AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you all for your incredible response to the last chapter... real life interfered and I've been unable to get back to this. Plus, my muse must be off on an extended spa vacation because I have been unable to come up with an idea. However, this is one that came to me from a LiveJournal ficlet challenge, so I thought I would go with it.
Mad, mad, witchy props to Susie for the "Peaches" exchange – there's a history behind that and I'll tell you, I laughed my ass off when it was first used. Props to Eileen and Birdie who have been such an amazing encouragement and to slimwhistler and outtabreath who keep me sane, laughing and writing. You all are amazing.
PHOTOGRAPHS (17)
"Mom, I can't talk right now, I'm trying to do my taxes... Yes, my taxes... I realize that it's only March, but I'm on the road and working between now and the 15th and I want to do them when I can... I'm sorry, Mom... No, I told you months ago that I couldn't come home for the baptism... Tell Angelina that I am sorry... Look, Mom... No, Mom... Okay, well, the Vice President is standing here, so I have to go... Bye, Mom."
Donna flipped her cellphone shut and looked around the semi-empty bar. She hadn't lied to her mother – her taxes were strewn across the table, interspersed with glasses of Diet Coke and a bowl of party mix. She could have done her taxes up in her room, but true to character, she had always done her best thinking when in the presence of others, so she grabbed her files and a calculator and wandered down to the hotel bar. There were only a couple of other patrons and the kind bartender and the noise of the television were all a welcomed comfort after the days of being on the road.
It was mid-March and they had a couple of days before the Illinois primary, so she had been sent ahead to Chicago to do some last minute ad placement. The Vice President and Will were in Washington and most of her staff were locals so she was intensely alone on this trip.
Donna stared down at the forms and receipts in front of her and took a deep sigh. Twisting her hair up on the back of her head and shoving a pencil down through it to hold it in place, she took a deep sigh and leaned her chin on her hand. She hadn't lied to her mother about the taxes, but she had lied about not being able to get away from the campaign to go to her nephew's baptism.
If she had wanted to go out to Wisconsin for the day for family matters, Will would have let her go. They had five Caucuses between the Indiana Primary and the Pennsylvania Primary, but one day without her wouldn't kill them. She just didn't want to go. She had always found it difficult to explain her life to her solidly working class, mid-western family and now, as a vital part of the Vice President's presidential campaign, she was even further removed from the Moss frame of reference.
Her sister Angelina had given birth to a little boy six months before. She had never been particularly close with her younger sister, always feeling a little like the outsider in the family, but she had sent the requisite card and flowers and gift for the baby. Donna hadn't spoken to her sister since and only sporadically to her mother and felt the overwhelming disappointment from thousands of miles away over the phone. She could hear the questions that would arise if she suddenly showed up to the baby's ceremony.
"When are you going to find a man, Donna? And stop running around the country? When are you going to get a house and have a family? You aren't getting any younger, you know."
Donna had heard them hundreds of times before – at Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, phone calls on Sundays. She had simply stopped going and stopped calling – she had run out of excuses and explanations.
Sighing deeply again, Donna picked up her pencil and looked back down at her worksheet.
And I thought it was hard to get an expense reimbursement from the Government.
A moment later, her attention was caught by something on the local news broadcast being shown on the television over the bar. The anchor was discussing the upcoming Primary and film was running of Matt Santos' win in California. Santos was at a podium giving a speech and behind him, to the side stood Josh. Donna swallowed hard and watched the film, unable to take her eyes away. She had been like this from the moment the campaigns started and while she tried to keep the compulsion at bay, she could not help but surf the newscasts to catch a glimpse or mention of him in every city they visited.
Looking down at the table in front of her, Donna absently picked some party mix out of the bowl and chewed slowly. Josh Lyman was an addiction she had thought she had broken.
Can I go to rehab for this? How would I explain it on my insurance forms?
Daydreaming of explanations for her addicted heart, Donna suddenly heard a familiar voice walking toward her.
"...You tell Richardson that if he doesn't give us what we asked for, I'll send a guy named Peaches who likes purty smiles and is fond of spooning over to his office. Tell him that things will go smoothly if he says 'please' and 'thank you' 'cause Peaches might be rough around the edges, but he believes there's no excuse for poor manners... And tell him I'm not fucking kidding."
Josh slammed the cell phone shut and stopped abruptly when he saw Donna sitting at the table looking up at him.
"You always were a charmer, Joshua."
Josh blinked rapidly, trying to shift gears in his mind. He was tired. Tired, hungry, lonely and very, very worn out. California and Texas had taken everything out of him and while the two huge wins had given the campaign a momentum that infused everyone with energy, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept for more than five hours in one night.
"What are you doing here, Donna?"
Suddenly on the defensive, Donna looked down and straightened up her papers, saying angrily, "There's a Primary in two days, Josh. Did you think that your candidate was the only one running?"
Blinking again, Josh realized that once again, in true Lyman fashion, he had opened his mouth and spoken before thinking.
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I didn't mean it to sound like that."
Donna looked up at him and studied him closely. He had lost weight and his clothes were hanging loosely on him. She was certain he hadn't eaten a full meal in months.
"Sit down, Josh."
Absently staring at the chair, Josh suddenly felt as if the action of pulling out the chair was beyond his ability. Realizing the man in front of her was exhausted, Donna stood up, pulled out the chair, walked Josh over and sat him in it. She walked up to the bar, spoke with the bartender and then came back to the table.
Turning back to her taxes, she started making notations, but watched him out of the corner of her eye.
"When was the last time you slept, Josh?"
Rubbing his hands over his face, he thought for a moment.
"Ummmm... Thirty minutes on the plane today."
"Jackass. No, I mean really slept."
Josh was silent for a moment, staring off absently. "I don't know."
"Your doctor would put you in the hospital if she saw you like this."
Laughing hollowly, he said, "That's why she doesn't get to see me very often."
Josh looked over at her and then down at the table. Realizing the nature of the forms in front of him, he looked back up at her.
"Taxes?"
Not looking up, she replied, "Yes."
"Donna, you're doing your taxes in a bar? In Illinois? In March?"
"Yes, Joshua, I am. I can't afford an accountant like some people I know and if I don't do them now, they aren't going to get done."
Looking at the woman in front of him, Josh was amazed yet again at her resiliency and independence. And her youth. With her hair twisted up on her head and her Georgetown sweatshirt, she looked twenty-five.
She looks like she did when I first met her.
"Need some help?"
Donna turned to him incredulously. "You can't even add up the prices of the things you get for lunch every day. Do you think for one moment you are coming near my taxes?"
Josh broke into a broad grin. "How about some company then?"
Continuing on with her notations, she threw out to him, "Damn straight, Skippy. The bartender is bringing out a blackened burger for you and you're going to sit here and eat it."
Smiling still, Josh felt himself relax into his chair. He hadn't been able to relax on this campaign - his co-workers were still too new to him, the candidate too unsure. He couldn't show weakness or familiarity with anyone and kept himself wound so tight that he sometimes thought he would run screaming to the top of the nearest water tower.
But not now. Even with everything they had experienced in the last several months, he could, on a basic level, still relax with her.
Mumbling under her breath, Donna said, "Deductions... deductions... Jesus, I don't know if I have any deductions."
"You gave those clothes and some of your old furniture to Catholic Charities, remember?"
Donna looked up at him.
"When you moved. You got rid of that old couch your roommate's cat had pissed on and some of your old clothes. Oh! And that awful lamp. Remember? We took them down in the truck we borrowed from John in the Research Pool."
She just sat and stared at him. She was amazed that he remembered all of that and that it was as fresh to him as if it had happened yesterday.
Oh fuck me. I have got to find a rehab place.
"You must have the receipt..."
Collecting herself, she started looking through the pile of receipts at her elbow. At that point, the bartender brought up Josh's dinner, a burger and fries, and a soda.
Josh looked over at her with admiration. The simple gesture of her making sure he ate made his heart hurt.
Donna caught him looking at her and she smiled.
"Thank you, Donnatella," he said softly.
"My pleasure. Now in return, you can talk to my mother when she calls me again." The minute the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Even though she had attempted to keep the tone light, the bitterness was obvious.
In mid-bite, Josh stopped, put the burger down on the plate and studied her face. "What happened?"
"It's nothing. Just mother-daughter stuff. Nothing." Donna buried her head again in her taxes.
Damn my big fucking mouth.
Sighing, Josh said insistently, "It's not nothing. It's a thing. I can tell from how you said it. What's going on?"
Putting down her pencil, Donna studied her hands for a moment. Sighing, looking away and then back at him, she said softly, "Angelina had a baby and they want me to come home for the baptism."
She reached into her purse and pulled out a small picture of a baby. To her, he looked much like any other baby in similarly posed pictures, but like the dutiful aunt, she carried it with her.
Josh looked down at the picture and then handed it back to Donna. He then studied the blonde in front of him intently. In their years together, he had gathered enough information to understand the strained family relations between the sisters and between Donna and her parents. After spending time with Isabella Moss in Germany while Donna was recovering, Josh had gotten to see some of the treatment first-hand and he had struggled to keep his anger in check every single day.
"Do you want to go?"
Shaking her head, Donna stuck her thumb in her mouth and chewed on the nail. A bad habit started in childhood and continued even now. "No."
"Then don't. And don't feel guilty. I know you – you will and you shouldn't."
Donna felt the tears rise in her eyes. Perhaps they were due to the stress of her job, the lack of sleep, the strain of constant travel, or the years of lost memories with her family. She didn't know and wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"I know, I know. They just don't understand me or what I'm doing and they think I should be at home, in Wisconsin. After years in the White House, they still think of me as the stupid one who left her one real chance in life..."
Donna stopped when Josh slammed his hand down on the table. Quickly looking around the bar to see if they had caught anyone's attention, she turned back to him to find his eyes blazing.
"Don't ever talk like that, Donna," he said quietly but fiercely. "Ever. You were an integral part of Jed Bartlet's White House. You were the woman who saved Social Security, the one who stopped Senator Stackhouse during the autism filibuster. You are one of the top campaign aides for the Vice President of the United States. You are bright, funny, beautiful and accomplished and if your family can't see that, they don't deserve you."
The silence between them was electric. Josh's words had shocked her to her core with their vehemence and energy. The look in his eyes had been fierce and protective and she had been holding her breath throughout the whole thing.
Looking down at his plate, Josh picked up his hamburger, took a bite. Chewing slowly, while silently trying to get control of his anger, he looked down at the plate in front of him. He had to get control of himself before he opened his mouth again and the act of eating gave him a good excuse.
Taking another bite, he looked over at Donna who was staring off absently, and said, with his mouth full, "Now. What's next on that tax form of yours?"
(To be continued.)
