strip of road in Gaza and an empty hospital bed with blood on the sheets.
"Josh," Donna says raising one hand to tilt my face down so she can see my eyes, "Josh, look at me."
I am looking at her, but I'm not really seeing her and Donna knows this. This is, of course, why Leo brought her along. Only Donna understands.
I blink slowly as though I'm waking from a trance, which I guess I sort of am. The haze fogging my vision clears and I look at my assistant. There are tears on her face, but I don't think she notices. Her eyes meet mine, something like relief and something like anguish reflect in those blue depths.
"Donna." I say because I can't say anything else.
She nods, tightens her grip on my arm, "I'm here."