1.
I have an unusual situation. It’s not an unpleasant one, but it’s definitely one that’s giving me
quite a bit of pause.
Something strange happened to me one night a few weeks ago. Of course, given my job and
who I work for, strange stuff happens to me all the time. But this isn’t a strangeness that the
President created. This is a strangeness that my assistant created.
If I talked to maybe Sam about it, he’d say that is nothing to get worried about because Donna
does strange things. She got arrested once for sticking her hand in a mailbox while trying to
retrieve a letter she wrote to Ilie Nastase. She left a pair of underwear at an art exhibit. Believe
me when I tell you, I could go on here.
So Donna doing strange things is not unusual.
What’s strange is my reaction to…
Okay. Let me just tell you what happened.
Donna was dating this Navy Commander for a while. He switched votes with her on Election Day
(because she accidentally voted for Richie. See what I mean by I could go on?) and in doing so,
cast some sort of spell over her. He was dashing, he was charming, the whole thing made me
want to puke…along with my raging jealousy over it.
So what ends up happening is, not surprisingly, Commander Wonderful ends up not being so
wonderful. He shoots his mouth off to a reporter, because he ‘didn’t think he was on the record,’
like we’ve never heard THAT one before, and Donna because she’s Donna ends up taking the
fall for him.
She did that because of me. She knew I’d get pissed at her, but she also knew I wouldn’t fire her.
And she probably even knew that Leo wouldn’t fire her because if Leo fired her, Operations
would fall apart because I’ve proven myself an idiot when she’s not around. Donna runs
Operations.
So, Donna takes the fall and doesn’t get fired. Commander Wonderful, however, gets shipped off
to Italy and the love affair ends. The spell is quickly broken.
But everything is not well. There’s still the matter of me and Donna. She didn’t come to the
Inauguration ceremony and she didn’t want to come to the balls despite my telling her that it was
okay and she belonged there. See how wonderful I can be? I was pissed as hell, but knew that
the night wouldn’t be the same without her, so I tried my best to get her to come anyway, and this
was before I knew that she wasn’t the one who gave the quote.
So, once I did find out that it was Jack all along, I gathered a small posse and went to get Donna.
Of course, I could have just called her to open the door when I discovered the buzzer wasn’t
working, but I wanted her to know I was sorry for being such a jerk and I really wanted her to
come back to the balls with me. So I did what any guy would do in that situation and threw
snowballs at her window and then ordered her to come down.
That is not the strange reaction I’m referring to…believe it or not.
It was the cab ride that followed.
It’s never been, like, completely lost on me that my assistant is a beautiful woman. Guys ask her
out all the time. It’s generally understood around the building and the City for that matter, that I’
ve got the hot assistant.
But unlike those Gomers, I know that there’s more to her than her incredible looks and her filing
skills. I know that after I have blown off an issue, Donna will discover the human interest angle
and inevitably use it to turn me around. I depend on her for that kind of stuff.
I know that she had five majors and two minors in two years of college because she gets easily
excited by a topic and throws herself into it whole-heartedly. It may seem flaky to some, but it’s
that particular trait of hers that’s invaluable to me when we’re deciding who to put on a stamp. I
could care less who we put on a stamp. What’s wrong with the American Flag stamp? I pass that
thing off to Donna, who freaks out over it, and it’s a done deal.
Which is why when she was sitting on my lap in the cab from her apartment, wearing my coat and
looking adorable, I was perplexed when my hand which was originally resting on her hip on the
outside of the coat, slipped inside the coat, completely on it’s own volition, to rest on her hip. I
was even more surprised when my thumb, likewise totally on its own, started grazing back and
forth like it’s never felt satin before.
Between her hair and perfume and the fact that she was wearing an article of clothing of mine, I
actually had to refrain from brushing her hair back and kissing her neck.
Wanting to kiss Donna is not a new feeling for me. Like I said, it’s not lost on me how beautiful
she is. Plus, I’m a male with a pulse. But it’s never felt like an overwhelming need before. She
trusted me to figure out that quote thing and fix it all. Donna has unconditional trust in me. Even
my mother doesn’t have that. My mother will tell you that she knows I can screw things up. Donna
believes I can fix anything, and when it comes to her, I have.
But so the odd situation I have right now is that I know for certain now that the feelings I have for
my assistant go way beyond professional and leaps and bounds past friendship. And despite the
recent ensorcellment with Commander Wonderful, I know she feels relatively the same way. First
of all, she clung to me the entire rest of Inauguration Night. Holding my hand, resting her head on
my shoulder as we danced, not dancing with anyone else, and she always dances with Charlie.
Secondly, her all around bad mood since Amy started working for Abbey is another glaring
giveaway. Amy and Donna have never really had a direct problem with each other, but Donna
didn’t like the way things ended between Amy and I and so Donna barely tolerates her
personally…or professionally for that matter.
And so now I have Donna telling me that she prayed for me the night I was shot. What do you
say to that? Donna’s not overly religious, so when she does pray, she prays for me? I bet she
didn’t pray for Commander Wonderful not to be sent to Italy.
I’ve never really bothered to find out whether or not I’m actually allowed to date Donna. I honestly
just assumed I couldn’t, but lately I’m wondering if I should actually find out if I can. I mean, given
the Vicki Hilton situation a few weeks ago, I don’t THINK I can, but I think if I can get the President
on board, I might be able to.
“Josh.” Leo enters my office with Ron Butterfield and Ron closes the door.
I sigh deeply.
Not again.
Ever since the shooting, I’ve gotten five of these visits. They’re here to tell me about another
possibly credible death threat or some hate mail I’ve gotten. If Donna had any idea that these
took place, she’d freak. But Leo knows that and so they usually wait until she leaves at night.
That way, it’s all fresh in my head when I go to bed at night and it usually spawns a nightmare.
“Who is it this time?” I ask sarcastically.
“Josh.” Leo says again and with a little more warning to his voice.
“Sorry.” I reply out of habit.
“It’s for Ms. Moss.” Ron says.
I’m sorry. What?
“Donna?” I ask. “That’s impossible.” I immediately write off what they said. No way is there a soul
on this planet that wants to hurt my Donna. It’s a mathematical impossibility.
“No. This one is for Donna.” Ron repeats.
“What’s it say?” I ask tonelessly as my stomach falls to my feet. Donna? They’ve got something
wrong here.
“It doesn’t really matter…” Leo begins.
“It matters to me.” I snap back. “And it’s certainly going to matter to her. What’s it say?”
Ron opens a folder he’s holder and reads it off. “I’m collecting all the guns you’ve banned and
there’s a bullet in each one with your name on it.” He closes the file and looks back at me.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” I shake my head. “Donna’s got nothing to do with policy. She’s
had nothing to do with any crime legislation. Why would anyone…Donna’s not even visible to
anyone.”
“That doesn’t really matter, Josh.” Ron says. “Donna influences you and you influence the
President. This is likely someone that knows the administration well.”
Well, that doesn’t instill a warm fuzzy feeling.
“What makes it credible?” I ask softly.
“What do you mean?” Leo asks. I think he’s stalling. I think it must be bad.
“What else is there that makes it actually credible instead of one of the thousands of pieces of
hate mail that comes to this building on a daily basis?” I demand angrily. This can’t be
happening. Donna? Who’d want to hurt Donna? She’s the nicest person on the planet.
Ron opens the file again and hands me a pile of pictures. I gulp against the bile in my throat.
They are, of course, pictures of Donna. One of her outside the White House at the hot dog
vendor that she and Sam love so much; one of her leaving her apartment building; one is of her
getting out of the motorcade with me.
But the last one is the one that actually makes me sit down.
It’s one of her sleeping in her bedroom some night. This fucking psychopath was actually either
in her room or at her window. And she’s sleeping peacefully, having no clue that pure evil is
about eight feet away from her.
“Where is she right now?” I croak.
“Home.” Ron says.
“You know that for a fact? You know that right now she’s okay?” I demand.
“Yes, Josh.” Leo assures me. “She’s been followed home by two FBI agents, but given her
proximity to the President, Ron wants to set up a secret service detail.”
Something Donna said to me the other day comes drifting back to me. ‘If anything ever
happened to me, chances are it’s going to be when I’m standing next to you and I’m going to be
an also dead.’ Then she went on to joke that they’d probably get her name wrong.
I blew her off at the time. I thought she was being dramatic. But the truth is, I got shot because I
was standing too close to the President one night. Why wouldn’t something like that also happen
to her?
“Does she know about this?” I ask.
“Not yet.” Ron says. “We need her authorization for the secret service detail.”
“And you know how Donna is.” Leo says knowingly to me.
I do. Donna would never want this. She wouldn’t want to be a bother to anyone. She’d be
mortified this level of attention is being given to her.
But that’s just too damn bad.
I pounce on my coat and grab my keys. “Give me the folder.” I say to Ron holding out my hand. “I’
ll have it signed for you in the morning.” Ron hands it over and I drop the pictures in.
“What are you doing?” Leo asks.
“I’m going to her apartment and I’m going to make her sign it.” I say. “She’ll listen to me. I mean,
isn’t that why you came to me to begin with?” They’re silent. I figured.
I literally run out of the White House, thanking God along my way that I drove today and didn’t
walk or take the Metro. The ride to her place is quick and since I don’t get accosted by two FBI
agents as I storm her building, I’m assuming they were told I’d be stopping by. I use my key to get
into the building and then take the steps to her floor two at a time.
I pound on her door and bellow her name. I think it’s after midnight, but I don’t care. And it’s not
like I haven’t been loud outside her apartment at some Un-godly hour before. I’m surprised I’ve
never made the paper for it actually.
I’m just about to impatiently use my key when she opens the door and I abruptly push by her.
“What’s the matter?” she yawns in greeting. What kills me now, I mean what actually gets me
right in the fucking heart is that she’s smiling drowsily at me now. She probably assumes I’m
drunk and isn’t awake enough yet to get pissed about it.
I move around her apartment with purpose and close all her curtains. Before closing the ones in
her bedroom, I look out onto the fire escape.
“Josh?” she asks curiously. “What’s going on?”
“Have you gotten any phone calls tonight?” I demand.
“Just my mom.” She says. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing else? The phone hasn’t rung at all? Not calls where you answered and no one was
there or anything like that?”
“No.” she says frowning. “Josh, what’s going on? What’s that?” She points to the file in my hand.
I look at her and the adrenaline and the fear running through me now gives me the feeling that I’
m going to explode. How could somebody look at her and want to hurt her? What am I going to
do if they succeed?
Everything that was confusing me earlier in the night is crystal clear now. Suddenly, all my
priorities completely shifted. If I have to forge her name, she’ll have secret service protection.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
2.
I'm having one of the most amazing dreams of my life, a dream by which all future dreams will be
measured, when the pounding and yelling starts. Instantly, I'm pulled out of the dream and
dumped unceremoniously back into my own bed. I open my eyes and can't help but suppress a
little groan.
Josh...my sleepy brain reports needlessly. Of course, it's Josh. Who else would be pounding on
my door at midnight?
How does he do that? One minute he's the subject of my dream and the next he's here in the
flesh. I give myself a moment to play with the idea that he's here to do to me what I was just
dreaming he was doing to me. I've been having increasingly vivid variations of that dream ever
since the night of the second inauguration. I'm sure that stems from the fact that it was that night
I began to suspect that Josh might have feelings for me that go beyond friendship or boss-
assistant. Not that we’ve talked about it, of course, but I know what I know.
When the pounding continues, I let out a little sigh. Unfortunately, deep down I acknowledge that
the real reason he's here after midnight is that he's either drunk or he has some desperate and
twisted need to talk to me about a new issue or project.
Before the neighbors call the cops, I throw back the covers, push myself out of bed and try not to
trip on anything on my way to the door. I wish he wouldn't pound on the door and make so much
noise this late at night. It really isn't necessary since he's got a key, but somewhere along the
line, I decided he just prefers the pounding. I think it's just something that comes naturally to
him....kind of like Tarzan beating his on his chest.
Hmmmm, Tarzan...Josh in a leather loin cloth. Now there's an image that was missing from my
dream. Of course, I got to see and touch and do all sorts of things with naked Josh in my dream
so all in all, I'd say I still came out ahead.
I can't help but smirk at that.
Somehow managing to get to the door before Josh breaks it down, I no sooner have it open than
he rushes into my apartment with his usual aplomb. He's not staggering or trailing the scent of
alcohol so I'm guessing he's not drunk. Actually, he looks pretty adorable. His clothes are all
rumpled and his hair is sticking up in about eighteen directions which is the way I like it best. It
always makes me think of how it would look if I'd been running my hands through it.
"What's the matter?" I ask with a yawn.
Rather than answering, he gives me the strangest look and starts moving around my apartment
and closing all the curtains. Slowly, bafflement begins to chip away at the sleep induced fog my
brain is wrapped in.
"Josh? What's going on?"
The weird look is back on his face as he stares at me across the living room. I want to hope that
this is the part where he reenacts the part of my dream where he throws me down on the couch
and does illicit things to my body. But from the look on his face, that's the last thing on his mind.
“Have you gotten any phone calls tonight?” he demands.
Well, that came out of left field.
“Just my mom." Vaguely, I feel myself begin to frown. "What’s the matter?”
His answer is to continue throwing off the wall questions at me. “Nothing else? The phone hasn’t
rung at all? No calls where you answered and no one was there or anything like that?”
For the first time, I notice the file folder in his hand. It doesn't look very thick and I hope that
whatever's in it isn't important because he's gripping it so hard it's going to have permanent
crimps in it.
“No. Josh, what’s going on? What’s that?” I ask pointing at the folder in question.
He looks down at the folder as if he’d forgotten he was holding it and then he fixes me with that
weird look again. It’s the same angry-spoiling-for-a-fight look he gets when he’s about to crush
an especially troublesome member of Congress.
Usually I find that look kind of hot, but now that it’s fixed on me...not so much. In fact, it’s starting
to freak me out.
“What?!” I finally exclaim.
Walking over to my minuscule dining table, he opens the folder, takes out a single sheet of paper
and lays it on the table.
“Sign this,” he commands pushing the paper across the table toward me.
Not, ‘please sign this’ or ‘will you sign this,’ just ‘sign this’. He should know by now that I don’t
usually react well when he talks to me like that. My pleasant dream now forgotten, I stalk over to
the table and snatch up the paper.
“What are you doing?” he demands.
“I’m reading it,” I snap in annoyance.
“You don’t need to read it. Just sign it.”
This time I don’t bother to answer him because I’m too busy trying to get my sleep starved brain
to process what it says.
Once I do, it’s my turn to be demanding. “What the hell is this, Josh?”
“You don’t need to worry about it; you just need to sign it.”
“Josh, it says I agree to Secret Service protection. How is that not something I need to worry
about?” I throw back at him.
“Because once you sign it there won’t be anything to worry about.”
Okay, I think Josh has officially gone around the bend. I mean I know he can be a little overly
protective of me sometimes, but this is a whole new level of crazy.
I put the paper down. “Of course, I’m not going to sign it. I don’t need the Secret Service trailing
around after me. The whole idea is ridiculous.”
Just to confuse me even more, he swallows hard and behind the angry-ready-for-fight-look in his
eyes, I now see a hint of fear and it makes my stomach jitter.
“Please, Donna, I need you to sign it.”
Now his voice is soft and almost pleading, rather than demanding. Under almost any
circumstance, that voice would get me to do whatever he asked, including following him into hell.
But even that voice won't get me to agree to Secret Service protection.
"What's this about, Josh?" I ask him quietly.
My words seem to cut through him and the fight goes out of his eyes. With a resigned sigh, he
reaches into the folder and pulls something out.
"It's about these."
He hands me what turns out to be two photographs. One is me at a hot dog vendor outside the
White House and the other is of me and Josh getting out of a motorcade. The second one is
actually a nice picture. Josh is holding the door for me and he has a guiding hand on my arm to
help steady me as I get out. I wonder if he'd let me keep it.
Still confused, I look up at him. "So what? They're just press pool pictures."
"No, Donna. They're not."
I glance down at them again. "Sure they are. The press pool is always taking shots of the
motorcade."
"What about the hot dog vendor?"
"Josh, it's no big secret that I go out to that hot dog vendor to get lunch for me and Sam at least
once a week. In fact, it's unusual if I don't see a reporter in line with me when I'm there. I'm sure
some enterprising photographer was just taking test shots or something."
"You're just not going to let me do this the easy way, are you?" he mutters.
I'm still baffled. "Do what?"
He opens the folder, pulls out another photo, and I begin to wonder what else he's got in there.
"What do you think of this one?" he asks.
Taking the picture from him, I see that objectively it's also a nice picture. The only problem is I
have to admit, this one does worry me a little. It's a photo of me leaving my apartment. Why
would someone be taking pictures of me anywhere near my apartment?
The first thing that comes to mind is that someone is trying to stir up something on me to try and
embarrass Josh or the president. It reminds me of when that sleazebag photographer staked out
the call girl Sam was friends with and took a picture of Sam hugging her. While they were just
friends at the time, the picture looked pretty damning the way they presented it. Of course, I have
no earthly clue what they might be hoping to get on me.
"It doesn't make any sense." I mumble as I look up at him. "Why would the press be taking
pictures of me leaving my apartment?"
For a moment, I catch a flash of something in Josh's eyes. "It's not the press, Donna."
"Then who?" I ask him. "Where did all these pictures come from?"
"That's the problem, we don't know." He says quietly. "They were in an envelope sent to you at
the White House, but there was no return address and the packaging was a little suspicious, so
following procedure, the mail room passed the envelope to the Secret Service."
"Okay." I say a little lamely. "I admit that these pictures are a little freaky, but I still don't see why it
warrants Secret Service protection. These pictures aren't threatening."
Silently, apparently reluctantly, he reaches into the folder again and with all that he's been
pulling out of it, I'm starting to think it might be the office equivalent of a clown car when all the
clowns keep pouring out.
He hands me another photo. "No, but this one is."
For a few seconds, my brain can literally not absorb what my eyes are seeing. When it does, little
black spots begin to dance in my vision. It's me sleeping in my apartment. Distantly, I hear Josh
swear and the next thing I know, his arm is around my waist, he's easing me down on the couch
and pushing my head between my knees.
"Just breathe, Donna."
Breathe...right. I try to do what he asks but I'm finding it surprisingly hard. My head feels like it's
floating about a foot above the rest of me, but at least the black spots have stopped. That is until
I lift my head a little and my eyes catch sight of the picture lying on the floor a few feet away from
me where I must have dropped it.
Despite the resurgence of the black spots, I make myself look at it. The force of will it takes for
me to do that helps to clear my vision again. I also realize that Josh is sitting next to me, rubbing
my back comfortingly.
Slowly, I sit up. "It was taken recently." I tell him absently.
My words seem to take him by surprise. "What?"
"The bedspread in the picture is new. I only bought it a month ago." I tell him in a voice that
sounds weird even to my own ears. "The picture was taken since then."
"Okay, I'll tell Ron."
Now that I've made myself look at it, I can't seem to look away. "Why would anyone do this, Josh?"
"I don't know."
"Why me?"
"I don't know." He repeats.
"I mean, I'm nobody."
"Don't say that, don't ever say that." He says giving me a little shake. "Donna, look at me."
The tone in his voice seems to snap me out of my trance and my head jerks around to him.
"You're not nobody. You're an invaluable person with an important job and because of it, you
can cross paths with crazy people who might do something like this. That's why you need
protecting."
"Was there anything else in the package? A message or and explanation or...something?" I ask
before I even have a chance to process the possible answer and whether or not I want to know.
For a moment, I'm not sure if he's going to tell me or not.
"Yeah, that was the other reason the Secret Service considers it a threat. It said..."
"No!" I tell him throwing up my hand. Suddenly, even the thought of any more details are too
much for me. "I don't want to know."
He seems to understand and just nods. "Please, I have it in my power to protect you. Let me do
this for you."
His eyes are all but pleading with me as I stare at him. Slowly, I nod. "Give me the paper. I'll sign
it."
He jumps up off the couch and brings me the paper and a pen. Laying it on the coffee table, I
sign it and hand it back to him.
"Good," he says with a nod as he gets out his cell phone and makes a call.
I don't pay attention to who he calls or what they say. I'm too busy staring at my apartment and
seeing it in a whole new light. Every shadow now appears somehow sinister and I wrap my arms
around myself.
"Josh..." I say quietly, but being on the phone he doesn't hear me.
Although he's picked up the picture I dropped, the memory of it is etched into my brain. Whoever
took that picture has been in my apartment or at the very least on the fire escape outside my
bedroom.
That's too close for comfort or anything resembling peace of mind.
"Josh..." I repeat more loudly.
This time he looks up at me and he must see the rising level of panic on my face because he
mutters into the phone that he has to go and snaps the phone closed.
"What's wrong?"
"I can't stay here." I tell him. "Not while he's out there."
"I know, pack a bag. You can stay with me tonight."
I'm sure in the morning I'll be telling myself that staying with him is asking for trouble from CJ and
Leo and a number of other people, but right now all I can think of is how the idea of staying with
him makes me feel safe.
As if someone has stuck me with a pin, I jump off the couch and go into my bedroom to start
packing. While he's not saying anything and I'm trying to focus on what I'm throwing into the small
suitcase, I know Josh is standing in the doorway watching over me, protecting me in the only way
he can until the Secret Service can take over. And if my mind wasn't going in eighteen different
directions, I'd be hugging him right now.
I pack like Charles Manson, the Son of Sam and the devil himself are all on their way to my
apartment. Since it doesn't even occur to me to take the time to change out of my cotton pajama
pants and t-shirt before we leave, I'm belatedly thankful when Josh has the foresight to bundle
me into my trench coat before we go downstairs and get in his car.
My brain must be shutting down from the overload of the evening because I can't think of a single
thing to say during the drive to his apartment. Josh must be feeling the same way because he's
just as silent. To make matters worse, when we finally park in front of his building and get out of
the car, I see something that has my heart leaping into my throat.
"Josh." I whisper frantically as he's getting my bag out of the trunk.
"What?"
My heart is pounding so hard, it's hard for me to speak. "That car just parking across the street
and the two guys in it, they were just parked in front of my apartment. I think they followed us."
Josh's head snaps around to see what I'm looking at. When he does, I see him suddenly relax.
"They did follow us, but it's okay." He tries to reassure me. "Ron sent them, they're FBI."
I blink in surprise, I hadn't been expecting that. "The FBI? How long have they been following
me?"
"Just since tonight when you left the White House." He says as he takes my arm to guide me
inside his building. "Legally, Ron couldn't start a detail for you until you'd signed the papers. But
since the FBI follows people all the time they didn't have that problem. Ron pulled in some favors
to have two agents tail you."
I'm finally starting to feel some anger of my own and punch him in the arm. "They followed me
home from work? You knew all about this before I left work and didn't tell me?!"
"Ow! No! I just found out right before I came to see you."
Instantly, I feel badly for blowing up at him. He's done so much for me tonight and at the first
opportunity I get angry with him.
"Oh, sorry."
Except for rubbing his bicep, he seems largely unfazed by my outburst. "It's all right, God, you hit
hard," he says as he unlocks his apartment and we walk inside. Dropping my bag by the door, he
pulls his coat off and turns on the lights. "Um, you're probably tired. Just let me change the
sheets and you can have the bed."
"No, Josh, I'm not going to kick you out of your bed. Just give me a blanket and a pillow. The
couch will be fine for me."
The summer after Rosslyn, I got pretty familiar with his couch and it's actually pretty comfortable.
"No, really, I think you should..."
I don't let him finish. "Please, Josh, I'm too tired to argue about it. Besides, I already feel bad
enough about everyone going to so much trouble just for me. Taking your bed and making you
sleep on the couch will only make it worse."
"Okay." He relents but he's frowning at me. "It's not your fault you know."
And Josh says that 'I'm' the one with freakish mind reading abilities. I swear the man has an
uncanny way of reading my mind sometimes too.
"Oh, sure it is." I say dropping down on the couch with a mirthless chuckle. "You know me, I tend
to attract gomers. Apparently I did a really good job of it this time."
He moves so fast, he seems to all but appear next to the couch. His presence looms over me and
he looks down at me with a fierceness that makes my stomach jitter.
"It's not your fault," he repeats.
"Okay, okay, fine." I say, too tired to argue about it.
"Say it."
"It's not your fault." I intone trying for some kind of levity.
"Donna..."
"Fine! It's not my fault." I blurt. "Are you happy now?"
Yeah, I’m sure that convinced him.
He sits down beside me and gently takes my hand in his. Under normal circumstances my heart
would be doing handstands that he was holding my hand, but given that it took the threat of a
stalker to do it, just makes me more tired and a little sad.
"It really isn't your fault." He says with quiet sincerity. "Anymore than it was CJ’s fault she had a
stalker or Charlie's fault that I got shot."
Okay, now he's just playing dirty. The fact that he brought up CJ’s issues with her stalker and her
guilt over Simon Donovan's death and we all know how guilty Charlie still feels over the fact that
the white supremacists were aiming for him and hit Josh, make it hard for me to keep up my little
guilt-ridden pity party.
Apparently he can see he's getting through to me at least on some level because he gives my
hand a squeeze. "Now say it with me like you mean it...It's not your fault."
The gentle tone he's using is the same one that makes it almost impossible for me to say no to
him. "It's not my fault."
My voice was much softer than his is, but I said it and part of me even starts to believe it. The
rest of me, of course, prefers to remain dubious.
"Good, now it's late so I think we both better get some sleep. Let me just go get you the pillow
and blanket."
Somehow I don't think sleep is going to be an easy thing for me tonight. "Sounds good," I say
instead, more for his benefit than mine.
He disappears into his bedroom while I just sit like a slug on the couch. It occurs to me then that
I'm still wearing my trench coat over my pajamas, but I don't think I have the energy to even stand
up and take it off.
"Here you go."
He bustles back into the living room with his arms full. He tosses two pillows on the end of the
couch and then lays a thick blanket on the other end.
"I brought you my robe too, just in case you needed something...hey, you're still wearing your
coat." He observes. "It won't be very comfortable to sleep in. Come on, let me have it and I'll hang
it up."
I'm on the verge of telling him my coat is fine where it is, but he doesn't give me much choice
when he pulls me all but bodily off the couch and starts taking it off me. Part of me wants to be
mad and say something rude about him treating me like a tired child, but that's just about how I
feel so I don't say anything. I have a feeling that he's trying to keep me occupied so I don't have
a meltdown or something. Although I have to say that I think I'm too numb and too tired for a
meltdown at this point.
Once my coat is off, he holds up the soft terrycloth robe, one that I should mention I bought him
the Christmas after Rosslyn because he didn't have one, and I slip it on. The smell of him
envelopes me and the comfort of it goes through me like a wave. It's all I can do not to bury my
nose in it.
"Do you need anything else? Some water or some tea maybe?"
"No, thanks." I say dully as I sink back down on the couch.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be fine."
I can see the concern in his eyes as he stands there and fidgets slightly as he stares at me. Josh
is a fixer and he wants to do what he can to make things better, but now that he's run out of ways
to help me, he's at a loss.
"Okay, I'm going to turn in then. Just give a yell if you need anything."
"I will." I say with a nod and I watch as he moves around the apartment closing all the drapes,
locking the doors and windows and turning off everything but the lamp by the couch.
"Well, Goodnight." He says as he slowly walks to the bedroom.
"Josh?" I call softly stopping him in the doorway. "Thank you for everything."
He glances back at me. "I'd do anything to protect you, Donna."
Before I can even begin to think of something to say to that, Josh disappears into the bedroom
and I continue to sit there with his words ringing in my ears. Normally him saying things like that
to me would have me smiling and my heart swelling in my chest, but right now I can't quite
process it, so I just tuck it away. I don't know how long I just sit there staring at nothing, but
eventually I switch off the lamp and lay down.
I force myself to close my eyes and at least try to fall asleep. It's quickly apparent that I was right
and sleep won't be coming easily for me. Now that things are quiet and the dark presses in
around me, all I can see is that photograph. When I close my eyes, I see it projected on the back
of my eyelids and when I open my eyes I see it reflected back at me in the darkness of Josh's
apartment.
For some reason, it occurs to me then that in the picture I'm lying down pretty much like I am now
and that thought makes me instantly sit up again. When I do, the impact of what's happening to
me...to my life, begins to take hold and a flood of questions assaults me.
Who is he? What does he want? What is he planning? Why is he doing this? Why me?
"Donna?"
I'm so absorbed in my own thoughts, I didn't hear Josh walk into the living room and his voice,
soft as is, scares the crap out of me and I jump about a foot in the air and let out a little shriek.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” he says coming over to the couch. “I thought I heard a noise
and came out to see if everything was okay.” He lays a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, you're
shivering. Are you cold?
I'm pretty sure I’m trembling, not shivering and I realize that my face is wet from tears I don’t
remember shedding.
“I’m scared, Josh. God, I’m so scared.” I say as my voice finally cracks. Suddenly, I find it difficult
to breathe because I’m crying so hard.
“Hey, hey.” He drops down on the couch beside me, pulls me into his arms and I promptly bury
my face against his chest. “Come on, don’t cry. I can’t take it when you cry.”
“I can’t...” Hiccup. “...help it.” Another hiccup. “I woke up yesterday and...” Hiccup. “...
everything was fine.” Two hiccups. “And now I’ve got this...” Hiccup. “...crazy person after me.”
He continues to hug me in the dark. “Well, as someone who has crazy people after him all the
time, I don’t want you to worry. We’re going to fix this...okay?”
He hands me a tissue and I blow my nose which helps me get a hold on the hiccups, so I’m only
reduced to sniffling.
“But how? You don’t even know...who he is.”
His arms go slack around me and I feel his hands move up over my arms to my shoulders. Then
he takes my face in his hands and lifts my face so I’m looking at him. Even in the dark, I can see
the purpose and determination glittering in his eyes.
“We’re going to find out who he is, Donna, I swear to you.” He promises. “And when we do, I’m
going to see to it that he’s thrown in the deepest, darkest pit imaginable so he never bothers you
again.”
The tears start again, this time not because I’m scared, but because I believe him. Logically, I
know Josh isn’t all powerful and despite his best efforts there’s an outside chance that the lunatic
out there might not be caught. But I also know that he means every word of what he just said and
that makes all the difference in the world to me.
“I know you will.” I say quietly.
Apparently satisfied with my answer, his hands slide away from my face and his arms go around
me pulling me close to him again. Without another word between us, he shifts us so that we can
lie down together and he tucks me between him and the back of the couch. The fact that he’s
positioned himself, either consciously or unconsciously, as a barrier between me and any danger
that might come our way is not lost on me.
“Go to sleep.” He whispers against my hair as he begins to gently rub my back.
Surprisingly, this time, with Josh wrapped around me, his presence like a tangible calming force
in my heart...my mind, it’s not long before I drift off into a dreamless sleep.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
3.
I am a master negotiator. The President of the United States and leader of the free world hired
me to be his voice and his muscle with the morons currently serving their Congressional terms on
the hill for precisely that reason. I know when to bully, when to bluff and when to change tactics
on a dime to get whatever I want from whomever I want. There is simply no winning against the
superior intellect of Josh Lyman. End of story…
“Because I said so.” I end the argument with my boss.
“What are you in third grade now?” Leo scoffs at me. So maybe the argument isn’t quite over yet,
but nonetheless, I will be the victor here. “Donna is not staying with you.”
“She can’t go back to her apartment, Leo.”
“Of course she can. The locks have been changed, they’re installing a camera at the front and
back entrance and she is under the protection of the United States Secret Service, who are, I’m
sure you’ll be surprised to learn, more adept at personal protection than you.”
“She won’t go back there then. The picture of her in her bed that this asshole took really freaked
her out, Leo. You should have seen her crying and everything.” Okay, it freaked me out a bit too,
but he doesn’t need to know that.
“And I’m not indifferent to that fact, Josh, but the bottom line is that with increased protection
comes increased scrutiny. How’s it gonna look her staying with you?”
“This is your counter-argument? How’s it going to look?” I say in disbelief. “Some lunatic is
threatening her life, she’s scared out of her wits, and your comeback is ‘how’s it gonna look’?” I
laugh humorlessly. “How’d it look when she stayed with me after Rosslyn?”
“That was different.” Leo continues. “You’d been critically injured and nobody was watching your
every move…not that you had many at that point.”
“So that’s the difference? I was critically injured and she’s only in danger of being critically
injured? Once this whacko gets a hold of her and critically injures her, THEN she can stay with
me?” I ask sarcastically and get a Leo McGarry glare for my trouble.
“Honest to God, Josh, you could try the patience of a saint, you know that?”
“Being Jewish I’m not entirely certain of the patience level required of a saint, but--”
“Josh!”
“She’s staying with me, Leo.” I reiterate just as Margaret alerts us to the arrival of Ron Butterfield
who is shown right in.
“Ron, save my sanity and tell Josh that Donna is just as safe at her apartment as she is at his
apartment.”
Ron looks uncomfortable at Leo before answering. “Well…actually…”
“See?!” I pounce on Ron’s hesitancy in lieu of actual, you know, evidence of any kind. “Even Ron
thinks she’d be safer staying with me. And he has TONS of experience with these things.”
“I’m sure Agent Butterfield is heartened by your confidence in him.” Leo drawls. “Ron, seriously?
Are you seriously telling me Donna is safer at Josh’s right now?”
“It’s a better neighborhood, he already has some security in place, and my…considerable
experience…tells me that sometimes adding one additional layer of protection, like another
person living with the target, can sometimes be enough to scare the guy off.” Ron shrugs. “I’m
not telling you Miss Moss SHOULD stay at Mr. Lyman’s apartment. It’s our job to safeguard her
wherever she’s residing. But if you’re asking me which location would be easier to secure; that
would be Mr. Lyman’s apartment.”
Leo looks truly vexed now. “Margaret?” He calls out into the hall. “Get Donna in here, will you
please?” Then he turns back to Ron and me. “Ron, how long term are we looking here? Days?
Weeks? Months?”
“That’s impossible to predict.” Ron shakes his head slowly. “We have good people on this and I’d
like to think that we’re looking at a matter of a few weeks, but there’s just no way to predict when
the case will reach a successful conclusion.”
“Do you have ANY leads?” I ask. “Any indication as to whether this guy is some loony amateur or
a serious threat?”
“Mr. Lyman, if we hadn’t already determined this was a serious threat, we wouldn’t have
suggested Secret Service protection for Miss Moss.”
“Fair point.” I admit. “Which leads me back to our original point of contention. Donna is staying
with me until this investigation reaches a successful conclusion.” I parrot Ron’s words.
“Are you sure she wants to stay with you, Josh?” Leo asks and I have to admit that the question
floors me. Of course she wants to stay with me…right?
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demand.
“Just that perhaps, now that the initial shock has worn off, maybe the idea of staying with you for
several days, or longer, isn’t her first choice of safe houses.” Leo says disdainfully.
I’m saved from coming up with a witty retort by the arrival of Donna Moss herself. She’s still pale
and her eyes are missing their usual sparkle. I don’t think she got more than a few minutes of
sleep at a time all night. Then, she catches sight of Ron and I see her whole body start to shake.
“Hey! Hey, it’s okay.” I assure her and help her sit in the nearest chair. “Ron’s just here to talk to
us about what precautions we need to take until they can throw this asshole into a cell.” I stroke
her back with my hand in what I hope is a soothing motion and she turns her head into my
shoulder as she fights the tears. I look up at Leo to be sure he’s noting all this support Donna is
getting from me. He rolls his eyes.
“Donna?” He calls her name softly. “I know this has to be frightening. I don’t want to make things
any more difficult for you right now, but I’m not sure staying with Josh, under the circumstances,
is the best idea for you or-”
Donna sends a panicked look to Leo before turning to me. “You said I could stay as long as I
wanted. You promised!” She’s going from 0 to 60 in 1.2 seconds, ladies and gentlemen.
“I have no problem with it.” I hasten to add. “Even Agent Butterfield thinks it would be safer for
you, but Leo seems to think--”
Donna’s head swivels back to Leo. “I quit.”
“Excuse me?” Leo startles.
“Excuse me?” I repeat. What the hell?
“If Ron thinks it’s a good idea, then the only reason Leo would object is because it looks bad for
someone who works for you, a female someone, to be staying with you. So if I quit…” Even sleep
deprived and scared spitless Donna is sharp as a tack.
“Donna, nobody is asking you to resign your position here.” Leo states.
“I’m not going back to that apartment.” Donna sounds absolutely steadfast. “You can’t make me
go back there.”
“I understand why you wouldn’t want to go back there. Who would under the circumstances? I’m
just saying there are other possibilities. I know any number of your colleagues here would be
happy to have you stay with them until this is resolved.” Leo tries again.
Donna simply shakes her head ‘no’ slowly. “Josh promised I could stay with him. I’m staying with
Josh.” I smile triumphantly and Leo sighs knowing he’s in a corner now.
“Perhaps our time would be better served going over the safety precautions we’re going to be
employing to keep Miss Moss safe wherever she is.” Ron suggests.
“It would seem so.” Leo agrees. “Use Josh’s office. I want an update every twelve hours on the
status of the investigation.”
“Yes, sir.” Ron confirms and I’d almost swear I see Ron give Donna a reassuring wink. We head
back to my office for our briefing with Ron, and I can’t help one thought from going through my
head, ‘I win…again’.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
“Not that tie.” I tell him. “The blue one; I left it out for you on your bed.”
Josh pulls off the half tied-tie and predictably, throws it on the floor before he reaches for the
approved tie on his bed.
“Do you have the--” He doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before I shove the
appropriations folder he’s about to request into his chest.
“You can look over the final numbers while you eat a bagel.” I instruct.
“I’m not hungry, Donna.”
“Not so much now, no, but by the time you get through staff you’ll be starving and you won’t have
time between staff and your meeting on the hill.” I sum up.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He shrugs and walks into the kitchen to toast one of the bagels I
purchased the last time that I went shopping.
“Do you have any idea the kind of time and energy I could save if you would just assume I’m right
in the first place and went from there?” I ask cheekily.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.” He snarks; but since he says it as he’s toasting a bagel
and drinking the juice I purchased to go with it, I decide to let it go.
It’s been six days since my impromptu move-in with Josh and sometimes it amazes me how
natural it feels to be here with him. It’s like the summer after Rosslyn, only without the painful
rehabilitation and the nasty medical duties. There haven’t been any further threats or photos
sent to me or anyone at the White House and I’m finally able to stay somewhat relaxed when we’
re traveling back and forth to the White House. We haven’t attracted the attention of any
reporters yet either, so it’s a win/win for me at this point.
We ride to and from work in a car driven by the Secret Service so Josh, naturally, has used this
opportunity to get in a little more work time. I guess I don’t really mind. All the work has kept my
mind off less pleasant thoughts. Like who took that picture of me sleeping in my bed and just
where they were standing when they took it. I give an involuntary shudder. Josh notices.
“You okay?” He asks around a bite of bagel and cream cheese.
“Fine.” I answer quickly and as a distraction, I use my finger to wipe a bit of cream cheese from
the side of his mouth and smile at his messy eating habits. He startles at my move until I hold up
the cream cheese covered finger as evidence for why I touched him like that. Then his face
breaks into a self-deprecating grin and I grin back. Suddenly, he loses the playful grin and his
look turns into something else that I can’t quite identify and I feel my smile fade away too. We
simply stand there staring at each other for a good minute or two while something continues to
build inside me. He moves a little closer to me and I can feel my eyes widen.
We jump apart like kids caught out on the front porch after curfew when there’s a pounding at
the front door. Josh hurries out to the living room to answer the summons. The Secret Service
gets a little nervous when we’re running late, which is a fair amount of the time, so they knock to
make sure it’s just us running late rather than us being held against our will in here or something.
“Good morning, Mr. Lyman, are you and Miss Moss ready to leave?” Agent Parker asks without
sounding judgmental.
“Yeah…sorry, Donna insisted I eat a bagel for God’s sake.” He rolls his eyes but he’ll thank me
for it later. I hand him his backpack and grab my purse and we follow agent Parker down to the
waiting car.
There’s nothing particularly pressing all day. It’s busy, we work in the White House after all, but
there’s nothing urgent or anything that requires my full concentration so I have plenty of time to
ponder that moment this morning in the kitchen. Just what was Josh about to say or do before
Agent Parker announced his presence? And could Parker possibly have worse timing?
If things are getting awkward between us it might be better for me to make the move back to my
place…Okay, no, I’m not ready to do that I guess. I’ve decided I don’t want to live there anymore,
regardless of how any of this turns out. But maybe it was time for me to look at alternate living
arrangements; find a new apartment. Josh has been wonderful through all this and I’ll be
eternally grateful for everything he’s done for me, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome and
end up ruining my relationship with my best friend.
As I think about that, it seems like finding a new place to live should be moved up on my priority
list. I’ll talk to Josh about it tonight when we get home.
Wait! See? It’s that kind of thing that has me worried. ‘We’ are not going home tonight. Josh is
going home and I’m simply…visiting. Still, more and more, I find myself making those kinds of
slips. Even after my brief stint as a psychology major I have to admit it’s of the Freudian variety.
The longer I stay there with Josh, the worse it’s going to get and Josh isn’t going to kick me out in
the middle of this mess no matter how uncomfortable my presence might make him feel.
Yes, it looks like I’m going apartment hunting…Damn it.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
“Tell me again why we didn’t just order pizza.” I demand.
“Because we’ve had it twice this week already and I was in the mood to cook.” Donna answers
absently. She’s making Alfredo sauce from scratch, and while it smells incredible, it’s taking far
too long to make. I’m starving.
“You’re hardly starving, Joshua. You had the carrots and dip I gave you at four.” She points out,
reading my mind. It used to freak me out when she did that. Now, I’ve just learned to enjoy it.
“I FEEL like I’m starving.” I split hairs. “The sauce smells fantastic. Let’s eat.”
“The cheese isn’t completely melted yet.” She objects. “Put the bread in the oven to warm up and
open the wine.”
She’s giving me busy work now. It’s a typical Donna maneuver. Distract Josh with mindless busy
work until she’s ready for whatever we’re doing next. I sigh loudly to let her know I’m not fooled by
her moves. She smirks back at me to let me know she’s not fooled by my long suffering sigh. She’
s right; I’m hardly suffering having Donna with me 24/7. I get to hang out with my best friend all
the time, she cooks amazing food for us, and I get to see for myself that she’s safe.
There have been some odd moments here and there. The episode in the kitchen this morning
for instance. When Donna moved so close to me and raised her hand to my cheek, I almost
stopped breathing. Then when I saw the cream cheese on her finger and realized she was
cleaning me up rather than…well, something else, I almost decided I was brave enough to make
the next move myself.
See, I’ve discovered something about myself in the last week. Well, something about me and
Donna anyway. Something I have long suspected but have not yet acted upon in any way. Mostly
on account of I’m a chicken, but there have been other considerations as well. Things almost
boiled over on Inauguration night but somehow between Khundu and you know, work for the
President, things simmered back down again. However, I have the feeling that with this enforced
physical proximity may bring things back to a boil sooner rather than later and I have to say I’m
quite okay with that. I open the wine, put the bread in the oven as instructed, and after a suitable
breathing period, pour a glass for each of us. I hand one glass to Donnatella while she continues
to stir the sauce and take occasional tastes from the wooden spoon. That sight alone makes my
heart beat a little faster. There’s just something cozily domestic in this scene.
“It’s ready.” Donna announces very seriously. “Put some pasta on a couple plates for us and I’ll
get the bread and the salad.”
Donna takes the term ‘balanced meal’ literally which I’m not as pissy about as you might imagine.
We get situated at the dining room table and the chicken fettuccine Alfredo tastes so incredible
that I don’t even complain about the vegetables she’s snuck in there. I’m on my third or fourth
bite when the trouble starts.
“I was wondering…if you could help me with something.” She says slowly.
“With what?” I answer around a mouthful of pasta.
“I need some help making a big decision and I could use another person to talk it through with
me.” She explains.
“That sounds innocuous enough.” I say sarcastically. “What’s the big decision?”
“I need to decide on a new apartment.” She tells me and I nearly spit out my food. “I can’t go
back there, Josh! I just can’t!”
“No! I don’t think you should. I wouldn’t want you to.” I rush to answer. “But that’s not something
you need to worry about right now, is it?”
“I’ve been here a week, Josh, and while I really appreciate your letting me stay here, I don’t want
to impose.”
“You’re not! It isn’t an imposition.” I insist. Then another thought occurs to me. “Are you…do you
not want to…”
“NO!” Now SHE rushes to answer. “That’s not it at all. It’s just that a week’s gone by and all is
quiet, so I thought I should start working on my next move.”
Yeah…about that. I’ve been getting daily briefings on the investigation along with Leo and when
Donna has asked about them…it’s possible that I MAY have understated things a bit…simply in
an attempt to keep her from worrying about things.
Instead of the quiet week Donna believes we had, things have ramped up in the threat
department. Despite Ron’s assertion that sometimes these whackos step back when another
person enters the life of the target, this guy has ramped it up. Now, it’s not just Donna who is the
object of his ire. According to the latest missive he sent, she’s the liberal skank who’s fucking her
boss and I’m the soulless bastard taking advantage of her. I don’t mind that he’s focusing on me
now too. As far as I’m concerned the more he’s focused on me, the less he’s focused on Donna.
“I don’t think you should let the quiet week dictate your decision to move out on your own again.”
I hedge. “He could be just biding his time right now, waiting for a more--” Okay, judging by the
way Donna’s eyes widened right then, I don’t think I’m saying the right thing. “What I mean is that
we don’t know all the details of the investigation and there might be other details we don’t know.”
Now her eyes narrow on me. “I thought you said Ron’s giving you daily briefings?”
“He is.”
“And you told me that Ron’s team is working leads but there wasn’t anything new to report.”
“I did. Yes, I did say that.” I agree. “But that doesn’t mean he’s telling me everything.”
“Josh…Is it that Ron isn’t telling YOU everything or is it that you aren’t telling ME everything?”
“I can’t tell you EVERYTHING Donna, be reasonable. It’s an active Secret Service investigation.” I
try for misdirection.
“You’re lying to me.” Donna’s lips purse. He swings and it’s a strike, ladies and gentlemen.
“I’m not.” I lie again but wisely keep my eyes on my plate. “This sauce is amazing.”
“You are too.” She completely ignores my compliment on the food. “You won’t even look at me.
What aren’t you telling me, Joshua?” Strike two.
“It’s not my job to share details of a Secret Service investigation, Donna.” I object. “And honestly,
the details aren’t something you want to hear. Remember how you felt after you saw the
pictures? You want to feel like that every damn day?”
“There’s more stuff? Coming every day?” She asks in a panic.
“No, not every day, just… Jesus, this is why I didn’t want to mention it to you in the first place.
What good is served by you reading all the details?”
Donna just takes her plates and leaves me alone at the table.
“Donna, wait. Please.” I follow her into the kitchen even though I had to leave the delicious meal
on the table. “You have to understand--”
“What I understand is that you lied to me.” She says shortly and tosses her silverware into the
sink with an angry flourish.
“I didn’t LIE to you, I just left some details out.”
“A lie of omission then.” She scoffs.
“And I only did that because I didn’t want you to be so upset again. I did it for you!” I protest.
Surely that counts for something! Judging by Donna’s expression, if it counts for something it isn’
t much.
Instead of responding to me, Donna marches to the front door and snaps it open to the surprise
of the Agent at the door. “Can you please tell Agent Monroe I need to speak with him for a
minute?”
“Donna…” I protest weakly.
“Is there a problem, ma’am?” The Agent at the door asks.
“Not with him.” She sends me a nasty glare. “I just need to speak with him for a few minutes about
the investigation.”
“He’s on his eight hours off, ma’am, so I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping, but I can wake him if you
need to--”
“No, please don’t do that. Will you just let him know I’d like to speak with him when he’s back on
duty?”
“Of course ma’am.” The Agent sends me a relieved glance and shuts the door again. Donna
turns on her heel and goes into the guest room she’s been staying in this past week without
another word to me. Shit.
I wait a few minutes, hoping that perhaps given a little time, she’ll calm down a bit. But when I
approach the door, it’s slightly ajar and it’s not angry sounds I hear, but crying.
I push the door open the rest of the way and walk over to where she’s sitting on the bed with her
back to me, crying into a pillow. I cautiously sit next to her and try to put my arm around her
shoulder in comfort, but she shakes me off.
“I’m sorry, Donna, I was just trying to protect you I swear.”
“You LIED to me. I trusted you!” She lifts her head long enough to practically spit the words at me.
“Please don’t cry. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just, please understand that I was only
looking out for you. That was my only motivation; keeping you safe and happy.”
That seems to mollify her a little, but the tears are still streaming down her face. “All week…I
mean ALL WEEK I was thinking it was such a good sign that we hadn’t heard from this nut.
Maybe he’d moved on to someone else or given up entirely. I thought I could start looking for a
new place and forget this ever happened and now…”
“I’m sorry.” I repeat. “That wasn’t what I- I thought I could protect you.”
Donna’s pacing back and forth now trying, I think, to work off some nervous/angry energy.
“I don’t understand how you could look me in the eyes and tell me everything was fine when it
wasn’t!”
“Yes, it was. It was fine.” I object. “Ron and his team were doing their thing, you were here with
me and safe; everything was fine.”
“You let me believe--”
“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat!” I explode. Why doesn’t she get this? “It ripped me apart
watching you look at those photos! It kills me to see you upset over the bizarre threats of some
anonymous moron! I would hop on a plane and take you to Hawaii right now if I thought you’d go
just to get you away from this.”
“It’s not your job to take care of this, Josh.”
“It’s got nothing to do with my job, Donna. That’s insulting. I did it because I care about you. I hid
it from you because I didn’t want you upset or stressed. I did it because that’s what you do when
you--” I stop abruptly and the two of us stand frozen a couple feet from each other with our eyes
flashing and breath labored from our fight.
“That’s what you do when you…what?” Donna prompts me.
“When you…care…about someone…a lot.” I tell her softly and even manage to keep eye contact
with her.
“I worry that you just…feel sorry for me…or feel protective like a big brother.” She practically
whispers and I take a couple steps closer to her.
“Not so much.” I feel my lips quirk.
“How do you know that’s not what this is?” She presses and I give her my disbelieving look; like
she’s just insulted my intelligence. Which is, I guess what she’s doing, only it’s my emotional IQ
she’s testing.
“I know what brotherly feelings are like. I have them for CJ. I know what pity feels like. I sometimes
feel that for Republicans. This…feeling isn’t pity or fraternal.” I assure her and tentatively wipe a
tear from her cheek. “And it’s been around for a long time. Maybe it just took the threat of losing
you to realize just how far and deep the feelings go.”
“That was pretty eloquent there, Joshua.” She smiles shyly.
“I have my moments.” I brag before I lean down and touch my lips to hers; once, then twice.
“You certainly do.” She murmurs before taking my mouth with hers. It’s a couple more minutes
before we come up for air. “No more keeping stuff from me, okay?”
I roll my eyes, but nod ‘yes’.
“I mean it, Josh. I was this close to blowing off the detail tonight because I thought there wasn’t
any more threat.” She holds her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. The thought makes my
blood freeze. I hadn’t thought about that kind of byproduct to my well intentioned deception. “If
you’re not comfortable talking to me about the details, I’ll get them from Ron or David Monroe,
but you can’t hide things from me anymore.”
“I promise.” I tell her. “And along those lines…there’s something else I should tell you.”
“This is because you know I’ll hear whatever it is from Monroe tomorrow and you don’t want me to
get pissed again, right?” She guesses accurately.
“Your…nemesis isn’t very happy with your choice of moving in here with me. He’s had some
choice things to say about both of us and the lack of morality in the Bartlet White House.”
“Well honestly, I don’t think he was my biggest fan to begin with so now that he thinks I’m a slut
too it really doesn’t make a difference to- Wait. Is he threatening you now? Because I’m staying
here with you?” She looks alarmed.
“He’s threatening a whole laundry list of people, Donna.”
“But he’s threatening you BECAUSE I’m here with you?” She decides she’s right without another
word from me. “We need to call Ron right now and ask him to find someplace else for me to stay.”
“We are NOT doing anything of the kind.” I stop her from moving to the phone. “You are staying
here, with me, where we already have security set up. That’s not up for debate, Donna.”
“Oh, it’s not?” She lifts her eyebrows at me.
“No, it’s not.” I repeat. “For once, being your boss is going to pay off for me. I am ordering you to
stay here.”
Her lips twitch. “I don’t think you have the authority to give me orders about my personal life.”
“It’s in your job description. You have to be available to assist the Deputy Chief of Staff whenever
he needs assistance. I need a LOT of assistance, Donna.”
“That much is true.” She drawls. “I just don’t want to put you in any danger. I don’t know what I’d
do if you were hurt because of me.”
“That’s not going to happen. We have some of the most well trained people in the world looking
out for us.” That’s a cop out and we both know it. I was almost killed under the nose of the Secret
Service at Rosslyn. Simon Donavon, an agent himself, was killed while working a protective detail
for CJ. It happens. But the odds are with us on this one and after all we’ve been through, don’t
we deserve a break?
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
4.
He’s grasping at straws. He’s saying anything he can get to stick to the wall. He was nearly killed
while under the protection of the Secret Service, of course, they weren’t protecting HIM
specifically at the time, so maybe there’s a better chance now.
The look in his eyes right now is one that I’ve only seen once before…when he was trying to get
me to sign the authorization for Secret Service protection, and I see it now for what it is and what
I didn’t know it was then…desperation.
“It’s just that if something happened to you while someone was trying to get me…” I whisper. “If a
bullet that was meant for me…”
“I’ve got precedent there!” he says.
“Josh!”
“I do though! Donna, that’s already happened to me and here I am. I’ve got good odds in that
department.”
“Josh…” I smile lightly at him.
“Donna, this whole thing is making me nuts and when you’re out of my line of sight, I get
extremely freaked out and all I do is obsess over whether or not you’re okay. If you’re staying
somewhere else, those thoughts will consume me. I won’t be able to function until I see you next.”
See that sounds twisted, except I know it’s true. Josh walks around with a feeling that impending
doom is going to befall everyone he cares about.
I let out a half laugh and he takes it as a good sign and steps forward and takes my hand. “So we
stick together then?” He asks softly. When I nod, he leans forward and kisses me again.
The outside world falls away as his fingers rest lightly on my jaw and he changes the angle of the
kiss. I’m usually a more active participant than this in a kiss, but at the moment, I sigh and sag
against him and just let him kiss me. Because right now I believe him when he said he’d do
anything to protect me, and while I don’t want to think too hard about what he’s willing to do, I can’
t help but feel wrapped in protectiveness by him. If this guy somehow manages to get through an
entire Secret Service detail (and Josh hasn’t said this, but I imagine he’s getting one too), he still
has to get through Josh.
And it’s that thought alone that gives me the courage to pull gently on his shirt and back up until
my knees hit the back of the bed and we tumble backwards. He runs a hand down my side and
kisses me some more and I’m content to do just this for a while.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
“Josh?”
“Mmpf…”
“Josh?”
“Hmfprg…”
“Josh!”
“What!?” I yelp from under my pillow. You know, I was having a really good dream. I’ll give you
the salient details: me, Donna, no clothes. You figure out the rest.
“The alarm is going to go off in a few minutes.”
“Good.” I leer, sliding my hand along her stomach. “Then we have some time.”
She brushes my hand away and I pout. It doesn’t work on her.
“The alarm is in other room.”
What?
I lift my head and take in my surroundings. We’re both still wearing what we were in last night. We
must have fallen asleep in the guest room. When I finally won the battle for Donna to stay here, I
cleaned out all the crap in the guest room for her. You should have seen the look on her face,
she was stunned. I didn’t even do that when she stayed here while I was recovering, but that was
because I was trying to get her to go home and take care of herself better. Now, it’s pure lov –
necessity… no, all right, it’s love.
“Why are you awake?” I frown. I know she barely sleeps at night. I know this because I barely
sleep at night right now too.
“It’s this uncanny ability I have to always wake up a few minutes before the alarm is supposed to
go off.”
“That’s freakish. Why am I not surprised?” She rolls her eyes and gives me a little shove. “So you
slept then?” I ask and slide my hand around to her back, as she looks up at me with wide trusting
eyes.
“It’s the first time I slept through the night all week.” She whispers.
“Am I…” damn that catch in my throat! “Am I that boring?”
“It’s the first time I felt truly safe.” She blushes and I smile.
See, I really don’t think I could overpower some armed lunatic that overpowered the Secret
Service. All I can do is throw my body on hers, which is my current plan.
“Good.” I know I give her a goofy grin.
I lean in a bit towards her, pause a moment to take in her beautiful morning smile, and then lean
in the rest of way to wish her a good morning properly.
“I have an idea…” I whisper against her lips.
“As much as I’m looking forward to that next step, Josh, I think we should explore this stage a little
more.” She replies. How sweet was that?
“Well, I’m tickled that you’re looking forward that, Donnatella, but believe it or not, that wasn’t my
idea.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“It really wasn’t!”
“Let’s hear it then.”
“Let’s stay here today.” I blurt.
“What?”
“Instead of going in to work, let’s work from home.” I say quickly. “I’ve got everything I need. I had
one meeting this afternoon and Toby can take that.”
“What’s Leo going to say?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “If I’m accessible to them and getting stuff done, he can’t be too mad,
right?”
“You’re going to make me call, aren’t you?”
“No!” I laugh. “I just like the idea of just you and me hanging out today and not dealing with the
outside world.”
“That we’ll have to deal with tomorrow anyway.”
“I know.” I nod and push a piece of hair behind her ear. After spending the entire night with her in
my arms, kissing her, I just don’t want to go in and face the ugliness.
“I’m still going to want to talk to Agent Monroe.”
“I told you everything he’d tell you.”
“Seriously?”
“Everything I know.”
“Well…” I think she might be caving here, probably because there was only one meeting
scheduled for today.
“We can talk…and kiss…” I say kissing her lips. “…and hang out…” I move to her neck, “…and
kiss other things…”
“Joshua…” she groans and my head pops up surprised. “Don’t stop, that was nice.”
“Wow.” I say. “You’ve never… you’ve never said my name like that it’s…I like it.”
“Like what exactly?”
“All husky and…”
“Hot with desire?”
“Yeah that.”
She gives me quite the saucy look and then slides her hand down my side and under my t-shirt.
Her fingers graze over the scar on my side by chance and her eyes widen a bit. She pushes me
onto my back and I’m a little confused. She pulls my shirt up a bit and her thumb grazes across
my scar as she inspects it and then looks up at me.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Let’s stay home today.”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
“Q-U-I-X-O-T-I-C. Q and X are 10 point letters, X is on a double letter, so that makes…”
“Hold it!” Josh yelps. “You had a Q AND an X? What are the odds of that?”
“You caught me.” I drone. “I happen to have a Scrabble X hanging out in my pocket in the event I
was ever playing against you and had a Q, too.”
“It’s a conspiracy.”
“It is.” I nod. “Parker Brothers has a few of us assigned to you to test that 760 verbal.”
“This is crap.”
“It is. But I have faith in you. There are plenty of words in the English language that have Q’s in
them with no U. I’m sure you can build off that.”
“Qaid, qats, suqs, qoph, faqir…”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Oh, and I’M the nerd?” I arch a brow at him, but he looks rather impressed with himself right
now. I am, too. I can’t even pronounce ‘qoph’.
“Qwerty.”
“Thank you, Webster.”
“Does that annoy you?” He smirks.
“No, actually, it…”
“It what?”
“It’s kind of a turn on.” I blush and he smiles bigger.
“Really?”
He leans a little across the board and I’d lean in, but I like the idea of making him come to me.
That’s a bit of a turn on, too.
“Yeah, I’ve always liked the brainy ones.”
“I’m very cerebral.” He whispers right before his lips touch mine and the Secret Service comes
through the door. We jump apart as Agent Monroe looks us over.
“Since you didn’t mention it to us, I’m assuming you did not order a pizza.” He says to us and
Josh raises his eyebrows and shakes his head no. “Negative.” Agent Monroe says into his wrist
and then closes and locks the door. “You two need to stay where I can see you.”
My breathing increases and Josh yanks me across the game board and into his arms. “It’s okay.”
He whispers. “There’s three armed guards out there and Agent Monroe inside. It’s all right.”
I nod and bury my head in his chest. So much for feeling safe at home.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
I hold onto Donna tightly as she trembles in my arms. Agent Monroe touches his ear and then
nods to me. “We’re clear.”
“You have him in custody?” I confirm.
“Yes, sir.”
“See, Donna? It’s over. They’re good at their job.” I whisper to her and look over at Agent
Monroe. “You’ll brief us when you’re done questioning him?”
“Yes, sir.” Agent Monroe steps back out into the hallway.
I raise Donna’s face to mine and she throws her arms around my neck. I think keeping her in the
dark all week made this a little more shocking.
There are really no words that can calm her down now. I can only hope that the pizza deliver guy
was this psycho and this is now over.
Agent Monroe re-enters the apartment. “It seems the pizza parlor received a phone call from a
pay phone in Foggy Bottom for an order at this address. He checks out, but Agent Butterfield
wants to question him further. Right now, I think your guy called the order in to check the level of
security around you right now.”
“Well, now he knows it’s pretty heavy.” I nod like an idiot. My heart is still racing. “Thank you for
being so…good at this.”
In typical Secret Service fashion, Agent Monroe merely blows the compliment off. “I’ll let you
know when we have more information.”
He leaves the apartment again and I blow out a long breath and gently rub Donna’s back. “Are
you all right?” I whisper into her hair.
“I just want it to be over.” She whispers back and clutches me harder.
My sentiments exactly.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
5.
Awww, isn’t that nice? The dynamic duo are coming home after another hard day of work.
Screwing over the American people on a daily basis must be tiring.
Oh, and look, they’ve got friends. Secret Service, naturally. The earpieces and dark suits are a
dead giveaway. Well, that’s not unexpected and I have a couple of options on how to deal with
them.
What I find most interesting...funny even about this little drama I’m watching unfold, is just how
predictable people can be.
Case in point, the aforementioned dynamic duo of the fair Donnatella and the long-suffering
Joshua Lyman.
Or as I like to call them, the lying, manipulative bitch and her equally manipulative, not to mention
self-righteous, boss.
When I started down this road, I predicted that if anyone or anything were to threaten her, she’d
turn to him in a heartbeat. And that’s just what happened. All I did was send her a couple of
threatening notes and some enlightening photos and presto! Now she’s all snuggled up with him
in his nice Georgetown brownstone.
Like I said, predictable.
Too bad the odds makers in Las Vegas weren’t making book on this scenario because if they
had, I’d now be richer than Midas. Then again, now that I think of it, I probably wouldn’t have
made all that much money. With it being such a sure thing, the odds on that bet wouldn’t have
been much more than even money. Everyone in Washington apparently knows they’ve been
screwing each other for years.
Of course, it’s never been about money for me. It’s satisfaction I want. A little payback for what
they took from me...what they cheated me out of. They thought I’d just go quietly away. Well, I’ve
got news for them. I’m back and I’m not going anywhere until I get the satisfaction that is due to
me.
From my viewpoint across the street, I watch the lights go on in Lyman’s apartment. It’s really too
bad I wasn’t able to get a camera inside. I know it’s voyeuristic of me, but I’d love to see how the
two of them spend their time...beyond all the sex I’m sure they’re having. Of course, I have to
admit that watching them have sex would be a little too much for me to watch. But hey, wouldn’t
the video be great spread all over the Internet? Sex videos are all the rage. God, that would
have them twisting in the wind, wouldn’t it? Talk about payback and embarrassing payback at
that.
Ah, well, for now I’ll just have to settle for the great vantage point that I managed to get for
myself. It sure does pay to still have friends in the government that can access DMV and
personal information on Lyman...yes, that was very helpful. The information and the predictability
of the players in this little drama made it very simple to set up things here even before I mailed
the first letter to the White House.
But you know what I can’t figure out is why they’ve even put up a pretense of being apart in the
first place? It seems to me that it would have saved all of us a lot of time and trouble if they just
had it out in the open. I know that the story of the boss screwing his younger blond assistant is a
pretty cliché, but give me a break. Who the hell would really care?
Oh, I know all about the political scandal and keeping up appearances, but if they’ve been
together for as long as I now suspect, why hide it? I’m sure the White House pays that Cregg
woman a king’s ransom to spin stories like that. If she put a little effort into it, maybe she could
even spin it into some kind of DC love story and get some good press out of it.
I can’t help but snort. I must be losing my mind to think something like that. It’s more likely that the
two of them don’t want it spun into something positive. They probably enjoy sneaking around.
Maybe it gives them a little thrill to think they’re fooling everyone. I’m sure they got a great laugh
over fooling me.
Well, that’s something I’ll have to quiz Donna about when I get her alone. By the time I’m done
with her, she’ll tell me everything I want to know and I promise you that neither of them will ever
laugh at me again.
But I’m not quite ready for that end game yet so for now it will have to wait. In my previous career,
I learned quickly that strategy is very important and I definitely have mine laid out. And I can
afford to be patient now. I’ve got nothing better to do. Thanks to them I’ve got all the time in the
world.
Besides, I don’t want to kill them...not yet anyway. I want...no I NEED to make them both squirm
and wonder what’s going to happen next. Mess with their heads, just like they messed with mine.
Speaking of which, I think it’s about time for me to shake things up a bit. The pizza delivery was
just the opening salvo. I had to let them know I am still out here and that I know exactly where
they are.
But now I’m ready for something bigger. Things are in place and all I need is an opening.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
I try to read the report I'm supposed to be making note cards for, but it's pretty hopeless. I've
gone over the same page four times and not only can't I remember anything I've read, but I've
also got the beginnings of a raging headache building behind my eyes.
I look over at Josh, who's sitting on the other end of his couch reading a briefing book that's
bigger than my first car. He looks focused, calm, and collected.
And I'm pretty sure I want to throw something at him.
I fully admit that I'm not being logical. Since this thing started, Josh has been really great and he
hasn’t said or done anything to warrant any kind of physical or verbal pummeling from me. He's
even been letting us come home at a decent hour most nights, insisting on it even, which I
appreciate on one level, but on another level is freaking me out.
Actually just about everything freaks me out these days. The Secret Service agents who follow
us around like shadows, every blind corner, every weird noise, every envelope or package that
comes across my desk or Josh's, and every person I don't know very well just to name a few.
Heck, even people I see everyday freak me out with very little provocation. Will Bailey found that
out this morning when he walked up behind me, asked me a question, and promptly found
himself covered in the lukewarm tea I'd been drinking when I jumped about three feet in the air.
The only thing I wish Josh would do is more of the kissing. So far things between us have been
relatively innocent. Although we haven’t talked about it, I get the feeling he’s treating this new
phase of our relationship very delicately. I assume part of it is the whole mortal danger aspect
and the fact that he wants to wait until this mess is resolved before pressing the issue or taking
things any farther.
Okay, maybe I don’t want to throw something at him as much as I want to throw him down on the
couch or, you know, the floor or any other handy flat surface and do things to him that make us
both forget there are armed guards outside.
The problem is I’m not entirely sure how he’d react to that, so instead, I toss the report on the
coffee table and push myself off the couch.
"Where are you going?" he asks with a little frown.
For a moment, I literally don't know what to tell him. All I know is that I have the need to GO
somewhere. Somewhere I don't have bodyguards and definitely somewhere I don't have a stalker
threatening my life or Josh's.
"Why? Do I need permission to leave the room now?"
The look he gives me is both surprised and confused and if I’m not mistaken, a little hurt. Okay,
so my answer might have been snappier than he deserved for what was probably an innocent
question, but I seem to be on a short fuse these days.
“No, of course not.” He finally answers. “I just wondered.”
Mentally, I try counting to ten. “I’m just going to the kitchen to get a snack or something.” I guess
the kitchen is as a good a place as any to go.
"Oh, oh kay," he says and after giving me a long look, he buries his head back in the briefing
book.
I try not to stomp into the kitchen. Once I get there, I have no idea what to do next. I’m really not
hungry or thirsty and honestly, and when I toss out those two requirements, the kitchen is not a
big improvement over the living room. But there’s no way I’m going to go back into the living room
without something resembling food or drink or Josh is sure to subject me to more questions.
So I start with the fridge which has almost nothing in it except the left over Chinese food we had
for dinner, various condiments, two bottles of beer and some water. For some reason, that only
serves to sour my mood further.
I mean, can’t he ever go grocery shopping? Oh, yeah, if I ever want food in his fridge that’s
usually my job and for the most part I’m not allowed to go out in public. There’s another thought
to brighten my day.
Next I move on to his cabinets, although again, I have no idea what I’m looking for.
If possible, the kitchen cabinets are more empty than the fridge. In addition to the standard
compliment of dishes and glasses, there’s an industrial sized can of coffee, big surprise, some
tea I left here when I stayed with him after Rosslyn, assorted stale crackers and cookies, a very
old box of macaroni and cheese, and finally, a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of scotch.
Right about now, the bottles of whiskey and scotch hold the most attraction for me. He doesn't
have the things I'd need to make a whiskey sour, but I really don't care. Taking the bottle of
whiskey out of the cabinet and I wonder just how fast I could get drunk. Maybe if I pass out I won’t
have to think about the black hole my life has become. Lord knows, I’d probably have a better
chance of getting a full night’s sleep which is more than I’ve managed in the last week.
It’s kind of hard to sleep very well when I keep having nightmares.
"What on earth are you looking for?"
Despite all the times I've told him he's not very stealthy, Josh manages to sneak up on me. I jump
slightly and it's all I can do to keep a grip on the whiskey bottle so I don't drop it.
"God, Josh! Get a bell or something. You scared the crap out of me!"
Standing in the kitchen doorway, his eyes flick to the bottle clutched in my hand and when his
eyes meet mine again, I see concern in them. "What are you doing, Donna?"
"Nothing. I just wanted something to drink, is that a crime?" I say, hating the defensive tone in my
voice.
"I'm not sure that you should be drinking that particular beverage right now."
"What difference does it make?" I snap back. "I'm an adult, I can have a drink if I want to."
Silently, he walks over to me, takes the bottle out of my hand and replaces it with his own hand.
"Donna, what’s wrong?" he says quietly.
I'm mortified to find that suddenly I'm close to tears. Here, I've done nothing but snap and bitch at
him this evening and Josh is standing here holding my hand and being understanding and sweet.
Now, in addition to everything else, I feel about two inches tall.
"Nothing. I...just forget it." I tell him as I walk away. Or try to. He gently captures my arm and pulls
me into a hug. "Talk to me, Donna." He whispers into my hair. "What did I do to make you so
angry?"
I feel the tears start and I squeeze my eyes close to keep from dissolving into a sobbing heap.
How do I tell him when I don't know myself?
I blurt out the first thing that I can think of. "You don't have any chocolate."
Completely confused, he pulls back to look at me. "What?"
"Oh, Josh..." I say feeling immensely tired and weepy as I rest my forehead against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry...you haven't done anything."
He lays his hand on my cheek and lifts my face to look at him. "Then what is it?"
"That's just it, I don't know." I tell him truthfully as I pull out of his arms and walk back into the
living room. "Everything seems to annoy me today. I feel restless and frustrated. The report I
need to read is giving me a headache. I went into the kitchen just to be able to go somewhere
and usually I'd eat something ridiculously sweet and fattening to feel better, but you don't have
either one, or much of anything else, in your kitchen."
"You want more food? We can send out for more." Josh suggested. "I'm sure we can get
anything you want."
"That's not the point, Josh. Maybe 'I' want to go to the store...or go shopping...or just go down to
the corner deli to get a sandwich, but I can't. I feel like I'm in prison and I haven't even committed
a crime." I rant as I pace around the apartment. "I'm locked in the White House during the day
and I'm locked in this apartment at night."
"We're just trying to keep you safe, Donna."
"I know, but nothing's happened in over a week." I point out. "No new pictures or threats or even
mysterious pizza deliveries. Isn't it possible that this guy has just gone away?"
"It's always a possibility." He says with zero enthusiasm.
"But you don't think so?"
He lets out a sigh. "No. As much as I'd like it to be the case, I don't think he's done and neither
does Ron."
Well, at least he's being honest with me.
"It just feels like the whole world is going on without me." I tell him. "The agents have an epileptic
fit if I even think of doing something as simple as opening the drapes."
In an act of tiny defiance, I walk to the nearest window and yank open the drapes. It's dark
outside so it's not like a beam of light illuminates the room or anything, but I already feel like I can
breathe a little easier, as if a small weight has been lifted from my heart.
"Donna, you really shouldn't..." Josh begins with sympathy in is eyes as he takes a step toward
me.
"I mean, is it so much to ask to have my life back?" I say quietly.
He stops beside the couch and sighs heavily as he scrubs a hand over his face. For the first time
that night, I look beyond my own mood to see that he looks tired too. Maybe this situation is
wearing on him too.
"No, of course it's not too much to ask," he replies. "And I'm doing all I can to give it back to you."
"I know you are, Josh." I rub my tired, gritty eyes. "I know I sound ungrateful and whiny and I
swear I don't mean to, but it's just how I feel."
Josh is quiet for a moment before he speaks in a soft voice. "You're not the only one who's
feeling some cabin fever, Donna." He says without malice or accusation in his voice. "I can't go to
the Hill for meetings and as much as I want to, I can't even take you out to dinner."
His words cut through me. He wants to take me to dinner. How sweet is that? Although we're still
exploring this new part of our relationship, he's already thinking about taking me out to dinner.
God, I really am being selfish.
"Josh..."
Before I can say more than that, I hear a weird noise, almost like a soft ping. Automatically,
turning toward it, the room seems to explode into a cacophony of sound and motion that is too
much for my brain to process. Pain from a variety of points in my body seems to flash through me
all at once.
Next, something heavy hits me like a freight train and I feel myself falling. My head makes contact
with what I dimly I realize is the floor and my vision is filled with stars and a swirling grayness. The
noise in room is deafening and mixes with sounds of someone yelling and the roaring in my head
until it's quite possible that I'm going to be permanently deaf. The weight pressing down on me
seems to increase exponentially until it's incredibly hard to breathe.
Then I'm floating, the weight is gone and it's eerily quiet. Very slowly, the quiet is replaced with an
oddly comforting whisper. It takes me a minute to figure out that what is being whispered is my
name and it's gradually getting louder.
"Donna!"
Although it sounds like it's coming from a very long distance, I realize it's Josh's voice and he
sounds worried so I make myself to move toward the sound of it. As I swim up through layers of
black and then grey, pain begins to seep back into my body like a sickness, but at least the
weight is gone and I can breathe again.
"DONNA! Wake up!" Josh yells at me.
"Don't shout." I hear myself murmur. "I can hear you."
"Open your eyes and I'll stop shouting." He says still shouting.
Typical for Josh to still be giving me orders and even more typical for me to listen, I force my
eyes open and the first sight I see is his face as it swims into focus.
"Happy now?" I can't help but mutter.
"Ecstatic," he says with a little grin, but I also notice that he looks awfully worried and pale.
"Mr. Lyman, an ambulance is on its way."
I turn my head enough to see the voice is coming from the agent that had been outside the door,
I think his name is Agent Weber. He looks worried too.
"Why do we need an ambulance?" I ask, feeling like I'm missing something. "Josh, are you okay?"
Josh blinks at me in surprise. "I'm fine, Donna, but..." He visibly swallows.
The agent answers for him. "We're going to take you to the hospital to get checked out, Miss
Moss."
"Why? I'm okay." I lie. Actually I feel like I've been run over by a bus.
"Don't argue, you're going to the hospital." Josh snaps at me.
"No really, see..." I begin and determined to show him, I try sitting up.
“No, no, lie down.” he says pressing gently on my shoulder.
The world begins to spin crazily and I immediately lie back down.
"Then again..."
"Let that be a lesson to you. Do as you’re told." Josh orders.
I close my eyes and try to force the spinning to stop. When I think it's finally subsided, I open
them again.
"Well, when you ask so nicely..." I try to snark.
It's then I notice the lamp behind Josh. Or should I say what's left of the lamp that used to sit next
to the couch but is now lying on the floor behind Josh. It's not just broken, it's shattered. From my
place on the floor, it's a little hard to really get a good look but from what I can see, the lamp isn't
the only thing that looks differently than I remember. The entire living room looks like a tornado
hit it.
"What happened?" I ask.
Josh and the agent exchange looks. "It's not important right now, Donna." Josh says quietly.
"Tell me."
Again, the agent answers before Josh can. "Miss Moss, it appears that someone fired rubber
bullets into the apartment through the window."
Rubber bullets? My heart sinks and I look back at Josh. "The window where I opened the...?" I
can't even get all the words out.
"Yeah," Josh says quietly.
Then I notice there’s blood on the front of his shirt. “Josh, you're bleeding!”
Ignoring the spinning world and the protests coming from my body, I sit up and frantically press
my hand against him to find out how badly he’s hurt.
He takes my hand firmly in his and uses the other one to press me back to the floor. "It's okay,
Donna," he says quietly. "It's not mine."
Oh, thank God. “Are you sure?” I ask him.
“Yeah, don’t worry about me.”
What a dumb thing for him to say. Of course I worry about him. I always...wait...wait. If the blood’s
not his...
I look over at Agent Weber and besides looking a little disheveled, I don’t see any blood on him.
Who the hell got hurt?
“Then whose blood is it?”
Josh looks a little green right now, sort of like the time they changed his blood pressure meds
and it made him violently ill, but he tried to hide it from everyone. He swallows hard before he
answers me.
“Donna, you got a little banged up. But it’s nothing to worry about.” He tries to reassure me. “It’s
just got some scratches on your arm, your leg and a couple on your face.”
“It’s mine?” I whisper and he nods in confirmation.
Although it sends a wave of pain through my arm, I reach up to touch my face and my fingers
come away wet and sticky with blood. Then I manage to focus on my upper arm and I see the
‘scratch’ he was talking about. No wonder my arm hurts. It’s not so much a scratch as it is a deep
gash marring the area right above my elbow.
Right about then I can literally feel my eyes start to roll up into my head.
“Donna, stay with me! Don’t you dare pass out!” Josh shouts at me.
Although I’ll be a little annoyed with him later for shouting at me again, his voice has the desired
affect and it pulls me back from the brink like a bucket of cold water.
We don't have a chance to say anything else before two paramedics arrive with more secret
service agents and the activity in the room goes up exponentially. Josh gets pushed into the
background and I instantly miss the image of his face and the feeling of his hand holding mine.
While they check me out, the paramedics throw a rapid fire series of questions at me that I
answer as best I can. When I catch snatches of Josh talking and then yelling at someone, I strain
to hear him. As long as I can hear him, he’s okay and as long as he’s okay, I can deal with
anything else.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Ignoring the two secret service agents that are watching me, I pace the small waiting room just off
the GW ER.
What the hell is taking so long? Why won’t any one tell me how Donna is?
I drag a hand through my hair. God, when I saw her unconscious…and then the blood…her
blood, I nearly lost it. If I live a hundred lifetimes, that’s an image I’ll be thankful to never see
again.
“The paramedics said Miss Moss is going to be just fine, Mr. Lyman.” Agent Weber reminds me.
“Why don’t you sit down and try to relax until the doctor gives us an update?”
Yeah, like I’m going to listen to anything these guys say right now. Despite the fact that agent
Weber threw himself bodily on me and Donna when the shooting started, this is all their fault and
I won’t forget that anytime soon. Continuing to pace, I just glare at him and he wisely doesn’t
press the issue.
“When is Ron Butterfield going to get here?” I demand.
“He’s working with the team back at your apartment. As soon as he has completed his preliminary
investigation, he’ll come by here to debrief you and Miss Moss.”
“No one talks to her unless the doctor and I say it’s all right.” I snap.
“Mr. Lyman, we’ll need to…”
I stop pacing and stare him down. “NO one talks to her without going through me.” I reiterate. “If
Ron has a problem with that he can see me.”
Again, agent Weber doesn’t press the issue and I go back to pacing. I should probably call
somebody…Leo, Toby, CJ…someone, but I really don’t want to talk about this evening’s little
adventure with anyone right now. Besides, I’m sure that the secret service has already informed
Leo and the President of what’s happened.
“Mr. Lyman?” A new voice says from behind me.
I whip around to see what I assume is the doctor standing at the edge of the room. He looks
young…I’m talking Doogie Howser young and for a moment I think about asking him exactly what
year he actually graduated from medical school, but my need to get an update on Donna takes
precedence so I get to the point.
“How’s Donna?”
“She’ll be sore for a few days, but she’s fine. All her injures are fairly minor. We stitched up the
injury to her leg and her arm with no problem. One of the cuts on her face was deep enough that
it had to be stitched up too, but we brought in a plastic surgeon to do that so she shouldn’t have
a scar when it heals. Those wounds will have to be kept clean and the bandages changed
regularly. She also has bruises over most of her torso from the projectiles and a slight
concussion from her head hitting the floor. Because of the concussion, we’re going to keep her
overnight for observation to make sure there are no lasting effects.”
I didn’t absorb a lot of what he said past “she’s fine,” but I nod anyway.
“Can I see her?”
“Yes, she’s been asking for you.”
Not giving a second thought to the agents that are surely trailing after me like ghosts, I follow the
doctor back to where they’ve got Donna. Rather than using one of the curtained off areas that
dominate the ER, they’ve got her in a treatment room and there are already two agents posted
outside.
I can feel my blood pressure go down as soon as I see her lying on the narrow hospital gurney.
Knowing that Agent Weber is going to try and follow me inside, I close the door in his face so
Donna and I can have some privacy.
I walk over and look down at her. Eyes closed, she looks peaceful enough…well, except for the
scratches on her face from flying window glass and the marks that have developed on her body.
Covered with a sheet and dressed in a plain hospital gown, I can’t see too much of the alabaster
skin she’s always telling me about, but the marks are clearly visible along her arms and over the
small area of skin on her collarbone that I can see above the fabric of her gown she’s now
dressed in. From the way my own body looks and from the doctor’s description, I know that the
visible marks are just the tip of the iceberg.
And I think those scratches and marks make me more angry than I’ve ever felt before. By nature,
I’m not a violent person but if the guy who did this was here right now…well let’s just say, even
the secret service agents outside wouldn’t be enough to protect him from me.
I take her hand in mine and in response Donna opens her eyes and looks up at me.
Immediately, I see her eyes fill with tears. As happy as I am to see her baby blues, I hate to see
her cry.
“Hey, what’s this? There’s no need to cry. You’re going to be fine.” I tell her. “The resident
masquerading as Doogie Howser said so.” My little joke doesn’t even make her crack a smile.
“I’m so sorry, Josh. This is all my fault. I never should have opened that curtain.”
I can’t help but brush a tear off her cheek. “Donna there’s no way you could have known.”
“I could have gotten both of us killed.”
“But you didn’t. We’re still here. That counts for something. Give yourself a break already.”
Tears still seeping from her eyes, she stares at me for a long moment and I feel like she’s trying
to see through any false front I’m putting up. She’s always been good at reading me.
“Are you okay? Really okay?” she asks me.
I shrug a little and decide to go with honesty. “I’m a little bruised just like you, but I’m fine
otherwise.”
“Are you going to call, Stanley?” she asks.
Her question takes me by surprise. “I hadn’t planned to. That is, unless you want me to call him
for you.”
She’s staring at me again and it makes me want to squirm a little. “Rubber or not, there were
bullets, Josh.” She points out unnecessarily. “That has to bring up some things for you.”
She’s probably right, but I haven’t even begun to process that aspect of what happened tonight.
Right now, I’m just focused on the fact that she’s okay.
“This time was a little different.” I try to explain.
She frowns a bit. “Why? Because the bullets weren’t real?”
I look at her and the words are tumbling out before I really even form the thought in my head.
“No, because I wasn’t alone, you were there.”
“Oh, Josh…” she says tearing up again as she squeezes my hand.
I never told her that when I was sitting on the cold cement sidewalk bleeding to death, I wasn’t
really thinking of myself. All that kept running through my mind was ‘is Donna all right’ and
lamenting the fact that I’d never get to tell her how I really felt. But now that things are changing
between us and we’ve been treading into new waters personally, the second item is something I
can remedy.
Leaning down, I softly capture her lips with mine. I don’t rush the kiss and don’t make it too
demanding. I just want to show her how I feel and that what’s happening with this mess we find
ourselves in doesn’t change what I feel for her.
Bruised and battered as she is, she responds in kind. Slowly, her mouth opens for me in
invitation and after nibbling lightly on her bottom lip, I carefully lay my hand on her cheek and
slide my tongue into her mouth to sample the taste of her. This is a little bit farther than we’ve
taken things up to this point, but it feels too good…too right to stop.
Part of my brain tries to tell me that I shouldn’t be doing this, that I should wait until things calm
down for us. But given our lives and what we do we could wait a long time for that to happen and
right now I’m all about appreciating life and the warm, wonderful woman I’m kissing at the moment.
When I finally pull back, we’re both a little breathless. “I love you, Donna. And now that I know you’
re okay, I’m going to be fine too.”
Her eyes tear up again, but this time there’s a soft smile in them so I don’t mind the waterworks
so much.
“I love you too, Josh.”
Before I can say anything else, there’s a firm knock at the door and Ron Butterfield sticks his
head in the door. His gaze flicks between me and Donna and I know he doesn’t miss the sight of
our clasped hands.
“Josh, can I speak to you for a moment?”
With a nod, I start to pull away, but Donna keeps a surprisingly firm grip on my hand. “No, I want
to hear this. It affects me too.”
Ron gives Josh a look then steps inside and after closing the door behind him, walks over to
where we’re standing.
“How are you feeling, Donna?” Ron asks her.
“Pretty terrible,” Donna replies succinctly.
“Well, that’s to be expected.”
I can appreciate Ron’s need for keeping things light for Donna, but I really want to hear what he
has to say. “What did you find out?”
“Tonight, at approximately 8:30, a number of projectiles we’ve determined to be rubber bullets
were fired at your apartment from a unit across the street. When the shooting started, Agent
Weber entered your apartment and found that you had already gotten Donna on the floor and
he in turn covered both of you.”
“That must have been the weight I felt,” Donna said. “It got kind of hard to breathe there for a
minute.”
“Well, with two grown men piled on top of you, that’s understandable.” Ron tells her. “My agents
stationed downstairs fired at the window of the unit across the street but it wasn't doing any good
so they made their way over there and burst inside.”
“Did they catch the gunmen?” Donna asks hopefully.
I hate to take that hope out of her eyes, but because of my earlier discussions with the agents, I
already know the unfortunate answer to her question.
“There was no one there, Donna,” I tell her quietly. “The apartment was empty.”
“Empty? Well, then who was firing at us?”
Ron tries to explain. “He means empty of people and furniture you’d normally expect to find in an
apartment. It appears that the person or persons responsible never actually lived there. There
were two windows in the unit that faced the street. In one window, a sophisticated surveillance
camera had been trained on the front of Josh’s building."
“So he was watching us coming and going this whole time?” Donna surmises with a somewhat
horrified look on her face.
Ron nods. “The camera was sending out a feed so he was able to watch from another location.
In the other window he’d set up a very specialized gun that was modified so it could be triggered
remotely to fire repeating rounds of rubber bullets. Except for the ability to be triggered remotely,
this type of gun is normally used for large scale crowd or riot control.”
"I thought rubber bullets weren’t supposed to hurt you?" Donna puts in.
I roll my shoulders and I swear that I can feel every single bruise on my body. Since she took the
brunt of things, I can only imagine how sore Donna is. "Yeah someone got that wrong."
Ron tries to explain. "Actually they're designed to hurt as a way to incapacitate but still be non-
lethal. Most rubber bullets, including the ones used tonight, are actually very similar to regular
bullets. They have a gun powder charge just like a regular bullet but the metal projectile is
smaller and is wrapped in a shell of rubber or plastic so they don’t penetrate the body as easily
as standard bullets. Even being non-lethal, they do cause wounds as you discovered and there
are a number of deaths recorded every year from rubber bullets used during crowd or riot
control, mostly from bullets fired at too close a range or hitting someone in the head."
"So how long do you think the gun has been set up over there?" Donna asks next.
"There's really no way to tell," Ron tells her. "It's possible he set it up about the same time as the
camera."
"But if the gun has been there for a while, why didn't the agents notice it before tonight?" Donna
asks next.
"Yeah, I'd like to know that too." I tell him.
"The window where he’d set up the gun was partially opened but obscured by the top of a large
tree. The barrel of the gun was positioned so that is was camouflaged in some of the foliage."
"So all he did was wait until I opened the curtains and then he triggered the gun." Donna
murmurs in a voice laced with guilt and regret.
Ron and I exchange a glance before he speaks in a soft, non-accusatory tone. "He would have
been watching for them to be open. The curtains were heavy enough that they would have
absorbed most of the rubber bullets’ momentum if they'd been closed."
"It's also the only way he'd know where we were in the apartment," Donna adds.
From the tone in her voice, I can tell she's really beating herself up over this. "Stop kicking
yourself, Donna, you didn't know," I tell her again.
"Well, I won't make that mistake again," she says quietly.
Ron tries to soften it for her too. "We made some mistakes too, Donna. While we checked out
Josh's building, we never considered that the assailant would do anything this elaborate or
organized or we would have searched the surrounding buildings as well. But we're taking steps
right now to search and verify the occupants of all those buildings so this won't happen again.
We're also replacing all the street facing windows in your apartment with bulletproof glass."
"Do you find anything else in the other apartment besides the camera and the gun?" I ask.
"Not much. We're still checking but there doesn't appear to be any fingerprints or other forensic
evidence. The assailant appears to know how to cover his tracks." Ron stops and his expression
tells me that there's something he needs to tell us but wishes he could avoid it. "The only other
thing we found was a message the perpetrator left behind."
"What did it say?" Donna asks before I can think of a way to get Ron to tell me in private in case
it's something bad.
Ron's glance goes from Donna to me and back to Donna again. "A number of pictures of you two
coming and going from your apartment had been enlarged and pasted on one of the walls.
Beneath it was a message that read:"
'NEXT TIME THE BULLETS WON'T BE RUBBER'
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
6
“How’s Donna doing?” The President asks me.
“As well as can be expected, sir.” I reply wearily. We had quite the fight over whether or not she
was coming to work today. She won, but only because I let her win; I want that to be perfectly
clear. Staying home alone, with a couple agents would only make things worse for her. At least
here, I can limit her work and keep a close eye on her. Plus the White House is considerably
safer than my place…or anywhere else for that matter.
“I got a report from Ron. It sounded…intense.” The President pauses. “How are you doing Josh?”
“I’m more than a little spooked, sir.” I admit.
“I can imagine.” He nods and purses his lips. “It’s been a pretty stressful time around here lately
Josh, and I had an idea about that, but I wanted to run it by you first.”
“What’s that, sir?” I ask hesitantly.
“I was thinking a staff retreat.” The President announces.
“Oh, God, really?” I ask and he gives me ‘the look’. I may have crossed that line again. Shit.
“What did you have in mind, sir?”
“Camp David.” He announces and I brighten a little. Camp David could be good. It might be very
nice to get out of town for a few days. “Maybe Donna would appreciate a change in scenery. She
must be feeling pretty cooped up about now.”
“She is, Mr. President.” I acknowledge.
“I remember when I first got my detail. It felt like I didn’t have any privacy and I was a prisoner in
my own home.” The President elaborated.
“That’s exactly how she’s feeling, sir.”
“There’s no more helpless a feeling for a man than being unable to protect someone he cares
about. Then add the personal experiences we’ve all had with gun violence…” He trails off and I
do NOT like where this is going. “What I’m saying is...it’s time for you to give Stanley a call.”
“Sir, I really don’t think--”
“It’s not a request, Josh.” His voice turns to steel in a heartbeat.
“Yes, sir.” I try to remember that he’s acting out of concern for me, but it’s hard not to just feel
further manipulated.
“Tell the troops we’re leaving at 3 on Friday for a weekend of R & R at Camp David.” He
pronounces.
“Yes, sir.” I sigh and walk slowly back to my office. I stop briefly to study Donna at her desk. I sent
out a blanket email that nobody was to comment on her obvious injuries or make her feel
uncomfortable in any way. Word has obviously trickled through the gossip mill that she is under
Federal protection and that she’s staying at my place. So far, nobody has made any kind of deal
about it.
C.J. told me she’s had a few discreet inquiries, but once she mentions the words ‘ongoing Secret
Service investigation’ people back off. Donna looks like she’s drunk. The pain killers she’s on
have clearly affected her ability to concentrate and to focus, but she’s unlikely to hear any
complaints about her job performance. Usually, she picks up on my presence immediately.
Today, it takes her a good three minutes to realize I’m even there.
“Hey…” She offers me a dreamy smile. Man is she drugged up.
“Hey.” I smile back. I crook my head in the direction of my office and hold out a hand to help her
stand up without falling over.
I sit her carefully in my chair. “I wish you’d go home.”
“You don’t want me here?” Tears well up in her eyes; another byproduct of the pain meds
coupled with the stress of the past 24 hours.
“I’ll always want you here. I just think you’d be more comfortable lying down at home. You clearly
aren’t feeling well.” I explain.
“I’ll be fine.” She tells me, even as she starts to tip over in my chair.
“Can you get Stanley on the line for me?” I ask her and her eyes widen in alarm. “I’m fine. The
President…requested a check in, that’s all.” She continues to look at me strangely. “He ordered
a check in.”
That gets through to her. “Sure.” I gather some things in my office while she places a phone call
like she’s moving through Jell-O. “He’s with a client. He’ll call you back as soon as he’s free.”
“Thanks. I have a budget file that needs to be reviewed before lunch. Would you take a look at it
for me?” I ask, handing it to her without looking at her.
“Sure.” She responds and starts looking at it.
“Why don’t you take it over to C.J.’s office?” I suggest. “Her couch would be a lot more
comfortable to sit on while you work.”
“I don’t want to bother C.J.” She demurs.
“C.J.!” I shout through the bullpen.
“Josh!” Donna shouts at me.
“It’s okay.” I assure her. “CEEJAAAAY!”
“Must you behave this way? You’re the Deputy Chief of Staff in the White House.” C.J. reminds
me.
“Donna needs someplace a little more comfortable to work today. You don’t mind if she parks on
your couch, right?”
“I’d love to have Donna parked on my couch.” She smiles knowingly at me. “Come with me,
Donna, I’ll take you away from this crazy man for awhile.”
“But what if he--” She tries to object.
“He can screw up on his own. I’ve seen him do it.” C.J. takes her arm and leads her out of my
office. I mouth ‘thanks’ to her and she nods her acknowledgement. I haven’t leaned on C.J. much
in all this even though I know she and Donna have always been close and shared a special
bond. The reason for that is that she has had a little too much personal experience being in this
kind of position. I don’t think she’s ever gotten over Simon’s death. I don’t want to do anything to
bring back her fear or grief.
I settle in to try to get some work done. Donna’s not the only one having trouble concentrating
these days. My phone rings four times before I remember that Donna isn’t there to pick it up.
“Josh Lyman.”
“Where’s Donna?” Stanley asks without saying hello.
“She’s not here.”
“No wonder you needed to talk to me so urgently.” He quips.
“You’re hysterical, Stanley, seriously.” I drawl.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call then?”
“Presidential decree.” I admit.
“Oh; force…always a great basis for therapy.”
“Feel free to complain to my boss.” I offer.
“What’s going on, Josh?”
“What do you mean?” I decide to play with him awhile.
“I mean, why does the President feel you need to speak with me?” Stanley sighs.
“Maybe he just wanted to punish you?” I suggest.
“That’s always a possibility.” Stanley does NOT sound amused. “I have to catch a flight to New
York in three hours, Josh, so if the punishment is over…”
“There might be another reason.” I admit.
“No….” He drawls. I ignore it because I did give him a hard time. I proceed to fill him in on
everything that’s going on with Donna, but end with a ‘we’re doing okay, though’.
“All right then. Thanks for the update.” Stanley nearly hangs up on me!
“Wait!”
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me anything?”
“Why? You said you’re both doing okay.”
“But I’m not a mental health professional. Maybe I’m wrong.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re wrong. You were shot at; even worse, in your estimation, so was Donna.”
Stanley notes. “But as long as you believe you’re okay, there’s really nothing I can do to help.”
Shit. This is going to be a long conversation.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Josh Lyman is a bright guy, which in my experience just makes my job more difficult. However, I
do have an advantage in that he goes through the same steps and stages as everyone else; he’
s just a little more conniving in how he goes about them. Well, maybe conniving isn’t the right
word. Conniving implies a nefarious purpose. Josh has no nefarious purpose. He’s just practicing
avoidance.
There is no way most people could go through what he and Donna just went through without
dealing with psychological repercussions. Now you add the fact that Josh was already the victim
of a traumatic shooting and suffered from significant PTSD symptoms before AND the fact that
this time Donna was involved and you have yourself a ballgame.
I don’t have the luxury of time right now that I did that Christmas Eve. We’re going to have to
delve deeper into this later. In the meantime, I’m going to get the Secret Service report so I know
firsthand how much of a snow job Josh is giving me right now. I can take another 30 minutes now,
tops, before I have to leave to catch my flight. But I’m under no illusion that this time there will be
a simple fix in one session.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
“I’m sorry, what was that? Oh, yes, Toby, you are correct. I AM the superior athlete.” I get right in
his face. I may not be able to get in the President’s face here on the basketball court, but Toby is
fair game and I have a little frustration to work off. There’ve been no new developments in the
case and I don’t understand how that can be. Are they just waiting for the next…whatever to
happen?
“Bite me.” Toby tosses back and takes the ball out. He may have the President, and not
inconsequentially the Secret Service guys on his side, but I’ve got Charlie.
“That was a stunningly witty comeback there, Tobus. Are you sure we pay you to write for the
President?” I LOVE pushing his buttons. Apparently he loves the pushing too, because I almost
end up on my ass when he dribbles by me. Fortunately, Charlie is on it. There’s a bit of a scuffle
and like lightening, Charlie takes the ball and passes it to me, I pass it back to him after he
circumvents the President, and then he passes it off to me once again, where I toss it in…nothing
but net.
I turn to the short row of bleachers to see if Donna noticed my manly exhibition and she smiles
huge for me. My chest swells a couple sizes. She’s been so happy here for the past two days. I
kind of wish we didn’t have to go back tomorrow. Donna’s been relaxed and full of good humor. I
didn’t even mind – too much – when she and C.J. played a practical joke on me and Toby. She
was so delighted to have pulled one over on us. I haven’t heard her laugh like that in ages!
“That’s the way we do it in the N.B.A.!” I shout and high five Charlie. Charlie just rolls his eyes at
both of us. Hey, I helped! A bit.
“Mr. President.” Ron Butterfield calls to him from the sidelines. I would bet you one of my
paychecks that he told Ron to interrupt him once we tied them in points. It may not be very
Presidential, but it’s very Jed Bartlet.
“You need me, Ron?” The President asks innocently; a little TOO innocently if you ask me.
“Yes, sir. If I could just have a couple minutes, please?” Ron requests.
“Sure. These guys need a time out to rest up anyway.” He jerks a thumb over at us. He and Ron
walk off a bit to have a private discussion.
I wander over to where Donna is sitting with C.J., Dr. Bartlet, and Will who chose to sit out and
watch rather than decide between my team and Toby’s team. He’s still not quite comfortable here
yet. Donna hands me a bottle of water.
“Didja see my shot?” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“Oh. My. Gawd.” C.J. makes a retching noise too, but I ignore her.
“It was amazing.” Donna agrees and winks. “I really can’t believe you weren’t drafted right out of
college.”
“Didn’t play in college.” I shrug.
“That would explain it then.” She shoots back and wipes my face with a towel before kissing my
cheek.
“I’m getting nauseous.” C.J. sing-songs.
“I don’t know, C.J., it’s kind of cute watching the President’s pit bull go all soft and sweet.” Dr.
Bartlet notes. Now it’s my turn to feel nauseous.
“Seriously Dr. B., you just can’t go around saying stuff like that. I’ll be ruined.” I point out to her.
“Strangely, I don’t care so much about that, Joshua.” She smiles while she says it though, so I’m
pretty sure she doesn’t really mean it.
I’m about to shoot back yet another witty piece of banter when Ron Butterfield taps me on the
shoulder. “Could I see you and Miss Moss for a minute please?”
I look quickly over at Donna whose already pale skin goes white.
“Uh…sure.” I answer. “But do you really need both of us?”
“I do, yes.” Ron nods and I put an arm out to steady Donna who is climbing down from the
bleachers and appearing a little shaken. Her bruises from four days ago are fading but their
impact is still apparent from her reaction here. So much for getting a break from things here.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Josh is in his glory. He and his team are gaining on Toby and his team. And just for fun, he’s
throwing in some trash talk; just to stay sharp while he’s out of the city. For my guy? It’s all about
the winning. Charlie, his ace in the hole, gets a hold of the ball and with a rapid succession of
passes, Charlie to Josh, Josh to Charlie, Charlie to Josh, they score! Josh turns immediately to
me to make sure I saw him. He’s grinning so big his dimples have popped out. I really don’t give a
damn about the score but he does and his happiness that they’ve just tied things up makes me
return the smile in full force.
The past couple days had been heavenly. Being in a secured compound has alleviated the need
for agents to be on top of us all the time. We could take walks on our own and we even had a
picnic dinner last night; despite Josh’s claim that he is no outdoorsman.
When Ron Butterfield asks for a minute with the President, Josh comes directly to me. It’s like we’
re magnets lately and we’re constantly drawn to one another’s sides. We banter a bit and I really
want to kiss him but he’s very sweaty. I pick up his towel and give his face a brief swipe before
giving him the abbreviated version of the kiss I’d really like to share with him.
C.J. is busy pretending to be sick over our PDA but I know that inside, she’s very happy about
Josh and me. She just has to do that kind of thing to keep up appearances. Dr. Bartlet even joins
in with the fun. Though honestly, this is nothing compared to the teasing Josh and Toby have
been taking about bears this weekend.
C.J. and I ‘borrowed’ a bear skin rug from main lodge; this compound is huge! It was one of those
rugs that had the stuffed bear head and claws attached. We used the claws to scrape on the
windows of the cabin Josh and Toby are sharing and when the noise woke them and they saw
the bear head staring in at them from the window…let’s just say the Secret Service responded to
the screams!
Now, I can literally feel the happiness and relaxation of the past two days drain away like helium
escaping a small hole in a balloon; all because Ron Butterfield is now approaching us. He has his
‘grim’ face on. Josh makes a token attempt to keep me out of whatever this is, but Ron wants to
speak to both of us privately. He doesn’t waste any time once we have a little distance from the
others.
“We found some residents from the building across the hall who believe they got a good look at
our mystery guest. We had them work with a sketch artist and this is what they came up with. I’d
like you each to look at it carefully and tell me if it rings any bells for you.” Ron pulls a hand
drawn rendition of an ordinary looking man in a baseball cap. He has light brown hair and a
matching mustache. He could be almost anyone.
“He doesn’t look familiar to me.” Josh decides and hands the picture to me so I can look at it
more closely. He rightly assumes that since this started with me, this guy has a connection to me.
“Donna?”
“There’s…something about the eyes that seems familiar.” I note and tilt my head to look at the
picture from another angle. “Maybe not. Maybe I’m just imagining things. I’ve been racking my
brain trying to figure out who this could be, who I’ve sufficiently pissed off to--” I break off when I
notice my voice cracking. “The eyes remind me of someone, but I can’t place who.”
“I’m going to leave this copy with you.” Ron tells me. “You’ll contact me immediately if anyone
comes to mind?”
“Of course.” I agree. Hell, at this point I’d make something up if it would help speed things along.
He gives us a nod and marches off on his way back to wherever the Secret Service holes up
while the President is at Camp David. I’m not even aware that I’ve sunk to the ground until Josh
joins me there and uses his hand to lift my head to make eye contact with me. Then he takes the
picture out of my hands, carefully folds it and puts it in my back pocket.
“I need to look at that.” I protest weakly.
“You already did. Just let it sit in your subconscious for awhile. If you know him, it will come to
you.” He pulls me closer to him. “They’re going to find him and put him away so he never hurts
you again.”
“You don’t know that.” I can hear the petulance in my voice.
“Sure, I do. I know everything, remember?” He teases and rubs my back.
“I just want this to be over.” I whine.
“No more than I do, I promise you.” He hugs me tightly to his body. “I need a shower. Want to
come along and scrub my back?”
Like a switch, my body heats up at the thought of sharing a shower with Josh. He must feel the
change in how my body is responding to him because he pulls me away from him just far enough
to look at me closely and see my alabaster skin turn red.
“We can’t.” I give him a non-answer answer. I haven’t been hanging out with C.J. all this time for
nothing. I look around like Secret Service and military personnel may jump out of the bushes
and catch us in our nefarious plan to have sex at Camp David.
“I beg to differ. We really can.” He leers and kisses me until we’re lying prone on the ground with
me on the lawn and Josh hovering above me. “Oh, damn, now you’re dirty too. You should really
take a shower.”
“Uh-huh.” I smirk at his less than subtle approach.
“We’re the green party, Donna. We really need to model water conservation.”
“Uh-huh.” I repeat. “I really was hoping for something a little more…more, than having sex in the
shower the first time.” I point out. He rears back and stares at me like I’m crazy.
“You think I was attempting to talk you into sex in the shower?”
Now it’s my turn to look affronted. “Well…yeah. You said--”
“Sex in the shower.” He mutters. “I can tell your high opinion of my ability to bring the woo,
Donna.” He scoffs and sits up before extending his hand to me to help me stand up again.
“Wait just a second. You’re the one who said I should come with you while you shower and scrub
your back.” I respond.
“Yes, scrub my back. I said nothing about sex. Absolutely nothing.” He maintains which is
technically true.
“But you implied--” I try to counter.
“I implied that I wanted you with me while I shower, not that we’d be engaging in sex in the
shower.” Now he rolls his eyes and it gets just a little overdramatic for me. “Those showers are
TINY!”
“So you’re stating for the record that it was never your intention to have sex in the shower?” I try
to pin him down.
“Of course not.” He takes my hand and threads it through his arm. “The shower was for foreplay.
Then once we’re all hot and slippery and clean…”
“Josh.” I start laughing.
“The beds aren’t that much bigger than the shower, but there’s less chance of an activity related
injury.”
Now I burst out laughing. “Activity related injury?”
“I’m not kidding, Donna, and the bathroom is the most dangerous room in the house. Would you
like to explain how the injury occurred to Dr. Bartlet?” Now I pale at that thought. This man isn’t a
brilliant strategist for nothing.
“Not so much. But then the bed isn’t that much more feasible. You share the cabin with Toby,
remember?” I remind him.
“Donna, Donna, Donna…that’s what shades and locks are for.” He gives me a quick, hot kiss
meant to persuade me and I have to admit it just about does the job…until we’re interrupted by C.
J.
“Ahem….” She clears her throat loudly while she approaches us. “Josh, the President needs to
see you.” He gives her a questioning glance and she shrugs. “I’m not sure but I heard the word
Mexico.”
“Sonofabitch.” He mutters. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” He assures me, even though he
knows that his presence isn’t as important to my safety at Camp David as it is when we’re in D.C.
I nod briefly and turn to walk back to join C.J. Damn. I really need a shower.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
I walk hurriedly to join the President, Leo and Toby in the President’s office. The set up here is
almost as sophisticated as what we have in the White House in some ways; there’s an amazing
communications system and he could run a small war from here if he needed to and yet…the TV’
s all still have knobs on them. It’s like the interior decorating got stuck in the 1960’s. I keep
waiting for the President to challenge me to a game of Pong.
“Josh, come in.” The President waves me through the door and indicates that I should shut it.
“We’ve got a situation that calls for your expertise.”
“You need a smart ass, sir?” I joke.
“Please, for that I could call on anyone in my senior staff.” The President shoots back. “No, I
need someone that Briggs and Jordan trust who can go with them to help negotiate the trade
details with the Mexican delegation.”
“When?” I ask with an inexplicable feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.
“Tomorrow morning.” Leo tells me. Yep, that feeling was right on.
“I can’t, sir.” I reply.
“Josh--”
“I’ve got the vote on 184 coming to the floor on Tuesday and it’s way too tight right now for me to
leave.” I explain, knowing that my real reason for refusing won’t fly.
“We talked to the Speaker. He’s agreed to put the vote off for a week.” Leo informs me. Shit.
“Apparently, he thinks the extra time is to his advantage.”
I jump on that immediately. “It is! If I’m out of town and he has six extra days, things are going to
implode.”
“We’re talking a 36-48 hour trip, Josh. There are just a couple key issues that need to be ironed
out and this is your baby. Then, you’ll have five days when you get back to wrangle our votes
back in line if the Speaker is lucky enough to shake a few of them loose.” Again, it’s Leo who’s
addressing my objections and the message is not lost on me; if the President is letting Leo play
the heavy here, they’re both determined that I’ll be leaving tomorrow for Mexico. Leo goes for the
first round and then, if necessary, the President goes in for the kill with an order, but he’s hoping
to avoid that.
“Okay, I’m going to need administrative help, though.” I try another tactic. Toby looks down at the
floor, which admittedly, is not a good sign.
“We’ll send someone from State to assist all three of you.” Leo offers.
“Leo, that’s ridiculous. Donna knows the details, she’s the logical one to be--”
“Donna has a death threat hanging over her head. Do you really think now is a good time to be
sending her to Mexico on a commercial flight?” Leo points out. Well, damn, that was blunt.
“Why does it have to be tomorrow?” I try one last avenue of escape/procrastination. “And why do
I have to physically go there? What can’t be handled by phone and faxes?”
“There’s been an…economic crisis developing there over the last few days.” The President steps
in now. “Espinoza promised his people that my personal representative would be there tomorrow
to handle the details of a trade/economic package with the leaders in Congress. His credibility is
on the line as well as Mexico’s economy. Last time it was just economic instability…if this causes
a collapse of confidence in the Government…”
“But Mr. President--” I try one last time.
“It’s got to be you and it’s got to be tomorrow.” The President ends the debate. “I’m sorry. I know
this isn’t an ideal time for you to go, but Donna will be in very good hands.”
“I can’t tell you what a relief that is, sir, considering she could’ve been killed while in the care of
those very good hands less than a week ago; we both could have.”
“Because Donna ignored the security precautions.” Leo tells me. “I don’t think she’s likely to do
that again, do you?”
“I have no clue what’s likely to happen again, do you?” I shoot back in anger and frustration. Leo
and the President exchange weary expressions. “She can’t stay at my place alone while I’m gone.
I can’t go back now and tell her, ‘sorry, I know I promised to stay with you until this is over, but
now you’ve got to stay alone while I run off to fight an economic crisis!” Okay, I might have gotten
a little loud there, but nobody is giving me an angry glare so I assume they understand where I’m
coming from here.
“We’ll work something out with Donna, Josh.” Toby promises. “She won’t be alone. If you want me
to talk to her about--”
“Right. Because you’re so good at interpersonal communication.” I drawl. “May I be excused,
sir?” I request stiffly.
“Yes. There will be an updated briefing book at your cabin when you get there.” The President
informs me. “Your flight leaves at 11:00 tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” I say with my teeth gritted and can’t help myself from slamming the
door on my way out. How the hell am I going to tell Donna?