Chapter Nine
George Washington University Hospital
Three days after the shooting
~DONNA'S POV~
Every time I come into Josh's room in the cardiac ICU, tears spring
to my eyes. The first thing I hear is his blissfully beating heart.
He's already stronger; his lung has reinflated and he's allowed to
incline the bed, which, trust me, caused him endless joy.
I'm still creeped out by the uniform agents posted at his door and
the level of security on this floor. The President is still here
somewhere, but he's not in this ward and I'm not quite sure where in
the hospital he is. Since this is, like, the official hospital of the
First Family, there's probably a specific area set up specifically
for them.
I don't know. I don't spend too much time thinking about it though. I
like the President and all, but I don't interact with him much and
it's Josh I'm more concerned with.
He's supposed to start therapy later today. Dr. Bartlet talked
extensively with myself and Josh's mother about what that therapy was
going to entail. From the sounds of it, it's going to be exhausting,
uncomfortable, at times painful and frustrating for Josh.
That should all go over like a lead balloon.
But if anyone can get through something like that, it's the man
before me. He's got more heart and spirit and determination and
downright gall than anyone I've ever met before in my life.
He's resting now, but I know he's not sleeping. Sometimes I think he
likes to play possum and avoid people. It hurt admittedly the first
time I realized what he was doing, but once I started thinking about
it, I really can't blame him. Nurses tend not to poke and prod him
when they think he's sleeping. Crying friends and mothers don't stay
that long when they think he's tired.
I wonder what he thinks about when he retreats there. Does he think
about the pain? Does he remember the shooting? Does he think about
his job or us? Does he think about the horrid fight we had that night
right before the shooting?
I sigh deeply and sit down on the bed facing him. I told him that
night that I had a lot to tell him, and now's the time.
I gently run a hand through his hair and call his name
softly. "Joshua."
His eyes immediately flutter open. Told you he wasn't sleeping. My
eyes tear up, just thinking about what I'm about to say and how
nervous I am. He frowns a bit.
"It's okay." I quickly assure him. He and I have always had an
uncanny ability to read each other well. Sometimes it hurts him to
talk, so it's coming in handy now. His hand drops lightly to my hip
and his thumb rubs gently up and down. It's so soft, but so soothing.
"I don't know if you remember anything from when we were waiting for
help the other night, but I told you that I had a lot to say to you
and I think it's time to keep my promise." I begin. There's confusion
and a little bit alarm in his eyes and I rush to reassure him. "It's
all good." I say quickly. "Well, one thing you might get pissed off
at, but that's not actually my fault. But right now, I'm going to
talk, and all you have to do is listen. Okay?"
He nods slightly and I take a deep breath and decide to dive right in.
"I don't know if you remember what I said that night, but I meant
every word, Josh. I want to be with you, only you and nobody else,
and I don't want you to be with anyone else either. I thought this
before all this happened, and granted it was merely minutes before
this happened after our fight, I still thought it before, and I think
that should count.
"I love you so much, Josh. In my life, I didn't think I'd fall in
love with someone in your position, but I did, and I can't pretend to
everyone that I'm not. We HAVE made it work, Josh, we've been making
it work. I know it's hard with our jobs, but you never leak anything
to me, and I never ask for it. You don't ask me who my sources are,
not seriously anyway, we're very respectful of each other's jobs
already, and even if that weren't the case, I don't want to be these
career driven people. I love to write, Josh, and I love to write
about politics, but maybe I don't have to do that from the White
House. I don't know. I haven't gotten that far in the thought
process.
"All I know, with absolute certainty, is that you, Josh Lyman, are
wrong. We CAN work, we have been working, and I refuse to let you
stonewall us another minute because you think our jobs will get in
the way."
He smirks a bit, and his hand slides up to the back of my head. He
applies just enough pressure there for me to understand what it is he
wants and I fall gently onto his shoulder. He turns his head and
kisses my temple. "I love you, too, Donnatella." He whispers. "And
I've never been so happy to be wrong in my life."
"Really?" I ask, pulling away and wiping the tears on my cheeks away,
and he nods.
"I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do about it yet, but
apparently, I'll have some time before I really have to think about
it." He says with great effort and rubs his palm into his eye. I take
his hand in mine and lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.
"Um…there's something else you should know." I hedge. "I don't know
how you're going to take all this, but I don't know who out there
heard this and I don't think it's wise to keep you in the dark about
it anymore." He's frowning again. "That night, I sort of got into an
argument with CJ and the others. They, well, CJ mostly, tried to keep
me from seeing you." The frown gets deeper. Things don't bode well
now for the rest of the senior staff.
"I don't know that anyone was really thinking clearly at the time.
Everyone was pretty emotional and I think they just looked at me and
saw press and just wanted to protect you. But, I was desperate to be
with you. I was going out of my mind, and I had your blood all over
me. I was hysterical, Josh."
His hand comes up and gently strokes my cheek. How he can lay there
in the condition he's in and find the strength to comfort me is
simply amazing.
"Anyway, I saw your mother outside and I screamed for her. She
recognized me, but the secret service still wouldn't let me through,
so she told me I was your fiancé." His eyes widen a bit, but it seems
to be with surprise. "Then, she gave the staff an ultimatum. If they
tried to keep me away from you, then she, as your next of kin, would
ban them from being allowed to see you."
He rolls his eyes in a way clearly showing his frustration, but this
one is all his mother, thank God. "I don't know who heard her say any
of that, Josh. But, um, just in case someone here says something to
you about that, that's where it came from."
"Well, it's not like it's the worst thing in the world that could
happen." Comes a familiar voice from the doorway. I look over and pop
off the bed as the President enters the room hobbling with a cane.
"Mr. President!" I greet in surprise. I hazard a glance down at Josh
and he's eyeing his boss with an unreadable expression.
"I'm going home today, it seems." He announces. "I just wanted to
come by and see how you were doing, Josh, before I left."
"Okay." He whispers.
"Well, obviously, you're lying." The President scoffs.
"Sir," I begin. "Josh didn't know anything about anything I said…"
"Donna," the President interrupts me. "You don't have to sell it to
me. You convinced me what you feel is genuine days ago. But it's not
that easy and Josh knows how it works. I'm a romantic, and I love
happy endings, but I also live in the real world. In fact, I run the
real world. The others are going to have to weigh in. But,
fortunately, that's something that we'll have a while to figure out
while Josh recovers.
"So, Joshua, you have this beautiful lady here, who seems willing to
help you in that endeavor and one man to another, I suggest you abuse
that to its fullest limit every chance you get. Abbey's bedside
manner sucks, so one of us shouldn't be completely miserable."
The President walks towards the door, but stops and turns around to
face me. "Imperial Presidencies, Donna. I haven't forgotten."
"I look forward to the tongue lashing, sir." I smirk. "And then
writing about how you're still wrong."
"You know, there are some who would consider that a threat to the
sitting President." He shoots back.
"And others who would merely consider it my First Amendment right." I
counter sweetly.
He throws a look over to Josh. "Good luck with her, Josh." He says
before disappearing out the door.
I look down at Josh and he's got his eyes closed again. I sit back
down and ignore his effort to hide. "Josh, are you mad at me?"
"No." he says softly opening his eyes.
"You should sleep a bit. You have therapy later, and you're going to
need your strength."
"Will you be here?"
"I'll be around." I nod. "Your mother is coming soon, and I was going
to go get lunch and maybe go grab you some newspapers; let you start
having contact with the outside world."
"Are you going to bring me something OTHER than the New York Times?"
he smirks.
"There are newspapers out there that aren't the New York Times?" I
say in mock innocence.
He smiles and closes his eyes. I lean in and kiss his forehead
again. "I love you." I whisper, and this time I know he's sleeping
for real.
When his mother comes to relieve me, I sneak out quietly. I hope to
be back in time for his first therapy session. He'll need someone to
beat up other than his mother.
Once I'm outside, I power my phone back up and check the voice mail
messages.
Shit.
There's a rather irate one from my editor wondering why in hell the
New York Times is the only paper whose White House correspondent
hasn't filed a story on the shooting. He wants to know why they're
printing associated press stories instead.
Well, this is going to be unpleasant. I dial his number and take a
deep breath.
"Hi, Bill." I greet when he gruffly answers. "It's Donna."
"Donna? Donna Moss, my elusive White House correspondent?" he bites
back.
"Listen, Bill…" I begin.
"I've been listening for nearly two years now, Donna. I think it's
your turn to do the listening." I wisely bite my tongue and let him
do his venting. The Washington Post broke the story of Leo McGarry's
drug use. The Boston Globe was the first to report Sam Seaborn's
relationship with a prostitute. Again, the Washington Post reported
when we bombed Syria in retaliation for a terrorist attack on a
military shuttle. An attack, by the way, that was first reported by
the Washington Herald." Boy, is he fired up.
"Let me ask you this, Donna. Please tell me what big White House
story in the last year and a half did the New York Times break? Is it
me, or is your friendship with the Deputy Chief of Staff severely
clouding your loyalties?"
"I'm not writing about the shooting, Bill." I say softly but firmly.
"Oh, I figured that out by now, Donna." He retorts. "You've got
yourself planted at his bedside. I know this because I'm reading
about it in the Washington Post, yet we're reporting nothing."
"I'm sorry, Bill." I say lamely.
"Donna, you're standing in the middle of the biggest story of your
career right now. You got that job by convincing me that politics
isn't personal. It's looking awfully personal to me now. Tell me
something, between you and me, how many times have you actually
spoken to the President of the United States over the last few days?"
I'm silent. And my silence apparently speaks volumes.
"That's what I thought."
"Bill…." I plead.
"You've got some decisions to make, Donna."
TBC
George Washington University Hospital
Three days after the shooting
~DONNA'S POV~
Every time I come into Josh's room in the cardiac ICU, tears spring
to my eyes. The first thing I hear is his blissfully beating heart.
He's already stronger; his lung has reinflated and he's allowed to
incline the bed, which, trust me, caused him endless joy.
I'm still creeped out by the uniform agents posted at his door and
the level of security on this floor. The President is still here
somewhere, but he's not in this ward and I'm not quite sure where in
the hospital he is. Since this is, like, the official hospital of the
First Family, there's probably a specific area set up specifically
for them.
I don't know. I don't spend too much time thinking about it though. I
like the President and all, but I don't interact with him much and
it's Josh I'm more concerned with.
He's supposed to start therapy later today. Dr. Bartlet talked
extensively with myself and Josh's mother about what that therapy was
going to entail. From the sounds of it, it's going to be exhausting,
uncomfortable, at times painful and frustrating for Josh.
That should all go over like a lead balloon.
But if anyone can get through something like that, it's the man
before me. He's got more heart and spirit and determination and
downright gall than anyone I've ever met before in my life.
He's resting now, but I know he's not sleeping. Sometimes I think he
likes to play possum and avoid people. It hurt admittedly the first
time I realized what he was doing, but once I started thinking about
it, I really can't blame him. Nurses tend not to poke and prod him
when they think he's sleeping. Crying friends and mothers don't stay
that long when they think he's tired.
I wonder what he thinks about when he retreats there. Does he think
about the pain? Does he remember the shooting? Does he think about
his job or us? Does he think about the horrid fight we had that night
right before the shooting?
I sigh deeply and sit down on the bed facing him. I told him that
night that I had a lot to tell him, and now's the time.
I gently run a hand through his hair and call his name
softly. "Joshua."
His eyes immediately flutter open. Told you he wasn't sleeping. My
eyes tear up, just thinking about what I'm about to say and how
nervous I am. He frowns a bit.
"It's okay." I quickly assure him. He and I have always had an
uncanny ability to read each other well. Sometimes it hurts him to
talk, so it's coming in handy now. His hand drops lightly to my hip
and his thumb rubs gently up and down. It's so soft, but so soothing.
"I don't know if you remember anything from when we were waiting for
help the other night, but I told you that I had a lot to say to you
and I think it's time to keep my promise." I begin. There's confusion
and a little bit alarm in his eyes and I rush to reassure him. "It's
all good." I say quickly. "Well, one thing you might get pissed off
at, but that's not actually my fault. But right now, I'm going to
talk, and all you have to do is listen. Okay?"
He nods slightly and I take a deep breath and decide to dive right in.
"I don't know if you remember what I said that night, but I meant
every word, Josh. I want to be with you, only you and nobody else,
and I don't want you to be with anyone else either. I thought this
before all this happened, and granted it was merely minutes before
this happened after our fight, I still thought it before, and I think
that should count.
"I love you so much, Josh. In my life, I didn't think I'd fall in
love with someone in your position, but I did, and I can't pretend to
everyone that I'm not. We HAVE made it work, Josh, we've been making
it work. I know it's hard with our jobs, but you never leak anything
to me, and I never ask for it. You don't ask me who my sources are,
not seriously anyway, we're very respectful of each other's jobs
already, and even if that weren't the case, I don't want to be these
career driven people. I love to write, Josh, and I love to write
about politics, but maybe I don't have to do that from the White
House. I don't know. I haven't gotten that far in the thought
process.
"All I know, with absolute certainty, is that you, Josh Lyman, are
wrong. We CAN work, we have been working, and I refuse to let you
stonewall us another minute because you think our jobs will get in
the way."
He smirks a bit, and his hand slides up to the back of my head. He
applies just enough pressure there for me to understand what it is he
wants and I fall gently onto his shoulder. He turns his head and
kisses my temple. "I love you, too, Donnatella." He whispers. "And
I've never been so happy to be wrong in my life."
"Really?" I ask, pulling away and wiping the tears on my cheeks away,
and he nods.
"I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do about it yet, but
apparently, I'll have some time before I really have to think about
it." He says with great effort and rubs his palm into his eye. I take
his hand in mine and lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.
"Um…there's something else you should know." I hedge. "I don't know
how you're going to take all this, but I don't know who out there
heard this and I don't think it's wise to keep you in the dark about
it anymore." He's frowning again. "That night, I sort of got into an
argument with CJ and the others. They, well, CJ mostly, tried to keep
me from seeing you." The frown gets deeper. Things don't bode well
now for the rest of the senior staff.
"I don't know that anyone was really thinking clearly at the time.
Everyone was pretty emotional and I think they just looked at me and
saw press and just wanted to protect you. But, I was desperate to be
with you. I was going out of my mind, and I had your blood all over
me. I was hysterical, Josh."
His hand comes up and gently strokes my cheek. How he can lay there
in the condition he's in and find the strength to comfort me is
simply amazing.
"Anyway, I saw your mother outside and I screamed for her. She
recognized me, but the secret service still wouldn't let me through,
so she told me I was your fiancé." His eyes widen a bit, but it seems
to be with surprise. "Then, she gave the staff an ultimatum. If they
tried to keep me away from you, then she, as your next of kin, would
ban them from being allowed to see you."
He rolls his eyes in a way clearly showing his frustration, but this
one is all his mother, thank God. "I don't know who heard her say any
of that, Josh. But, um, just in case someone here says something to
you about that, that's where it came from."
"Well, it's not like it's the worst thing in the world that could
happen." Comes a familiar voice from the doorway. I look over and pop
off the bed as the President enters the room hobbling with a cane.
"Mr. President!" I greet in surprise. I hazard a glance down at Josh
and he's eyeing his boss with an unreadable expression.
"I'm going home today, it seems." He announces. "I just wanted to
come by and see how you were doing, Josh, before I left."
"Okay." He whispers.
"Well, obviously, you're lying." The President scoffs.
"Sir," I begin. "Josh didn't know anything about anything I said…"
"Donna," the President interrupts me. "You don't have to sell it to
me. You convinced me what you feel is genuine days ago. But it's not
that easy and Josh knows how it works. I'm a romantic, and I love
happy endings, but I also live in the real world. In fact, I run the
real world. The others are going to have to weigh in. But,
fortunately, that's something that we'll have a while to figure out
while Josh recovers.
"So, Joshua, you have this beautiful lady here, who seems willing to
help you in that endeavor and one man to another, I suggest you abuse
that to its fullest limit every chance you get. Abbey's bedside
manner sucks, so one of us shouldn't be completely miserable."
The President walks towards the door, but stops and turns around to
face me. "Imperial Presidencies, Donna. I haven't forgotten."
"I look forward to the tongue lashing, sir." I smirk. "And then
writing about how you're still wrong."
"You know, there are some who would consider that a threat to the
sitting President." He shoots back.
"And others who would merely consider it my First Amendment right." I
counter sweetly.
He throws a look over to Josh. "Good luck with her, Josh." He says
before disappearing out the door.
I look down at Josh and he's got his eyes closed again. I sit back
down and ignore his effort to hide. "Josh, are you mad at me?"
"No." he says softly opening his eyes.
"You should sleep a bit. You have therapy later, and you're going to
need your strength."
"Will you be here?"
"I'll be around." I nod. "Your mother is coming soon, and I was going
to go get lunch and maybe go grab you some newspapers; let you start
having contact with the outside world."
"Are you going to bring me something OTHER than the New York Times?"
he smirks.
"There are newspapers out there that aren't the New York Times?" I
say in mock innocence.
He smiles and closes his eyes. I lean in and kiss his forehead
again. "I love you." I whisper, and this time I know he's sleeping
for real.
When his mother comes to relieve me, I sneak out quietly. I hope to
be back in time for his first therapy session. He'll need someone to
beat up other than his mother.
Once I'm outside, I power my phone back up and check the voice mail
messages.
Shit.
There's a rather irate one from my editor wondering why in hell the
New York Times is the only paper whose White House correspondent
hasn't filed a story on the shooting. He wants to know why they're
printing associated press stories instead.
Well, this is going to be unpleasant. I dial his number and take a
deep breath.
"Hi, Bill." I greet when he gruffly answers. "It's Donna."
"Donna? Donna Moss, my elusive White House correspondent?" he bites
back.
"Listen, Bill…" I begin.
"I've been listening for nearly two years now, Donna. I think it's
your turn to do the listening." I wisely bite my tongue and let him
do his venting. The Washington Post broke the story of Leo McGarry's
drug use. The Boston Globe was the first to report Sam Seaborn's
relationship with a prostitute. Again, the Washington Post reported
when we bombed Syria in retaliation for a terrorist attack on a
military shuttle. An attack, by the way, that was first reported by
the Washington Herald." Boy, is he fired up.
"Let me ask you this, Donna. Please tell me what big White House
story in the last year and a half did the New York Times break? Is it
me, or is your friendship with the Deputy Chief of Staff severely
clouding your loyalties?"
"I'm not writing about the shooting, Bill." I say softly but firmly.
"Oh, I figured that out by now, Donna." He retorts. "You've got
yourself planted at his bedside. I know this because I'm reading
about it in the Washington Post, yet we're reporting nothing."
"I'm sorry, Bill." I say lamely.
"Donna, you're standing in the middle of the biggest story of your
career right now. You got that job by convincing me that politics
isn't personal. It's looking awfully personal to me now. Tell me
something, between you and me, how many times have you actually
spoken to the President of the United States over the last few days?"
I'm silent. And my silence apparently speaks volumes.
"That's what I thought."
"Bill…." I plead.
"You've got some decisions to make, Donna."
TBC
