"How did you live with him?"
"We never technically lived together, which was the subject of many…"
The first time it comes up, she thinks it's a joke. They are arguing in her kitchen, and as it so often does, that leads to her sitting on the counter half naked with her arms wrapped around him as he kisses her like his life depends upon it. Most people would grow overwhelmed with the habitual disputes in their relationship – those people never had Josh Lyman between their legs afterward.
"You know if I lived here we could do this all the time," he comments, his voice husky as he kisses down her chest, and she knows he's referring to the arguing as much as he is the sex. She laughs quietly, and that's another thing she loves about this - that they can argue and laugh and fuck and argue again all in the span of twenty minutes. Just as she opens her mouth to respond, his lips find her center and her voice evaporates.
A few weeks later she realizes how often he's been staying at her place, so she goes out and picks up some things. A toothbrush. The 2-in-1 shampoo he likes. Body wash, a razor…
That night they attend Abbey Bartlet's birthday party, where they get in another argument, but of course the White House isn't an appropriate place to fight and fuck, so instead she goes off to get boozy with the First Lady. She bites her tongue at his forgiveness, but then they get in a cab to go home and she lets him have it. They only stop arguing when they're in her bathroom. She's managed to remove the majority of her makeup while still matching him point for point, and then halfway through a sentence about Mark Rothman he stops, his eyes fixed on the counter where she's left the Walgreens bag.
It's the first time he says I love you and while part of her wants to make him squirm, her better angels win and she kisses him, whispering I love you too against his lips.
Later, when she rolls off of him, he laughs and comments that buying him shampoo means she must really want him to stick around. She laughs quietly and tells him if he's not nice she'll throw it all out. I thought you liked me best when I'm not nice, he replies, his voice husky as he rolls onto his side, kissing her shoulder as his hand slides over her abdomen. She's overstimulated from the two orgasms she's already had, but she swears if his hand moves lower, she'll get number three in under ninety seconds.
It stays on her stomach, though, his index finger tracing lazy circles on her skin as he tells her thank you, and she wonders how it would work. Where would we live? His place isn't pet-friendly and he hates her front door, so would they find a new apartment? By the time she goes to vocalize these thoughts, however, he's fallen asleep, so she puts those thoughts in the back of her mind and allows herself to drift off, too.
She hasn't stayed at his place since their Tahiti night, and she realizes she doesn't remember the last time he slept at his own apartment. He's had a key to her place for almost their entire relationship, and even on the nights he doesn't leave the office until after midnight, he comes here, sliding into bed next to her. He tries not to wake her, but she's always been a light sleeper, and she doesn't mind waking up in the middle of the night if it means she can curl into him and consciously enjoy his presence.
Then for three nights she's alone. He's in Helsinki with the President, and she seems to have developed insomnia. So she picks up her phone around three in the morning and dials him. "I know you're busy being very important," she tells his voicemail, "but I haven't slept in two nights and it's your fault, so when you get back we should discuss that whole living together thing." She smiles to herself at the thought. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
She puts her cell back on her end table and it rings a few minutes later, lighting up with his name. She greets him with a smile and he responds, teasing you could've just said you miss me. They chat about Helsinki for a few minutes before he tells her he has to get to his next meeting, but now that they've talked she feels slightly more inclined toward sleep. "I'll see you tomorrow," she repeats.
"We should be landing around nine so I'll be home around ten." Then he tells her to sleep well before he hangs up. She smiles to herself because he just called her place home.
The next night he shows up at her place jet-lagged but smiling. I didn't sleep well while I was gone either, he admits. He leaves his suitcase by the door and takes her straight to the bedroom where they both fall asleep at ten p.m.
She's ready to take the next step, and she thinks he is too, but then just a week later she's standing in the kitchen, fighting with him again - this time about the fact that he definitely cost her her job. Josh's monomania is as extreme as her own intensity to the point that they can't seem to separate their professional lives from the personal life they're attempting to create together.
As she ponders throwing a ladle at his head, the phone starts ringing and she goes to answer it, her heart stopping at the news on the other end. "Honey, Simon Donovan was shot and killed," she tells her boyfriend calmly, the fact of his own gunshot wound crossing her mind as she does. He takes the phone from her and steps away, giving him the space she's learned he needs. She may put up a detached front for the world, but she loves this man, scars and all, and the emotional ones he sustained at Rosslyn are part of him.
This fight of theirs has been going on all week, and uncharacteristically they've not had sex since it started. What's worse, he's been staying at his own place since Sunday, and she's terrified that if he walks out the door tonight, he may never come back. So when he hangs up the phone and his first instinct is to wrap her up in his arms and bury his face in her neck, she's flooded with relief. His heart is racing and she holds him until it slows. With a sigh, she pulls away and gives him a quick but tender kiss before he says he should get home. In case CJ calls, he reasons quietly before squeezing Amy's hand and walking out the door.
Considering how badly he managed to bungle the onset of their relationship, it is predictable that his skills in the art of the breakup would be equally juvenile. So they don't officially break up, but he stops coming over as often, and he never uses his key, and about a month after she was fired he stops coming over at all. Maybe he was right not to give up his own place. Would have made this all a lot more complicated.
There are several nights during their estrangement that she has the strongest urge to call him and beg him to come over and just sleep next to her, but she manages to resist if for no other reason than it would be absolutely humiliating. She doesn't, however, manage to avoid humiliation when she runs into him at Rock the Vote, and she's grateful when he brings up Stackhouse because it gives her the perfect excuse to ignore the words that came out of her own mouth.
But the most painful moment of their entire relationship occurs after it becomes obvious to her that they're not getting back together, when during a round of flirtatious banter he tells her you'll never lose me. She pauses then, biting back her misery before simply telling him don't say that.
He calls her as promised at one in the morning, and she answers because apparently she's a masochist. But the way he talks to her has her smiling and laughing and feeling better than she has in months. He asks if it's true she's the commissioner for the election night pools. She tells him yes, she is, and she's pretty sure she's set to win at least $200 from Sam alone. They laugh together at that before silence falls over them, and he breaks it by murmuring I miss you too. So when election night rolls around a couple weeks later, she picks a dress specifically designed to drive him insane. The look on his face the moment she removes her coat is worth every penny spent, and when he comes home with her at the end of the night, she thinks maybe this time it will work.
And then there's one night. The one night they're both in Orange County, he knocks on her door, and the moment his lips find hers she forgets all about the hopeless campaign and marriage incentives and the fact that he never gave up his apartment. All she can think about is the feeling of his hands on her skin and how much she wants to wrap herself around him and never let go.
Afterward, they lie facing each other, their legs tangled together. Her hand rests on his chest, one finger lightly tracing his scar, and his arm is draped over her waist. I wish you hadn't left, she admits quietly. Me, too, he tells her, his voice tinged with regret. But he did. And if this thing between them is ever going to work, she has to trust that he's not going to just walk out if things get tough again.
She wants to suggest they give it another shot when she gets back, but this thing they've been doing seems to work better when they don't talk about it, so she bites her tongue and watches him dress to go back to DC. And then once he's dressed, he turns back to her, bending down and kissing her deeply, the way he used to before it all went pear-shaped. "I'll see you back home," he promises, kissing her again before turning to go, and somehow his goodbye is comforting to her.
Maybe when she gets back to DC she'll go ahead and replace her front door.