Title:Oblivious
Status: Complete
Category: AU
Pairings: Josh/Donnar
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None.
Season/Sequel: None
Summary: Basically, Josh sulking
Content Warning:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of Aaron Sorkin, NBC. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Author's Notes: This was written in about thirty minutes, so it's not one of my more longer stories. Really, it's just a bit of nothing
She'd kill him if she could see him now. Ridiculously, it's the only thing he could think of. She'd kill him if she could see him now.
He feels like he is in some dark, melodramatic art house film, with himself as the central, tragic hero. A harsh sharp laughter emits from somewhere inside of him, and just as quickly as it appeared, it disappears again.
He sits in the dark room, curtains open, moonlight occasionally spilling through the window when the clouds move direction.
The half-full whiskey glass is his only silent companion.
He'd heard of course. They all had. But unlike the rest of them he wasn't worried. He was so sure of what the outcome would be, so confident he barely gave it a second thought.
Donna hadn't been so confident but he shrugged it off. She'd see, nothing would change. In a few days it would blow over and everything would be the same as always, back to normal.
He laughed grimly at the memory, bringing the glass once again to his lips. His English Lit. teacher had been right. He was a cocky bastard.
They'd tried to warn him. All of them. CJ, Toby, hell even Will had put in his two cents. But he hadn't listened.
They were wrong, he was right. It was as simple as that. Even when Toby yelled at him in his office. When he told him to stop 'being such as ass, Josh.' Even then, he'd dismissed them.
What did they know anyway? There was a reason he was the top negotiator for the president. He could read situations, get to know the opposition, get under their skin. He was a genius in the deal making department, and he could use those skills in his everyday life, in everyday situations.
That's why he didn't listen to them, or her. Why he ignored her hesitancy, why he brushed off her insecurities about it. It had happened before, and nothing had changed.
In fact it continually happened, at least once a fortnight. And it always ended the same way. He couldn't see any difference from any of the other times.
He was convinced it would be the same this time. They'd told him it wasn't the same though. The Bartlet administration was coming to an end, they all had to think about what would happen when it would eventually end. They said he couldn't treat it like they had another four years in office.
He ignored them.
They didn't know. Not like he did. So, he continued to walk around in his own little world. Remaining completely oblivious. /p
It surprised him then, when she came into his office just as he was about to leave. She left a folder on his desk, and hovered nervously just out of his line of vision. He stood up, gave her a puzzled smile before pulling on his coat.
He should have realised it was different this time.
Then she told him, and his world turned upside down. Black was white, up was down and Republicans had suddenly overtaken the world.
He stared at her, wordlessly, and for a moment hated her. Hated her for what she had just told him, for the power those few words she'd just said had over him. He turned away quickly, not wanting her to see the hatred in his eyes, but it was too late. She saw.
Her mouth curled up savagely, shook her head and before she could say anything, he left.
He left her standing there, without having said a word to her. His own anger, hatred and resentment reflected in her eyes.
So, he found himself now, in his apartment, in the dark. A half drunk bottle of good whiskey sitting in front of him. And the phone.
He stared at the phone, willing it to ring.
He knew it wouldn't.
She wouldn't call him.
He should have listened. And it didn't matter how much he drank, her voice still echoed in his head.
"I accepted the job, Josh. I'm leaving."
His hand slammed the glass down onto the veneer of the small table in front of him.
He hated this, this power she had over him. They tried to warn him, why hadn't he listened? He didn't like to think of her eyes when he'd walked away from her. So hurt, so resentful, so angry.
With shaking hands, he lifts the phone and dials her number. His fingers dial the numbers before his mind even has to chance to think of what the digits are.
"Hello?" her voice is groggy and rough. He must have woken her.
"It's me."
She says nothing, and his throat tightenens just a little more. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs painfully. Still she says nothing. His eyes sting unexpectedly, painfully, with hot, unshed tears.
"Donna, we...we need to talk."
© 2005 Copyright held by the author.