I, in a stunning role reversal, have been relegated to Donna's desk.  In fact, I have been banished to the bullpen for illegal touching.  Donna and I were working on the health bill, and I kept reaching over to touch her arm, her hair, her fingers, until finally, she kicked me out.  Of my own office!  Told me not to come back, for fear of a debilitating injury.

But now she's calling me in there?  Obviously, she wants me.  So I jump out of her chair and swagger over to the doorway, putting on my best smirk.

"You rang?"

Donna is sitting in my chair, working at my desk, and I am oddly disconcerted.  I don't like the role reversal game.

Plus, she's glaring at me.  "Josh, what is this?"

I glance at the papers she's brandishing in my direction.  "The Family Wellness Act.  You know, the thing we've been working on for, like--"

"This caveat," she says, using her bright red pen to point emphatically at something I can't possibly read from five feet away.

Clearly, she wants me closer.

I grin and step into the office, pushing the door closed behind me.  "Which caveat?"

"Josh," Donna asks, eyes narrowing.  "What are you doing?"

"Following directions," I answer promptly.  Then I reach for the paper.

"Hey!" Donna snaps, jerking her hands away.  "Illegal touching!"

"Donna, don't be ridiculous.  I can't read ten-point font from two feet away.  If you want answers, you're -- Thank you."  I glance down at the pages she's thrust at me.  "Now which part--?"

"The anti-choice thing," she interrupts angrily.  "What the hell is that?"

I give her a look.  "Anti-choice?  It's adoption--"

"Josh, what does adoption of special needs babies have to do with insisting that any pregnant woman be counseled on adoption?"

I cross my arms.  "You don't think women should be informed of their options?"

"I think," Donna says, standing to face me, "that women should absolutely be informed of their options.  I think that these women and their doctors should be able to decide what should and should not be discussed.  I do not think that a federally mandated--"

"Donna, I already got all this from CJ, so if you could just--"  And then I stop, because Donna is staring coldly at me.

"Joshua," she says, her tone hard as diamonds.  "You will hear it from me, you will hear it from CJ, you will hear it from NARAL, you will hear it from NOW, the Feminist Majority, the--"

"I never said I liked this, Donna," I point out.  "In fact, I agree with you that it shouldn't be on here, but--"

"But you caved."

I clench my jaw.  "It's called compromise, Donna, and in case you haven't noticed, that's how politics works.  You want to talk unfair?  There's $27 million in here going to study erectile dysfunction.  Instead of funding research on pediatric AIDS, or juvenile onset diabetes, or infant encephalitis, we're giving millions of dollars to help some old guys get it up.  That's how the game works."

Donna stares at me for a moment.  "It's wrong," she says.  "A woman who was raped -- a fourteen-year-old girl whose father raped her repeatedly and got her pregnant; she shouldn't have to gather up the nerve to walk through a picket line with all of the shouting and the graphic signs.  And then, assuming she toughs it out and gets inside, she shouldn't have to sit through a lecture on how she should carry her father's baby to term and give it away to a loving family."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, Donna," I say quietly.  "You're right.  But--"

"It's politics," she interrupts tiredly.  Then she turns to stare out the window.  "I miss my idealism, Josh."

I cast about for a reply, but I don't really know what to say to that.

"This is supposed to be a bill to help sick kids," she continues.  "It shouldn't become a backdoor for the anti-choice movement, or for old guys who can't get it up."

"I know.  I miss my idealism too," I admit.

Donna meets my gaze in the window's reflection, a small smile on her lips.  "You're idealistic, Josh."

"I am?" I ask, honestly surprised she would think that.

"Of course you are," she answers, turning to face me.  "You absolutely believe in the system, even knowing its many flaws.  You put in 18 hour days, six days a week, and ten hours on Sunday; you wouldn't do that if you didn't believe you could make a difference."

I shrug at her.  "I guess."

"Really," she continues, moving around the edge of the desk.  I turn to follow her movement, and she stops just in front of me.  "You wouldn't have come back," she takes my hand.  "After the shooting, you could have lost that quality that makes you so incredibly Joshlike."

I smirk at her. "Joshlike?"

"You know what I mean, Joshua," she admonishes, but she's grinning again.

"Well," I say, "the quality that makes me so incredibly Joshlike has to be a stunning combination of my incisive wit, my amazing intelligence, and my incredible good looks."

Donna rolls her eyes, "Or it could be this strange mix of ego and good Samaritan you've got inside of you."

My smile falters, because aside from telling me she loves me, that's probably the sweetest thing she's ever said to me.  I reach for her, and I don't care if it's illegal touching.

Donna comes into my arms willingly, because we are greedy for each other.  Her arms twine around my neck, and I've got both hands flat on her back, pulling her against my body tightly.

I swear it's not me who starts it.

I was innocently hugging her; then Donna turns her face into my neck and places an open-mouthed kiss on my skin.

At which point, I back her into the desk, tilt her face to mine, and kiss her with all the pent-up sexuality of two weeks of enforced celibacy.  Oh, for a convenient couch.

Donna's fingers are digging into my back, wrinkling my suit jacket, and she's leaning back onto the desk.  Pulling me closer.

And then, she's pushing me away.  She ducks under my arm and scoots around the corner of the desk, putting it between us.  She is, however, breathing hard and looking quite turned on.

I stand there, my hands still stretched towards where she just was, and stare at her.  "Donna?"

"Illegal touching," she says.  "We're not doing that for another month and three weeks."

"Two weeks," I correct, running one hand through my hair, then dropping my hands onto my hips.

"Two and a half," she shrugs.

"Whatever," I say.  "Far too long."  I edge towards the corner of the desk.

"No, Joshua," Donna says, holding up one hand in a classic 'stay the hell away from me' position.

"Donna," I practically whine.  "Just come here for a minute."

"No," she repeats.  "Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?"

"Creeping around the desk," she answers with a little laugh.  "This is like some bad sexual harassment film."

"What?" I yelp, jerking to a stop.  "You're comparing me to some sweaty old man in a human resources video?"

"Got you to stop the creeping, didn't it?" she grins.

"Donna--"

"Aren't you supposed to be leaving?"

I stare at her.  "What?"

"For, you know, the weekend?"

"The Mets thing?" I ask, grinning.  "Why, yes, I'll be at--"

"I know where you'll be, Josh, since you made me book the tickets.  I'm saying, shouldn't you be leaving?"

I glance at my watch.  "Soon.  In fact, I've got some time to kill.  Maybe we could--"

"Joshua, get out of here.  Shoo.  Scram."

I smirk at her.  "I'm sorry, did you just say scram?"

"Yes.  Scram.  Get out."

"You're kicking me out of my office?"

"Yes, for more of the illegal touching."  She is standing there, arms crossed and looking quite composed for someone who was about five seconds away from having sex on a cluttered desk.

"But Donna, I'll be gone all weekend.  You know that means--"

"That I'll have actual time off, I know.  In fact, I can't wait to start my weekend.  So if you wouldn't mind--"

There's a knock on the door, and CJ calls, "Josh?"

Donna's eyes widen and she points at me.  I shrug and turn to the door, "Yeah."

CJ walks in.  "So here's the thing, Stackhouse is -- Joshua!"  CJ takes two quick steps and ends up towering over me.  She grabs my jaw.

"Ow!  CJ--"

"Donna," CJ interrupts, letting me go.  "Why is there lipstick on Josh?"

I glance quickly at Donna, who tries her innocent face.  "Maybe he likes women's makeup," she suggests.

"Donna!" I protest.  Then I turn to CJ.  "Donna tried to have her way with me on my desk, and then--"

"Josh," CJ rolls her eyes.  "Stick a sock in it.  In fact, why don't you go back out into the bullpen and have a nice little time out."

"But--"

Donna grins at me from behind my desk.  "Penalty," she says.

CJ turns on her, "And we'll be having a little discussion, Donna."

Donna looks a lot less amused, suddenly.  "Wait. Josh--"

"Sorry," I say gleefully.  "I've been kicked out."

I've got my hand on the doorknob when CJ snatches the back of my jacket and spins me around.  "Wipe your mouth, you idiot," she hisses, handing me a tissue.

"Yes, CJ," I say, obediently wiping my mouth.

"And keep your hands off of Donna; don't make me hurt you."

"Right," I nod.  I'm halfway out the door before I remember something.  "Wait, you said Stackhouse--?"

"Is doing a filibuster," CJ answers grimly.

I stare at her for a moment.  "What?"

"He's been up there for an hour and a half."

"What?" I say again.

"Right now, he's reading a political science book called The Irony of Democracy which, ironically, was written by someone named Ziegler."

Donna snickers.  "Toby must be thrilled."

"Toby's going to Telluride," I comment absently.

"Not yet," CJ says, with a pointed look at me.

"No, no, no," I protest, shaking my head.  "I'm going to see the Mets, CJ--"

"You're not going anywhere until Stackhouse stops talking."

Donna looks worried.  "He can't leave?" she asks CJ.

And then I am grinning, because Donna obviously wants me.  "We could always find a way to kill time," I tell Donna.

CJ yanks the door open and pushes me out of my own office.  "Go do something useful."

"But--"

"Go!" she orders.

So I park myself in front of the bank of TVs in the bullpen and listen to Stackhouse explain the irony of democracy.  Which is a subject, I might add, that I could speak on at length.  It's going to be an unbearable day.

THE END

03.15.01