Work Text:
i.
It’s been thirty minutes since the redheaded woman, presumably the volunteer coordinator or office manager, asked her to take a seat. The Bartlet for America headquarters is busy, which is a good sign. When Donna arrived, she wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. She’d canvassed for campaigns before, mostly local City Council elections and student government races. But this is a campaign for the Presidency. The anxiety is beginning to take over, and for a moment, she considers turning around and going back home. She’s out of her league here.
Before she can talk herself out of it, she stands, walking past the front desks and through a doorway. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she makes her way up a short flight of stairs. Donna is surprised that no one has stopped her, asked her to provide credentials. Doesn’t the Secret Service hang out around here? She looks around the second floor, unconsciously picking at a spot of skin next to her fingernail as she scans her surroundings. For a moment, her mind replays the events that led her here. She can see flashes of slammed dresser drawers, hear scathing insults shouted from rooms away, and feel the crunch of the Wisconsin snow on the sidewalk outside of the apartment she’s just left underneath her feet.
The sound of a ringing phone brings her back to the present, startling her out of her memory. She takes a deep breath and walks into the office to her left. As Donna reaches for the phone and puts it to her ear, a wave of anxiety washes over her. She doesn’t even know whose office this is. Her stomach drops and she looks around, panicked, trying to find a glimpse of anything with the office occupant’s name on it.
Her search is unsuccessful, so she pulls the cradle and the receiver with her as she backs up toward the doorway, looking for a nameplate or a sign. The phone cord makes contact with a stack of papers at just the right angle to send it crashing to the ground as Donna catches a glimpse of a piece of paper taped to the window. Josh Lyman.
“Josh Lyman,” she says, resting her head on the open door frame and hoping she’s projecting even the tiniest amount of confidence. The whole ordeal took maybe three seconds from start to finish, but it felt like hours passed before she was able to even speak. The person on the other end is looking for Josh but is content to leave him a message. Donna moves toward the desk, stepping around the scattered papers to find a pen and something to write on.
The phone call ends and she replaces the phone back on Josh’s desk. She takes a deep breath and surveys the damage. It only takes her a few minutes to sort and organize it all, so she moves on to other parts of the desk next. In clearing off the desk, she finds an internal staff directory with phone extensions, which she clips to an empty clipboard she found placed in Josh’s chair.
When the phone rings again, she’s able to scan the directory and transfer the caller to the correct department. About ten minutes pass, and she creates a system for the messages she’s been taking for Josh, who still hasn’t been back to his office. She wonders for a moment if she should move on, find somewhere else to jump in and help out, but the phone rings again and she decides to stick around.
As the person on the other end asks about Josh’s whereabouts, she catches a glimpse of his calendar and turns it around to face her. She flips it open to the current date, but the person on the other end seems to be on a cell phone because the call drops.
Donna smiles to herself. She could be good at this if she put her mind to it. And clearly, whatever this was, it was going to be a lot of work. Josh Lyman was in desperate need of assistance. Another phone call comes almost immediately after the last, but as she finishes with the person on the other line, she feels someone slide in next to her. She notices him out of the corner of her eye as he grabs something off the desk and then he’s out of sight again. Apparently, he didn’t go far because when she hangs up the phone she hears his voice.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“Who are you?” He doesn’t quite sound irritated, but he does sound like he doesn’t have time to mess around. This guy either thinks he’s incredibly important or actually is incredibly important.
“I’m Donna Moss, who are you?” she asks with all the confidence she can muster.
“I’m Josh Lyman.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.”
This is the moment she’s been waiting for. She has to justify her presence now, and while she’s had some time to prepare an explanation for her arrival, she hasn’t exactly planned what she’s going to do to secure a spot on the campaign staff. “I’m your new assistant.”
A lap around the office and an unexpected psychological evaluation later, he’s handing her his badge from around his neck. When she hangs up the phone, she puts it on, grinning as she watches him talk to a tall woman on the other side of the room. The woman waves to her, and heat creeps up into Donna’s cheeks as she realizes that they’ve caught her staring. She manages a wave back before busying herself at Josh’s desk again, trying to comprehend the events of the last few minutes.
“Got you a roommate for Charleston,” Josh says. “Bus leaves in an hour.”
Donna nods, playing with the chain around her neck as he walks away. Her cheeks are already starting to hurt from smiling. She’s liked the Governor for a while now, since her Nonna turned on the Democratic Primary coverage and insisted that Donna consider voting for him. But she feels this inexplicable connection to Josh Lyman, with his wrinkled shirt and his hopelessly disorganized office. He’s giving her a chance, and she’s not going to let him down.
ii.
Josh is vaguely aware of the presence of visitors that have been coming in and out. He hasn’t been able to stay conscious for long enough to interact with many of them, but he remembers them stopping by. He remembers a brief conversation with Leo and President Bartlet, during which President Bartlet assured him that everyone was going to be okay, the two of them included. He remembers opening his eyes at one point and seeing his mom before dozing off again. He’s not sure if the rest has been a painkiller-induced dream or a hazy semblance of reality.
His eyes open and for a moment, he doesn’t hear anyone around. He can’t exactly sit up on his own, so looking around the room to track someone down is impossible. Josh closes his eyes, trying to thread together a coherent thought.
“Looks like the Mets are playing the San Diego Padres today,” a voice says from his left. “Your guys got their asses handed to them last night, 16-1. This columnist seems to think that it’s the death knell of the Mets’ season, but I think he’s catastrophizing. There’s what, one hundred and something games in a season? And they’ve got a month left. I think they’re going all the way this year. I mean, this is all based on what you’ve told me, so that could be too optimistic.”
Josh slides his hand just a little to the left, toward the sound of the voice that feels far away. He wonders if maybe there’s a call button over there, or better yet, the morphine clicker. When every inch of him hurts like it does now, being asleep is ten times more preferable than being awake. This is probably the longest that he’s been awake since he was shot, and it’s thoroughly unpleasant.
He hears what he assumes is the newspaper rustling, then he feels a hand grab his. He opens his eyes again to see Donna standing over him. She looks… well, she looks exhausted. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and she’s got a bump on the side of her ponytail that leads him to believe that she may have tried to get some rest in the chair while he was asleep.
It’s possible that he’s delirious because she looks… stunning. Ethereal. Angelic. He’s seen her getting ready for dates, he’s seen her in ball gowns at state dinners and inaugural events, and somehow this is the most beautiful she’s ever looked to him. He really can’t shake it. Then again, there’s a draft in the room that he can feel in one specific spot underneath his blanket, and last time he was awake he’s pretty sure he warned his nurse about the ghost on his bed. So he’s hesitant to trust his own judgment at the moment.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” she answers with a sniffle, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue in her free hand.
“Is there a—” Josh tries to lift his right arm, but can’t seem to gather the energy.
“Here,” Donna says, dropping Josh’s hand and putting the clicker in it. “They lowered the dose, though, so you’ll probably still be a little miserable.”
“Great,” he says, attempting a bit of sarcasm, but the word falls flat.
“They also said to expect some weakness on your right side, so don’t be alarmed if you can’t move around just yet.”
“I got shot,” Josh says. “Thought it couldn’t get worse.”
“Want me to call the…”
“No,” he interrupts.
“Okay.”
She doesn’t reach for the call button, but he can see the concern in her eyes. She’s on the verge of tears again, and even though he barely has the energy to keep his eyes open, he feels compelled to prevent her from breaking down. He’s lucid enough to realize that Donna’s exhaustion is likely due to her presence at the hospital, and he hates feeling even partially responsible for Donna’s discomfort or unhappiness. Of course, he’s always hated seeing Donna upset, but this is on an entirely new level and it amplifies the familiar feeling of guilt swirling around in his gut.
“You should sleep,” he insists.
Donna adjusts the blankets and manages to cover the not-a-ghost drafty spot. Then she folds the newspaper and places it on the chair behind her. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Josh.”
“You’re tired.”
“Of course I’m tired! I’m exhausted! It’s been just over forty-eight hours since you were shot. You almost died. First I sat through fourteen hours of surgery, waiting for word on your condition. I watched some of it from the gallery window, actually. Then once your mom got here, I started to help her out and give her a break when she needed to get some air or grab some food or get some sleep. I’ve been taking notes on what the doctors are saying so I can recap it for you when you wake up and you’re in full possession of your faculties. I know you aren’t going to remember any of what they tell you, and you won’t be a jerk to me if I’m the one to explain it all to you. I care about you, Josh. You’re important to me.” She pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath and grabbing another tissue to wipe away the new tears that have fallen. She’s not angry; there’s not a hint of resentment in her tone. It seems that what he said got under her skin just enough to open the floodgates and elicit this uninhibited, borderline frantic response. Donna takes a seat on the edge of the bed, avoiding his gaze as she tries to collect herself.
He lifts his index finger and hooks it underneath her pinky, trying to get her to move her hand toward his. She takes the hint, grasping his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re going to be okay.” Donna looks up at him, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue as she rubs her thumb across the back of his hand.
“Me, too.”
iii.
This night has been a lot to process.
Between discovering that she’s not actually an American citizen, embarrassing herself in front of the First Lady, and watching Josh’s comical attempt to split his time between her and Amy, it’s been a bit of an emotional roller coaster. Considering all she had eaten before being invited to have some wine with Amy, CJ, and the First Lady was Josh’s pocket olives, her head is still swimming, and that coupled with the emotions that have been sitting at the surface all night has proven to be the worst possible combination.
Josh is a tactile guy, and she loves that about him, but there are times it gets to be too much to take. Not that she doesn’t enjoy it, she does — it’s just that emotionally, it can be hard to handle knowing that he won’t ever follow it up with anything but friendship. Sometimes a hand on the small of her back or a chaste kiss on the cheek will be all she thinks about for weeks, giving her the hope she needs to continue on; other times the way he touches her sends her into an emotional tailspin, analyzing his intentions and dissecting the meaning behind something that was almost certainly not even a conscious decision on his part.
The cleaning crew is vacuuming the bullpen, so she takes a seat at Josh’s desk, beginning to scrutinize every action, every look, every touch, every laugh of the night. The way they danced together, just a little closer than a regular boss and assistant, just a little closer than best friends. The way she wondered for just a moment if Amy would be upset that they were dancing like that before letting the thought go and allowing herself to enjoy the moment. The way he told her she looked good, unable to look her in the eye when he said it.
Even aside from all of that, he had gone through a lot of trouble helping her. He’s done that a lot lately, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. She tells herself that he would do that for nearly anyone who works closely with him in the White House, but somehow it feels different when he does it for her.
She’s starting to run through the implications of his hands on her waist when he walks into the doorway of the office. He leans against the door frame for a moment before he enters. “Hi.” He takes off his jacket and throws it toward his visitor’s chair as he walks toward the desk.
“Hi.”
“How’s my favorite Canadian?”
“Not Canadian,” Donna says, leaning back in Josh’s chair. “Well. Not anymore, at least.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to make the transition a little easier for you. I said you were my favorite Canadian, don’t worry.”
“You said it yourself a little while ago; I’m American again.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and moves her hands to the armrests of his chair.
“Still have to pass your literacy test and your American History exam,” Josh says, undoing his bow tie. “And fill out the form. But unless this great country has started denying admission based on illegible handwriting, I’d imagine you’d be able to handle that.”
“Yes, I’d be able to complete the form but the literacy test and the American History exam would trip me up,” she deadpans, tapping her fingers on the armrests.
Josh grins, taking a seat in his visitor’s chair, not bothering to move the jacket he tossed there earlier. “Look, I’m just saying, if you need a tutor — you know, an American citizen who can grasp all the nuances of our culture that they don’t teach you in the history books…”
“Josh.”
“I’m happy to help,” he continues, ignoring the interruption. “We can take some time off work this weekend, I can take you to see all the sights, be your own personal historian and tour guide… I could even tell the President about this.”
“You’re not going to take time out of President Bartlet’s already ridiculous schedule to have him lecture me.”
“Oh, come on, Donna, you’d love it. He’d love it. How many of the people taking the exam will be able to say that the President of the United States helped them prepare? I mean, the bragging rights alone…”
She picks up one of Josh’s pens from his desk, clicking it as she talks. “Even if I didn’t know the material — which I do, by the way — I wouldn’t get deported.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“You would do everything in your considerable power to stop it,” she declares, folding her hands on the desk and leaning forward, grinning at Josh.
He laughs. “If this is your way of asking me to marry you so you can get your green card, I have to say, I’m flattered, but I’m actually seeing someone.”
The way he says it gives Donna every indication that he’s joking; of course it’s a joke, that’s the sort of joke best friends make. And Josh is her best friend. Her best friend, who she sometimes flirts with; her best friend, who touches her waist or puts his hand at the small of her back or holds her hand; her best friend, who is also her boss, not her fiancé or her husband.
That’s not to say she hasn’t thought about marrying Josh before, independent of green card hang-ups. Sometimes she daydreams about waking up on a lazy Sunday morning, trading pages of the newspaper at the kitchen table while they eat breakfast and their kids play in the living room. She imagines him crawling into bed after a late night at work, trying not to wake her but being glad to see her anyway when she stirs. She imagines any number of scenarios where she can tell him exactly how she feels about him, and he feels the same way.
“You’d be lost without me,” she says, unconsciously toying with her ID badge as she swivels just a little in his chair. “Trying to get by without your deputy Deputy Chief of Staff wouldn’t go well for you. You’d be at my door trying to entice me to come back and leave my newfound love of hockey and universal healthcare behind.”
He stares at her for a moment, that stare that he gives her sometimes that she can’t quite interpret. “Yeah. You’re right.” The sincerity in his tone catches her off guard at first, but it gives her just a hint of butterflies. “You gonna be okay getting home?”
Donna stands up from Josh’s chair. “Yeah. I should have a cab waiting by the time I get outside.”
“Okay.”
She’s nearly out the door of his office when he gently puts his hand on her arm to stop her. When Donna turns around, the butterflies get a little stronger. His unbuttoned shirt and dangling bow tie make it difficult to focus for just a minute.
“I’m glad you’re American again,” he says earnestly.
“Me too,” she agrees. “Thanks for all your help.”
“Even if it is just because I wouldn’t get by without you?” he teases.
She lets out a half-groan, half-laugh as he drops his hand and she walks out of his office.
iv.
Toby is deep in conversation with the man they’ve met at the bar, but Josh finds himself distracted. He watches as Donna sits at the table, biting the cap of her pen as she continues working on the letters she was writing when she told Josh and Toby to give her some space.
The entire ordeal of being left behind by the motorcade and trying to find a way back home has been a comedy of errors; the only reason they managed to get this far was Donna. He’s come to realize through Donna’s entirely justified scolding that he’s been difficult to be around today, but despite the fact that he and Toby made the entire situation more difficult, she managed to get them through it.
She’s gone above and beyond for them today. He would turn around and get ready to tell her what to do next, only to find that she was already in the process of making it happen. He even stepped out of the hot shower in their hastily procured hotel room to find his clothes hanging on the back of the bathroom door. They were wrinkled, but they were dry and warm. He realizes now that Donna likely arranged for their clothes to be dried, without being asked to do so. He smiles at the thought of Donna cornering various hotel employees, offering a generous tip to anyone who could throw their soaked clothes in the dryer for a little while, whatever the care tag says be damned.
Donna’s smart; she’s incredibly capable, and if he’s ever let her think otherwise he’s an idiot.
Donna does this sort of thing a lot. She takes care of him, above and beyond the job description of assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff. She spent months helping him recover after the events at Rosslyn, which was a lot even for someone he considered his best friend. She’s always reminding him to get some sleep, to slow down, to eat, to do any number of things that he should be perfectly capable of doing on his own. It’s just nice to know she cares enough to make the effort.
Josh excuses himself from the conversation and approaches the table, watching for a moment as Donna continues to write. She’s got a little bit of ink on her pinky finger from dragging it across the paper, and she’s whispering to herself as she re-reads what she’s written. It’s incredibly endearing; his chest tightens just a little as he watches her work.
“Hi,” he finally says, gripping the back of the chair.
She looks up at him and smiles. “Hi.”
“Am I allowed to come back now?”
Donna nods and Josh takes a seat next to her. “You two listened,” she points out. “I heard a little of your conversation.”
“Yeah,” Josh agrees. “Thanks for… you know.”
“Knocking some sense into you?”
“Reminding us what matters,” he corrects, re-rolling his sleeve up to his elbow.
Donna starts to put her things in her purse. “You remember a few days after we met, and we went to that little diner in South Carolina? And we talked so long we lost track of time?”
Josh smiles at the memory of Donna, wearing her heart earrings, chattering about the necessity or validity of Valentine’s Day celebrations over breakfast at the small diner they found. “I do.”
“Do you remember when I asked you why you got into politics?” She closes her purse and places it on her lap.
“I remember you told me not to give a smarmy answer, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
She gathers their trash together and places it all in one central spot on the table. “You told me that you wanted to make a difference, to do something that mattered so that you had a hand in something that lived on when you were gone. I got into politics because I know what it’s like to be forgotten, underestimated, ignored. I want to help those people. President Bartlet wants to help those people. And you do, too. But sometimes you forget about those people when you look at the big picture.”
There’s a feeling of embarrassment brewing in the pit of his stomach. He hates disappointing anyone, but disappointing Donna is an entirely different kind of pain. She stops tidying the table to look at him, and she must be able to read the expression on his face because she quickly continues.
“You’re a good man, Josh,” she assures him. “You want what’s best for people. You care about people. But sometimes you underestimate the goodness and kindness of strangers, even if those strangers disagree with you on tax cuts or alternative energy sources.”
“Yeah.” He knows she’s right. She usually is, and this is no exception.
“Our flight leaves in 90 minutes,” Donna says. “You want to go get Toby and wrap up with the guy? I’ll settle the bill so we can head to the airport.”
“You know, Sam said something interesting to me when we talked earlier,” Josh says, standing up and pushing in his seat.
“Oh yeah?”
“He said that he was in the Oval Office with the President. The President asked about our status, and Sam updated him on what was happening. Then the President said ‘if Donna wasn’t there they’d have to buy a house’. So, don’t ever feel like anyone underestimates you,” he says. “The President of the United States trusts you with the lives of two of his senior advisors, and tells a third all about it.”
Donna looks at Josh, stunned. “He said that?”
Josh nods. “Yeah. He did.”
When the gravity of that sinks in for Donna, she beams. It’s that bright smile that he’s grown to love, the one that she gives when she’s genuinely happy. And it’s well-deserved, even if it was at his expense. The President wasn’t wrong; he knows he wouldn’t make it far without Donna. He’s begun to realize lately that the sentiment extends beyond the bounds of their professional relationship, too.
“Thanks for all your help today,” he says, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her toward the bar.
v.
Donna’s the last one in the bullpen that night. The news coverage has mostly wrapped since CJ called a full lid, but she’s been waiting for Josh to return to congratulate him on pulling this off. Granted, they still have to get through the confirmation process, but it’s impossible to have one without the other. Donna’s thrilled; Evelyn Baker Lang is a stellar nominee for the Supreme Court, even if it means Mulready came as part of the package deal.
Sometimes she wonders how his mind works. How the most innocent, offhand comment can send him running for a notepad and a pen, or scrambling for a meeting with Leo or the President. It’s one of her favorite things about him.
When he finally arrives, it’s close to one o’clock in the morning. He saunters into the bullpen with his hands in his pockets, grinning at her.
“Hi.” He takes a seat on the corner of her desk, careful not to knock over any files or papers.
She leans back in her chair and twists herself out of his way to give him some room. “Hi.”
“Got any more of those cookies?”
“I thought you said they were dry.”
“They were,” he agrees, “but I could really go for a cookie right now.”
She sighs and reaches behind her computer monitor for the tin. “I mean, it takes a few days for them to get here, Josh. My mom’s cookies aren’t that dry.”
“The ones you brought home that one Christmas weren’t dry. The ones with the almonds and powdered sugar.”
Donna pops open the lid of the cookie tin. “I also brought them in my carry-on luggage. I didn’t mail them.” She grabs a cookie out of the tin for herself, then extends the tin toward Josh for him to grab a cookie.
He takes a moment to survey the remaining cookies in the tin, finally grabbing one. “We got any champagne around here?”
“Probably not on short notice like this,” Donna says, placing the tin in her lap.
“Well, then,” Josh says. “I guess the cookies will have to do.”
Donna holds the cookie up in front of her. “To Evelyn Baker Lang.”
“And her really great shoes,” Josh agrees, gesturing toward Donna with the cookie in an attempted toast before taking a bite out of the cookie in his hand.
Donna breaks the chocolate kiss off the top of her cookie, popping it in her mouth as she watches Josh brush the crumbs from his cookie off of his pants. He motions toward the tin to indicate that he wants another cookie, and Donna holds it out for him. They sit together for a moment, quietly eating their cookies when Josh breaks the silence after reaching for a third cookie.
“You know you were a huge part of this, right?”
Donna shrugs. “Your brain makes connections where there aren’t any. I didn’t come up with the idea.”
“Donna,” Josh starts, “you’ve done this for me before, whether you meant to or not. Big Sky National Park should have a plaque with your name on it.”
“What did I have to do with Big Sky National Park?” She puts the lid on the newly empty cookie tin.
“You were telling me something about the computers. You used the word antiquated,” he explains. “Something clicked in my brain.”
He’s never told her this before. Granted, it was years ago at this point, and they’ve been a little busy running the country, but it’s really nice to know she helped Josh and helped the President by extension. There’s something incredibly gratifying about knowing the work she does matters. On the days when it feels like she’s just pushing papers around and ushering Josh from meeting to meeting, it reminds her that she is really making a difference. The days where she feels like she's contributing are few and far between lately, so this is a needed boost to her confidence. Not to mention the joy she feels at knowing that Josh listens to her, and sometimes manages to be inspired by her. She wants to do that all the time, every day, for the rest of her life. Outside of just politics, she wants to motivate him, to keep him going, to help him work through solutions to his problems.
“What?” Josh asks, noticing Donna’s lack of response to his declaration.
She can feel the heat rise in her cheeks, so she attempts to redirect the conversation. “So what you’re telling me is that you should listen to me more often,” Donna teases. “You’d get a lot more done.”
He shoves the remaining bit of his last cookie in his mouth, not bothering to chew before he answers. “Probably so,” he says, holding up his hand in front of his mouth so that he doesn’t spray crumbs at Donna when he speaks. He chews and swallows before motioning toward Donna’s coat. “Get your stuff together. I’ll drive you home.”
Donna shuts down her computer and grabs her things, following Josh to his office. She watches as Josh gathers everything he needs, shoving folders in his backpack like he won’t be back in a few short hours to look at whatever’s in them. She opens her mouth to point this out but thinks better of it, knowing that it likely wouldn’t do any good.
They step out into the chilly March air, walking toward Josh’s car. The wheels in his brain are clearly turning because he’s been silent since they left his office. He stops in his tracks, then turns toward her. “You know I listen to you a lot more than you realize,” he says. “A lot of times the things you say are… utterly nonsensical to me, frankly, but I listen. Why do you think I ask you about stuff instead of, I dunno, Ryan?”
She can’t help but laugh at him calling the things she says ‘nonsensical’, and at the idea of him willingly asking Ryan for anything, but it gives her a swell of pride knowing that he does in fact listen. “Well, I just assumed that was because I had seniority on him.”
“True. But you know what I meant. Replace his name with any of the other assistants…”
“I know,” she agrees, starting to walk away, increasing her volume as she moves. “Come on. Let’s get you home so you can look over those files you shoved in your backpack before you fall asleep on the couch and nearly miss your alarm.”
“Donna,” Josh whines, jogging to catch up with her.
“You and I both know that’s what will happen,” she teases.
“As a matter of fact, I plan on taking a shower and going straight to bed,” Josh says, his tone almost defiant.
Donna doesn’t argue.
vi.
When Will Bailey calls his deputy in, Josh doesn’t expect it to be Donna. It’s hard enough to run the Santos campaign knowing that he’s one of the few people in the world who sees Santos' potential, but to do it without Donna makes it even more difficult. He watches Donna enter the room, and it hurts to see her act as though she belongs there.
It’s not that she doesn’t belong on a campaign; she does, and she’s proven it over and over again. But she’s on the wrong campaign, and she knows it. He’s ready to pull her out into the hallway and tell her that, to tell her to ditch the Vice President and come join the Santos campaign, to tell her that he’s sorry for whatever it was that he did to make her feel… however it is that she was feeling to make the choice to leave him.
But instead, when she looks at him, all he can do is choke out one word. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
Will continues to talk, but Josh is only catching a few words here and there, hoping he can put the pieces together when it’s his turn to respond. She sounded sad. It’s impossible to pinpoint exactly why, but he assumes his presence has somehow made her feel this way. Watching her lock eyes with Will in an attempt to avoid getting a glimpse at him is devastating; he sees her unconsciously rubbing the sleeve of her sweater between her thumb and her forefinger as she listens to what Will’s proposing.
For a moment, he flashes back to a few Christmases ago, the two of them standing in the bullpen, him trying to assure her that he wasn’t keeping her at work on purpose. Her red and white sweater coupled with the bright smile on her face made it difficult for him to focus, his feelings for her becoming more difficult to ignore.
Josh manages to be present in his current meeting long enough to agree to bring a proposal to the congressman. The meeting ends almost as quickly as it begins, and Donna runs after him, pleading with him to not make this a thing. He assures her that it’s not, and he knows it’s not because nothing happened to make it a thing. She left him, and now she’s working for Bingo Bob; no ‘thing’ detected.
He does eventually manage to tell her that she’s on the wrong campaign, between rhyming barbs about the other’s campaign, and he insists that she should be with him. He’s not sure if she grasps the unintended but relevant subtext, because if she did, she certainly wouldn’t be going on about political support and salaries. When she walks away, the tension hangs in the air. It’s almost too much to handle, but the only thing he can do is power through.
The end of the day rolls around and the Congressman turns in, but Josh can’t sleep. It’s too early and he’s got a lot on his mind. He walks down the street and turns a corner, making his way to a pub a few blocks down on autopilot. It’s set up differently than he remembers, but it still feels familiar. Josh thought it would bring him comfort, immersing himself in the memories of the Bartlet days, but the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach intensifies when he remembers the time he and Donna closed down the place one night early in the first campaign.
Sometimes he swears that the two of them are inextricably linked and that the rest of his life will be an attempt to forget about her, to disentangle himself from her. It doesn’t help that the second he acknowledges how much he misses her, she walks through the door, pulling her jacket tightly around her as she waits at the other end of the bar. He’s not sure if she sees him out of the corner of her eye, but her gaze remains fixed on the register behind the bar, watching as the bartender floats back and forth between patrons at the bar and the customers in front of her waiting for their take out orders.
He takes a long sip of his drink, unable to stop staring at her as she pulls her cell phone out of her pocket and lifts it to her ear. She must not have seen Josh sitting there, because she turns her head just slightly, enough to make eye contact with him. She glances away from him as quickly as she met his gaze, hanging up the phone and taking a deep breath.
Josh tosses some bills on the counter and moves toward her. Everything in him is protesting, screaming that this is a bad idea, but he can’t help himself. He positions himself to her right, ensuring that she can hear him. “Look,” he starts, unsure of what exactly he plans on saying, “I know that you’re pissed at me…”
“Gee, Josh, how could you tell?”
There’s a certain amount of venom in her voice, but it’s shaky, unsteady. It makes him want to pull her in for a hug, to promise her that he’ll do whatever it takes to make this better. But he knows he can’t do that, so instead, he rubs the back of his neck and continues, still uncertain of his ultimate point. “You’re pissed at me, but you’re the one working for the wrong guy. You know it, and I know it. You’d think that you’d have learned from all my stories about Hoynes…”
“You have no idea what I have and haven’t learned,” Donna bites back, accepting two bags of take-out orders from the bartender. “That’s the problem, Josh. If you did, we wouldn’t be in this position.” She turns on her heel and walks out the door, leaving Josh frozen to his spot at the corner of the bar.
He swears he sees her wipe her eyes as she passes by the window on her way down the sidewalk.
vii.
It only takes three days after Josh tells her that he misses her before Donna’s mom gives her the talk.
It’s the same talk she’s gotten a few times in her life. The first time, she had slipped a note into her middle school crush’s locker asking if he liked her. She received it back with a big red x marked in the ‘no’ box, and she spent the weekend crying in bed. She got it again after her accident, as her mom helped to wrap an ace bandage around her ankle and insisted that she start to look into ways to get back to New Hampshire. It’s the ‘you’ve done enough moping, now channel it and make the next move’ talk. The ‘I hate seeing you like this, you deserve so much more’ talk. The ‘you’re missing out on a lot if you don’t take a chance’ talk.
This time, Donna’s watching Lilo and Stitch with her nephew for what is at least the thirteenth time in forty-eight hours. Her mom gently suggests that Donna find work with the Santos campaign; there’s no way Josh can be angry with her forever. He values loyalty over all else, she reasons, and Donna’s loyalty will be evident. She can make a difference, and if he can’t see that then he isn’t the man Donna thought he was. Donna’s always been an excellent judge of character, her mom explains, and there’s no way she’s wrong about Josh, despite her anger with him.
When Lou Thornton calls Donna personally and puts her on Midwest Press without so much as a glance at her resume, she has a renewed sense of purpose. It’s nice to be involved in a campaign that she believes in again. She knows that Josh was right; she should have been with the Santos campaign. She used to dream of being on the road with Josh before she quit; she imagined late-night dinners with papers spread all over the table of a hotel conference room, her gently tugging his arm and telling him to come to bed. They’d gather their things and head back to their hotel room, her trying to get him to let go of whatever the latest polling numbers were as she attempts to drift off to sleep next to him.
Instead, he wouldn’t sit down to lunch with her. So they’re being forced by Lou to talk in a hotel room, to put aside their differences and work together for the Congressman’s campaign.
“Hi.” It’s clear that he’s just as surprised to see her as she is to see him.
“Hi,” she responds, her tone a little more hesitant than she would have hoped.
They barely scratch the surface of their issues when Lou interrupts, urging them to respond to the news that has broken about the Vinick meeting. Donna can’t help but replay the words in her mind. Me, your mentor in professional politics. She notices how personally he’s taking this; if only he knew how difficult this decision was for her personally, maybe he’d feel a little better about it.
Then again, it was the mix of personal and professional that had gotten them here in the first place. They were never able to separate it well, as much as they tried. He was always poking fun at the guys she dated or interfering with her love life. She would sit and wait in mostly silent longing, hoping that one day he’d notice her devotion to him was the thing that prevented her from maintaining that purely professional relationship.
When they find themselves together on a hotel elevator, in the midst of yet another painful ride to their floors later on that evening, it’s Donna who breaks the silence.
“You know I appreciate everything you did for me, don’t you? It wasn’t a personal decision; I didn’t leave you. I left the White House.”
“Sure felt personal,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone to avoid looking her in the eye.
“I could have told you that if you’d have sat down…”
“Donna, I knew why you wanted to sit down with me,” Josh interrupts, keeping his voice surprisingly calm. “I probably could have given you more responsibility, but I’d have been screwing myself over. Why would I let the best damn thing that ever happened to me -- to the Bartlet campaign -- go?”
The elevator doors open in perfect time with the end of his speech. He moves to exit, but he stops and turns around, holding the door with his left hand and preventing it from closing. “I know you’re capable. I always did. I just hate that you gave your talents to that hack of a politician when I know your work is worth so much more than that.”
She wants to point out that if he’d taken the lunch with her, he could have told her this. That if he’d listened to her in the first place, he wouldn’t have lost her. That maybe they’d have argued, but they could have figured it out before it got this bad. But she can tell he feels backed into a corner, and she knows him well enough to know that if she presses, he’ll fight back in self-defense, volleying an angry response at her that he likely doesn’t mean and she certainly isn’t prepared for.
Instead, she takes a deep breath, finding her voice. “We’re on the same team now,” she starts. “Let’s start fresh. Let’s get our guy in the White House. We can figure the rest out.” She searches his face for some sort of understanding of what she’s saying, but it doesn’t seem to be landing, so she finds a more explicit way to communicate her feelings. “Josh, I don’t want to argue. We can’t exactly get things back to how they used to be, not in the middle of a Presidential campaign. But I… when you said you missed me, I... I missed you, too, and this has been hard for me, too. I want you back in my life. Do you want me back in yours?”
“Yes,” he agrees, looking down at his shoes as he shoves the door back for a second time.
She feels a weight lifted off her shoulders at his admission. She wasn’t sure what he’d say, but his lack of hesitation in his answer buoys her to finish her proposal. “Okay. Then we get the Congressman elected, and we’ll figure this out.”
He looks up at her and nods. “Okay.”
viii.
Josh slides into the car and throws his backpack toward the middle seat before it occurs to him that there may be someone sitting next to him. He turns to his left to see Donna, looking through the bag on her lap as he shuts the door.
When she looks up at him, he can feel his stomach knot. He knows what it’s like to kiss her now. The thought won’t leave his mind. It wasn’t like what he imagined, really, at least not the events leading up to their kiss. He’d always pictured some sort of accidental confession, a late night in his office or at the doorstep of his place, one of them cutting the other off with a kiss. Sometimes it was Josh, confessing his feelings for Donna as he paced back and forth, her grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward her before pressing her lips to his. Other times, it was Donna, realizing that she’d said too much, trying to walk it back but Josh reassuring her that she didn’t need to as he gently kissed her.
But kissing her was better than he ever could have imagined.
He wants to do it again, but they’re on the campaign trail and they’re three weeks out from the election. He knows campaign hookups are a thing, but he doesn’t want that. Not with Donna. He wants the real thing. He’s just not sure that she feels the same way.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi.” She’s nervously playing with something on her bag, which is on her lap.
The car pulls away, and neither of them says a word for the rest of the trip. He catches up with her later, attempts to apologize for the kiss, stumbling through an unrehearsed explanation. She doesn’t seem bothered. It was bound to happen sometime.
He’s not sure what it means, but it’s all he can think about. Maybe she’d had feelings for him after all, and she was referring to the idea of them kissing as an inevitability? But if that was the case, why hadn’t it happened sooner? Sure, he was her boss and she was his assistant, but both of them had enough respect for each other to the point where the dynamics wouldn’t be an issue. Besides, he could have found her a spot in communications, or anywhere else where she wouldn’t report directly to him. He’d have been fine with her leaving if he’d have been able to have her in his life as more than just his assistant.
But the way she said it felt almost like she was sweeping it under a rug; sort of like the accidental kiss in the midst of a moment of joy was something they’d been dancing around since the day they met. Did she want to let it go? Pretend like it never happened?
When she slips him her room key, he has his answer.
He hesitates for just a moment, trying to talk himself through the situation. If she’s offering her key, she’s thought it through. She’s made a mental 'pros and cons' list, looked at it from every angle she can think of, and decided that this is what she wants.
The problem is that he doesn’t know what this is.
Soon, he realizes he’s too late. His window has closed and he’s missed his opportunity. He goes to bed alone, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, imagining all the ways he could have done this differently before he eventually has to take a cold shower.
The hotel they’re staying at has a continental breakfast, so he manages to get himself ready and heads downstairs early the next morning. He finds himself at the breakfast station, trying to figure out the intricacies of the waffle maker when he feels a hand reach around him and spin it over before opening it.
He turns around to find Donna, holding a cup of waffle batter. She pours it in evenly, then motions toward Josh’s hand. “Close it,” she instructs.
Josh does as she says. “How ya doin’?” He grabs a plate and fills it with scrambled eggs while he waits for the waffle to cook.
“I’m fine. Sleep okay?”
He turns to look at her. She has a teasing grin on her face and she breaks out in a little giggle. “Donna,” he whines.
“For a minute I thought you’d rejected me,” she says, flipping over the waffle maker, “but somehow I don’t think that’s what happened.”
“It’s not,” he agrees, perhaps a little too quickly.
“Good to know,” she says, sliding behind him and grabbing a bagel and a package of strawberry cream cheese. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
Next time. If there’s going to be a ‘next time’, this is either going to be an incredibly satisfying campaign hookup… or something entirely different. He’s still not sure which one it is, as she hasn’t given him any indication one way or another, but the fact that there’s the possibility of a ‘next time’ is promising. His brain short circuits at the thought as he watches her debate between breakfast items, a small smile still on her face. It’s almost like she knows that she’s gotten under his skin, almost like she can feel him staring at her, because he watches her flush a deep shade of pink as she works.
The waffle maker beeps and Josh removes his waffle, drenching it in syrup as he watches Donna grab a banana and a bowl of cereal to go along with her bagel.
“Your eggs,” Donna points out, motioning toward Josh’s plate.
There’s a small pool of maple syrup collecting at the edge of his eggs. Josh stops pouring and places the syrup back in its spot, scraping the eggs away from the waffle in an attempt to avoid the excess syrup from spreading.
“I’ll see you later,” she says, collecting the last of her items and leaving the breakfast area.
“Bye,” Josh manages to call out, trying not to get caught staring as she walks away.
ix.
Donna’s internal clock wakes her early; they don’t have to be out the door until eight, but she’s sure it can’t be past six. The late nights and the early mornings have become such a habit that even when she doesn’t have to, she finds herself tossing and turning, anticipating her alarm.
Josh has managed to stay in bed this long, which is shocking to her. Then again, it’s shocking to Donna that they’re here — together, in the same bed, in their shared apartment — in the first place. When she told Josh they had four weeks to figure out what they had going on, she never anticipated this sort of domesticity, this level of contentment, this commitment from him. But just like they’d agreed on an elevator in the middle of nowhere, they figured it out.
They got the arguing out of the way early on in their trip. Josh reasoned that it was better to rip the metaphorical band-aid off rather than have a knock-down-drag-out argument looming over their heads. They spent the better part of a day getting things off their chest, apologizing and correcting misconceptions, and each promising to do better going forward.
They were refreshingly honest with each other for the remainder of the trip. Josh was surprisingly candid about his feelings for her, open about how he wasn’t just looking to keep a campaign fling going, earnest about his hopes for the future. She responded in kind, confessing that she’d felt the same way for years and she was thrilled to hear he wanted the same things she did.
The transition has been difficult; they’ve been ships passing in the night on more occasions than she cares to admit. But they never go to bed without an ‘I love you’ text or phone call, and that’s enough for her. It’s what’s going to keep her going during the first hundred days and beyond.
Josh stirs next to her as she thinks about what’s on the agenda for today, the first day of the Santos administration. She’s excited to get started, but she knows that Josh is probably trying to stave off feelings of inadequacy and guilt, of grief, of sadness. Donna reaches over and gently rubs his back, hoping that he’s awake enough that she doesn’t startle him. He turns over, moving his hand to rest on her hip as he looks at her.
For a moment, they just stare at each other, almost as though they’re both letting the reality of the new administration and this new step in their lives sink in. She likes this quiet, subtle game they play, perfectly content to wait for the other to speak their mind first as they enjoy each other’s company.
“Hi,” he finally says. It’s clear that he’s been awake for longer than she thought because his voice isn’t low and gravelly like it is when she wakes him out of a deep sleep.
“Hi.”
He pulls her close and kisses her softly, moving his hand from her hip to her back and lightly raking his nails up and down as she shivers slightly at his touch. “You like that,” he says, pointing out the obvious as she giggles.
“We don’t have time for that this morning,” she protests weakly.
“Then we should make time,” he insists, grinning. “What can we cut from the schedule?”
“Josh,” she says, pressing her hand to his chest. “I’m serious.”
“Oh, so am I,” he teases.
She reaches for the hand at her back and laces his fingers in hers, leaving their hands to rest in the small space between them on the mattress. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”
“Hard not to be when I wake up like this every morning,” he says, completely earnestly. “Seriously, I feel better than I have in years.”
“Could be the fact that you’re not subsisting solely on Red Bull and snacks from the vending machine,” Donna points out, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles.
“Yeah. That too,” he relents. “But I think this is a pretty big part of it.” He brushes a hair out of her face with his free hand, leaving his arm to rest across their pillows.
“You did a good thing,” Donna continues. “You did the most amazing, spectacular, mind-blowing thing, and now you get to see it through.”
“Donnatella, if you think getting Matt Santos elected is the most amazing, spectacular, mind-blowing thing, then you better get ready for what’s next. Because I intend to do even more wondrous, extraordinary, incomprehensibly wonderful things with you for the rest of our lives,” he says, dropping her hand and pulling himself out of bed.
She watches him move around the bedroom, gathering his clothes as he lets the words he just said linger in the air without further explanation. He turns on the lamp on the bedside table before disappearing into their closet and emerging with two ties. “Which one?” he asks.
Donna’s pretty sure that Josh just declared that he’s going to spend the rest of his life with her, and he’s not even acknowledged it, just moved on to ask her to choose between two ties. She sits up, extending her hand toward him.
“Josh.”
“I’m wearing a white shirt, so I don’t think it matters too much, but… which one do you like better?”
“Josh, was that a proposal?”
He laughs. “Did you want it to be?”
“No. Well… yes, I did. Eventually, that is, not right this second. Unless you wanted to. But… I…”
“Donna, it was simply a declaration of something I thought you already knew. This isn’t news, I told you in Hawaii where I stood. You’re it for me.” He takes a seat next to her on the bed and pulls her close, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder.
She did already know this, on some level, but he’d never said those words, in that order. The rest of their lives.
“You’re it for me, too.”
“I know,” he says before pressing a kiss to her hair. “You told me in Hawaii.”
“Josh,” she laughs. “Let me have my moment.”
“Okay.”
x.
“Josh, you have to relax,” Sam says.
Josh rubs the back of his neck and turns to look at Sam, who is standing near the door waiting for word that it’s okay to take their places. The wedding is due to start in about twenty minutes, but Josh has been ready to go for hours. “I’m relaxed,” Josh protests.
“If this is what you think relaxed is, I’m suddenly extremely concerned about what nervous looks like.”
Josh laughs. “I’m not nervous.”
“Well, you’re certainly not relaxed,” Sam points out.
“I’m not nervous, I’m ecstatic. I’m elated, I’m euphoric… there are a lot of ‘e’ words for excited, aren’t there?”
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re rambling.”
“Sorry. I’m just… I’m ready. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, and… I don’t want to spend another second waiting. I get to marry Donna, Sam. I get to marry her today.”
Sam puts a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Yeah. You do.”
The wedding coordinator comes to retrieve Josh and Sam and they take their places so the ceremony can begin. Josh watches as the rest of the wedding party walks down the aisle, anxious to catch a glimpse of Donna. Josh remembers his dad telling him the story of when he saw Josh’s mom for the first time on their wedding day. He always thought Noah was exaggerating, hyperbolically trying to convey the very real love he had for Rachel when he said that seeing her took his breath away. He’d tell it in such a dramatic fashion, usually for the benefit of a nearly swooning Joanie, that Josh thought his dad was overstating it.
When Donna finally rounds the corner, arm in arm with her dad, Josh feels like he can’t breathe, and he’s never been so happy to be wrong in his life.
“You okay, buddy?” Sam asks, sensing that Josh is having a hard time keeping it together.
“Never better,” Josh responds quietly, trying to hold back the tears that are starting to prick at his eyes.
Donna’s dad takes his seat and Josh takes Donna’s hands in his. He has so much he wants to tell her, but he remembers that he’s written it all down in the form of their wedding vows, sitting in the pocket of his jacket. He’ll get to tell her later.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
It's all he can say at the moment - they've always been able to say so much with just one word, and this moment is no different. She drops one of his hands and reaches up to brush a tear away from his cheek, grinning at him. Her long hair is curled, cascading down her shoulders. He can see some flowers pinned in the back of her hair, presumably holding her veil in place. Josh smiles when he sees the high neckline of her dress. She’d explained the pitfalls of having alabaster skin and being the center of attention - something about looking blotchy. He’d promised her that it didn’t matter to him, but it mattered to her, so he assured her that he would love whatever she wore, so long as she married him in it. But the dress is more beautiful than he ever could have imagined - she’s more beautiful than he ever could have imagined.
The moment is so intimate but so terrifying at the same time. He’s not afraid of marrying her; in fact, that’s sure to be the easiest part of the day’s events. But there’s something intimidating about standing in front of everyone, trying to hold it together in front of the most important people in their lives as they make this commitment to each other.
Not to mention the fact that there are two Presidents who have already told him that if he screws this up, he’ll be hearing from them, and one of them currently has access to the nuclear launch codes.
“Are we interrupting something?” President Bartlet finally teases, which elicits a laugh from the guests as well as the wedding party. “I think a few of us wanted to ask you that years ago, probably on more than one occasion. But being that I am both the former President of the United States and the officiant of this long-awaited affair, I have the privilege of being the one who finally has the opportunity to do so.”
In the end, he doesn’t even take the vows out of his jacket pocket. They’re not nearly as eloquent or as polished as it was when he put the finishing touches on them with Sam the week before, but they’re from his heart. Donna opts to speak from the heart as well, forgoing the copy of her vows that CJ has ready for her. They exchange rings, President Bartlet declares them husband and wife, and Josh kisses her, trying to ensure that she knows how loved she is, how happy he is, how this was a long time coming.
They don’t get a moment alone until Abbey Bartlet distracts both the photographer and the wedding coordinator, ushering them toward the farmhouse and giving Josh a wink on the way by. He mouths a thank you as she leaves, taking Donna by the hand and leading her away from the rest of the guests.
“Finally,” Josh says dramatically.
Donna laughs. “Imagine if we were in D.C., with our original guest list. You’d be brokering deals on the education plan and I’d be pretending to listen to some dignitary’s wife go on and on about her wedding day. We would have seen each other even less today.”
“Who’s to say it wouldn’t be reversed? Maybe you’re the one brokering the deals.”
“There’s no way you’re the one listening to the foreign dignitary’s wife,” Donna points out.
Josh takes her hand. “You've got a point. But, regardless. This is better.”
“We still have the D.C. reception,” Donna points out.
“I’m beginning to think that’s just an excuse for you to get me in a tux and get a bunch of presents out of the arrangement.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“No.”
Donna wraps her arms around Josh’s neck. “It’s sort of nice to do it here, where it all started for us.”
“That would technically be Houston, wouldn’t it?”
“Josh, I walked into your office ten miles up the road. That’s where it all started.”
He remembers the feeling he got when he handed her his badge. It was the same feeling that he ignored or explained away for too long, that prevented them from getting here sooner. It’s the same feeling that he has right now, the one he wants to feel every day for the rest of his life. He puts his hands on her hips and pulls her closer.
“Yeah. It is.”