Of That Time
This wasn't all that surprising considering she hadn't seen him in years, not since Jed Bartlet left office and she'd left D.C. to figure out who she wanted to be. And she'd succeeded admirably. She had not one but two degrees from good schools (though not, admittedly, with his Ivy League pedigree), a challenging and fulfilling job with the Chicago chapter of NARAL, and a damn nice dog named Jonesy. She was no longer that young, naïve girl who blew into his life, nor the woman who fell in love with him at an impossible time. Now she was fulfilled. Happy. Complete.
She was educated and employed and enjoying life, damnit, so how dare he be sitting there, all eloquence and ego and energy, in her favorite restaurant?
Sure, it was his city -- or at least, D.C. wasn't her city anymore -- but why did he have to be right there the first time she came back? Donna faltered, momentarily falling back into the less self-assured persona she thought she'd long ago left behind. Just inside the door she stood, watching him, his familiar profile framed by that unruly hair, now graying.
She'd seen him a few times over the years on TV. He popped up occasionally on Capital Beat or Larry King or once, amusingly, on Hardball with that obnoxious, over-excitable Chris Matthews. The combination had made for some serious sarcasm. He rarely gave interviews, preferring to limit his public appearances to debating politics, so she wasn't positive what had prompted his decision to switch from backing candidates to backing issues, but she suspected it had something to do with his unwavering idealism. Sure, he was pragmatic, but underneath the brash, politicking ego, Josh wanted it all -- The Real Thing. And he was smart enough to know that it didn't happen twice.
There was no Jed Bartlet II waiting in the wings anywhere, and after working for someone with a genuine desire to make things better, Josh couldn't go back to the wheeling and dealing and general self-involvement of most politicos. So she figured he must have chosen to devote his time to issues he believed in instead of politicians he didn't. Despite his repeated comments about the stupidity of the general populace, he'd worked the past eight years on campaign finance reform and voting rights.
She'd kept track of him a little bit, mainly through CJ, but also through her own job at NARAL. It wasn't as if she didn't know that he'd be in D.C. during her trip; she was aware that she might run into him.
She'd just thought it would be at the benefit with Senator Craig Tolman, not her first night in town. And yet, there he was. Just... sitting there.
He was most of the way across the room, slouched in his chair, one arm slung over the empty chair beside him, his free hand gesticulating as he talked a mile a minute. Even across the room, she could hear him, and the familiar cadence was almost paralyzing. She could remember a hundred nights of listening to him talk, of letting him explain things, of playing the role of sounding board. His companion, a petite, well-dressed woman with lush, upswept hair, watched him with a rapt attention that Donna recognized.
She remembered a time when she looked at him that way.
But she was not that naïve young woman anymore. She was older and wiser and she was well over Josh Lyman.
So convinced, she straightened her shoulders, smoothed back some stray strands of hair, and told the maitre d' to hold her table; she wanted to say hello to an old friend.
***
He wasn't sure what caught his attention, engrossed as he was in entertaining the lovely Nadine, but something about the statuesque blonde across the room reminded him of Donna. That happened sometimes, the sudden jolt of recognition, followed closely by disappointment. It was never Donna, of course. Donna didn't live in D.C., but nonetheless, he always did a double-take. Just in case. He paused mid-sentence, squinting across the room to study the side of the woman's face, the swing of her platinum hair.
"Josh?"
Startled, he turned back to Nadine. "Sorry," he said. "I just--" He made the mistake of glancing back in the blonde's direction and froze. Because it was Donna, and she was walking towards him. He swallowed convulsively, his throat suddenly and inexplicably dry.
She was older, her hair loose and a little shorter than it had been the last time he'd seen her. Of course, that had been years ago, so he probably shouldn't have been quite so surprised at the changes in her. But he was.
He stared, dumbfounded, as she crossed the final distance and stopped, smiling down at him. She was no longer the skittish girl who had hired herself, nor the uncertain woman who'd left him years later; she was confident and, unadorned by ostentatious jewelry, radiating not glamour, but beauty.
"Josh," she said, her voice still hauntingly familiar all these years later.
"Donna," he managed, still staring.
Then she laughed a little and turned to Nadine. "Pardon his terrible manners. I'm Donna."
And with that, his momentary paralysis lifted. This was Donna, the woman who thought nothing of apologizing to his date for his manners. Josh grinned at her, but addressed Nadine. "Nadine, this is my erstwhile assistant, Donnatella Moss. Donna, this is Nadine Locke."
The two women exchanged pleasantries, and somehow Josh found himself standing, arms open. He wasn't sure what in the world possessed him, but once Donna rolled her eyes and stepped into his embrace, he didn't much care. She was still rail thin, yet freakishly strong. And if the way her fingers dug into his back was any indication, she was no less affected by this unexpected reunion than he was.
"Why didn't you call?" he murmured.
***
Donna very, very reluctantly pulled back, releasing his still familiar body, and gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"
Josh shifted his weight, one hand migrating to his hip in a gesture she recognized. He thought he'd made a mistake, and was trying to recover. "To tell me you'd be in town," he answered, his tone a bit defensive.
She didn't know quite what to say. It wasn't as if they'd kept in touch. She hadn't spoken to him since that awkward moment outside Leo's hotel room. The senior staff and the senior assistants had dazedly removed their belongings from the White House, then gathered, at Leo's insistence, for a small party. Donna had left town the next day, no doubt before Josh had recovered from the three Jack-and-Cokes he'd downed the night before. And so their strange, tentative, unsatisfying good night in that hotel hallway ended up being their goodbye.
Which was, to be honest, quite typical of their miscommunication once their personal relationship had imploded.
Donna suspected from the slightly sour look on Nadine's face that she'd been quiet too long. She still couldn't come up with an answer, though, so she merely shrugged.
Josh glanced away, his gaze falling on Nadine. He seemed to realize somewhat belatedly that the intimacy of their little reunion was making his date uncomfortable. Of course, he also seemed at a loss to come up with anything to say.
Donna recognized the brittle smile on the other woman's face and briefly touched her arm. "I'm sorry to have interrupted."
"Donna, don't be ridiculous," Josh scoffed.
Nadine put her game face on and nodded. "Yes. Please, join us."
"Oh," Donna answered, backing up a little. "I couldn't. Really." She tried to ignore the relieved look on Nadine's face. And the absurd twinge of jealousy she felt at the thought of letting them get back to their date.
Josh being Josh, and therefore clueless about women, looked baffled. "Why not?" Nadine glanced at him sharply.
Gesturing at their table, Donna shook her head. "Really, Josh, I can't. You guys are already done eating, and I'm really hungry and also really tired and anyway I wouldn't be very good company."
Josh watched her for a long moment, as Nadine studied them both, waiting for an answer to her unspoken question. Donna forced herself to hold her carefully bland expression.
"'Kay," Josh said finally, with that politician's smile that used to drive her batty. She'd figured out after a few years, though, that he usually resorted to that smirk when he wasn't sure if he'd won or lost.
Donna turned to Nadine, unwilling to keep fighting this strange battle of wills. "It was great to meet you."
"You too," Nadine answered, her smile unconvincing.
Donna nodded at her former boss, her former lover. "Josh."
"You're still with NARAL?" he asked.
She flinched. He was going to find her, of that she had no doubt. He was going to call his assistant and have the poor woman get Donna's superiors in Chicago out of bed to give him the information he wanted. "Yeah," Donna answered, leaning in to press a Platonic kiss to his cheek. "NARAL. Listen, I'm not sure how long they'll hold my table--"
"Sure," Josh answered, staring at her with those deep brown eyes. Donna would bet a year's salary that he was considering how soon after she left the table that he could excuse himself to go call his assistant and set Operation Find Donna in motion. She shook her head just barely, falling back into their form of nonverbal communication.
His eyes widened in recognition and he hesitated before dipping his chin, almost imperceptibly.
Good, Donna thought, turning to leave. At least he wouldn't show up at her hotel room in the middle of the night. She was almost sure that strange feeling in her gut was relief.
"Good night, Donnatella," Josh called after her.
She shuddered, remembering other nights he'd said that, nights when they were tangled together, sweaty and sated. She wondered if he'd remembered. She wondered if he'd chosen that particular phrase on purpose.
And she wondered how long it would be until he showed up at her door.
***
Josh watched Donna's retreating form as he dropped into his chair. She didn't look back, not once, and Josh finally managed to tear his gaze away from her. Then he glanced at Nadine.
Her smile was forced, and her voice was high and a little strained when she said, "So Donna was your assistant."
"Yeah," Josh confirmed. "A long time ago. In the White House."
"Ah." Nadine busied herself with her coffee. She seemed very concerned with finding the exact right tempo at which to stir it.
"Donna's great. Very efficient."
"Uh-huh."
Josh watched Nadine carefully. They'd known each other a few months, but had only started dating a couple weeks back, when she'd finally worked up the nerve to ask him. He wasn't entirely convinced he could see himself with her, but he did like her. She was smart and funny and quite beautiful. Though he wasn't sure, he guessed that the way she was frantically stirring her coffee meant something. "Nadine?"
She didn't look at him. He thought maybe she was upset.
"What?" Her knuckles were white as she clutched the spoon.
Reaching across the table, Josh took her hand gently. Dropping the spoon, she allowed him to clasp their hands together on the table top. "I haven't seen her in..." he shrugged. "Years. She was my assistant."
It was the truth, if not the whole truth.
Nadine studied him, her green eyes guarded. Then she squeezed his hand. "Okay."
"Good."
She smiled at him, leaning over the table. "Can we get out of here?"
Josh blinked. This was new. "Sure," he answered, belatedly wondering if he was reading her wrong. Donna had always told him he missed the signs, and his string of failed relationships did nothing to dispute her assertion.
But as Nadine led him out of the restaurant, his hand clasped firmly in hers, Josh caught sight of Donna at a table by herself. She was holding a mug of coffee, her fingers wrapped around it. And the look on her face was carefully blank as she watched him with her blue, blue eyes.
Even hours later, wrapped in Nadine's arms, he couldn't seem to shake Donna's piercing gaze.
***
Hours after her encounter with Josh, after watching Nadine drag him off to have her way with him, Donna couldn't seem to fall asleep. Though exhausted, she was stuck in the middle of a persistent bout of insomnia.
Damn him anyway, she thought. How dare he stare at her like that? Granted, their relationship had sputtered and died a very long time ago, but still! It was rude to parade out of there with his little girlfriend -- no doubt headed for a night of enthusiastic sex -- and stare at her the entire time. What the hell was she supposed to make of that?
Donna rolled over, staring blankly at the heavy drapes. Admitting defeat, she slid out from under the covers and stood, shivering, at the window, easing the curtains back. If she leaned against the cool glass, she could see most of the Washington Monument over to the left, partially hidden by one of the hundreds of large, square government buildings ringing the Mall.
She hadn't realized how much she missed D.C. until she came back. Political life in Chicago was every bit as dirty and cutthroat as inside the Beltway, but there was something... majestic about the nation's capital. She'd never been able to put it into words, but one evening late in Jed Bartlet's first term, she and Josh had started out for dinner and ended up walking the Mall, giddy as tourists as the bright orange sun slid down the sky. She'd glanced over at him and saw her own awe mirrored in his look of wonder.
She remembered many moments like that, when she needed only glance at Josh to see her own emotions mirrored in his face. He always considered himself a master politician, inscrutable; but he was quite easy to read, once you learned the signs.
Too bad that old talent seemed to have abandoned her. She couldn't stop thinking about the look on his face when he'd left with Nadine. Why couldn't she seem to place that expression? If she didn't know better, she would think he'd looked... wistful.
But that was impossible. What would Josh Lyman have to be wistful about? He had that gorgeous brunette, and she actually seemed pretty nice. (Though after Mandy Hampton, any of Josh's girlfriends who weren't openly hostile seemed damn nice.)
No doubt Josh's offer for her to join them last night had been reflexive. His mother had raised him right; he probably couldn't care less what she'd been doing with herself over the last several years. Hell, Josh's desire to catch up probably had more to do with gloating about his perfect life, and maybe with finding new and exciting things to make fun of her for, the bastard.
She frowned, examining her image in the glass. Why was she so willing to believe the worst of him? She'd spent almost eight years orbiting Josh Lyman, utterly convinced of his superiority. Was her anger and disappointment over their failed relationship just making her bitter? Or was she finally seeing Josh clearly?
Donna let the curtain fall, obscuring the Monument and the marble buildings gleaming dully in the streetlights' warm glow. If she was going to be sleepless, she could at least use her time productively instead of mulling over the absurdities of Josh Lyman.
She curled back up with the Congressional facebook. She could no longer rattle off all 535 members of Congress, never mind recognize them in a crowd. And it wouldn't do to bruise their delicate egos by asking them to introduce themselves at the benefit.
She woke up early the next morning, the facebook crumpled beneath her left shoulder. Nothing like a good, soporific read to cure insomnia.
Grabbing a suit from the closet, Donna firmly pushed last night's dress to the back, determined to forget all about her run in with Josh. She had a job to do, dammit. She wasn't in D.C. to moon over the egotistical Josh Lyman.
Still, she made sure to bring her cellphone into the bathroom before she stepped into the shower. Just in case.
***
Josh emerged from Nadine's shower a man with a plan. He declined breakfast, gave her a lingering kiss, promised to call, and breezed out the door. Twenty minutes later, he had a fresh suit on, and he'd set his brilliant plan in motion.
Donna knew him well enough to know he'd have his assistant track her down. Hell, she'd done the same thing for him countless times. But this particular situation was clearly unique. Donna and he had been coworkers, friends, and lovers, but they hadn't seen each other in years. It had ended badly, yet there was obviously still something between them. A very confusing situation, all told. Josh didn't like feeling uncertain, especially not around one of the few people who knew him well enough to recognize it.
He needed the upper hand.
Instead of calling her first thing in the morning, or showing up at her hotel room as she no doubt expected, he would wait for the benefit tonight. He would surprise her, throw her off her game. After all, he had no need to rush over to her hotel just so he could see her again. He'd made his assistant, Rayanne, confirm with the Chicago NARAL office that Donna was slated to attend tonight's benefit. But his decision to wait, he admitted to himself, was less motivated by patience than by the fact that Donna had always appreciated him in his tux.
It was a good plan, he decided, even though he really, really, really wanted to call her. He busied himself with minutiae, rereading the details of S.R. 431 almost obsessively, pestering Rayanne with repeated requests to get Senator Donnell on the phone, and very, very craftily avoiding Nadine's phone calls. He felt a little guilty about that, considering he'd gone home with her the night before. But Rayanne (who'd never liked Nadine; apparently she was "snooty" on the phone) reassured him, saying he was probably doing Nadine a favor by not calling.
Josh decided not to be offended, because Rayanne probably had a point.
According to Rayanne -- who seemed incapable of keeping an opinion on anything to herself, and she had many, many opinions -- Nadine may have been snooty, but she didn't deserve the likes of Josh Lyman. Josh tuned out Rayanne's familiar diatribe about his uncanny ability to turn a successful first date into a short-lived, disastrous relationship. Rayanne stood in his office, arms crossed, sunlight streaming in from the window onto her hair. He stared in fascination at her gleaming, purple hair. (She claimed it was on purpose; he didn't believe her, because -- purple hair?) Mostly, he tried to tune her out as she reminded him of his pathetic track record, elaborating on the fact that one of his ex-quasi-girlfriends was now her sister-in-law, since Rayanne had found it in her heart to--
"All right, Rayanne," he interrupted, unable to take any more. "Yes, I've had some bad relationships, but--"
Rayanne took this as an invitation to conversation and dropped into the guest chair. "Have you ever had a relationship that wasn't bad?" she asked acerbically.
Josh nearly said yes, but honesty compelled him to admit that however good it was with Donna for a while, it had ended worse than most of his relationships. Instead of answering, Josh waved his assistant off and said, "I have work."
"You do not," Rayanne countered. "Donnell has to prepare for a vote--"
"Oh, like he's really on the floor listening to the debate," Josh scoffed.
"Are you gonna talk to me about this?" Rayanne demanded.
"Have I ever talked to you about this?"
She frowned. "Well--"
"Exactly. Go away now." Josh turned his attention to his computer, even though he hadn't yet bothered to turn it on; she didn't know that.
"Josh, you know I'll stop bothering you as soon as you stop--"
"Being a self-obsessed, arrogant ass," Josh finished for her, having heard it repeatedly. "Yes, I know."
"You know," Rayanne said, rising to leave, "I think a good betting joke about how unlikely that is to happen would be particularly appropriate here, but I don't quite understand all the stuff about 5 to 4 and pickin' or--"
"Ask Leo next time he calls; I'm sure he'd explain it in excruciating detail."
Rayanne grinned. "Nah, I'll just email Margaret."
Josh's head jerked up. "You talk to Margaret?"
"Yes," Rayanne answered, drawing the syllable out in amusement.
"Oh." Josh frowned, wondering if it was worth asking. Nah, probably not. No doubt Rayanne would lecture him at length about how he'd treated Donna -- because if she talked to Margaret, she must know the whole story -- and he really didn't want to hear it. "That's..." he shrugged. "That's nice."
Rayanne leaned against the doorframe, looking positively touched. "Josh, you can ask me about--"
"I don't need to ask you about anything," he interrupted quickly.
Rayanne grinned at him. "Okay," she said, pushing away from the doorframe. She paused just before the door closed all the way. "She's fine, Josh. She's happy, and she's doing really well at her job, and," Rayanne paused, biting her lip. Then she met Josh's curious gaze and shrugged. "She's single. And if you hurt her--"
"You don't even know her," Josh protested.
"The Sisterhood, Josh."
Josh rolled his eyes. "Get out."
"Don't trip over your ego tonight," Rayanne warned.
"Get. Out."
She grinned. "I'll buzz you when Donnell calls back."
"Yeah," Josh answered, distracted by this new information. CJ's answers on the subject of Donna were always just some variation of "she's fine, and I wish you'd stop asking me and call her if you're so damn curious." Just after the door closed, Josh raised his voice and yelled, "Thank you."
"The Sisterhood, Josh," Rayanne shouted back.
He didn't bother to answer, turning his attention back to the plan. It was a good plan, he thought. Now he just had to kill, oh, nine hours until it was time to put it in motion.
***
By the time Donna's long day of strategy meetings at NARAL's national headquarters ended, she wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. She was also a little miffed -- why the hell hadn't Josh called? Had she misread him completely?
Not that it mattered, she told herself firmly. Nothing would happen, even if Josh did show up on her doorstep. Figuratively speaking, as most hotels didn't have actual doorsteps. Though there was that one place in Waxahachie--
Donna groaned in frustration. Great, she thought, I'm lapsing back into Trivia Girl. Yeah, seeing Josh hasn't affected me at all.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Donna was nothing if not organized, and before she'd left Chicago, she'd mused over every possible variation of seeing Josh. She had been convinced that she'd covered all of her bases. She thought about the benefit (Josh in a tux was a definite weakness of hers), she thought about seeing him with a woman (and told herself that twinge wasn't envy at all), she thought about calling Sam for lunch, which would no doubt lead to a conversation about Josh and, ultimately, a lunch with Sam and Josh (a neutral third party would help ease the tension). She'd had it all figured out -- how she'd handle each situation.
Seeing him in her restaurant with the gorgeous Nadine? Never even crossed her mind. All of her prepared comments, her witty anecdotes about life in the Windy City -- it had all deserted her at the sight of him. At the feel of his familiar body against hers, however briefly.
She considered calling CJ for a little pep talk, but decided that smacked of a conversation that high school girls should be having, not two women in their thirties and forties. After all, Josh was her ex, but their failed romantic relationship was just one facet of the bond between them. And she was an adult, a mature woman who could put the petty jealousies aside if she happened to run into him again before she left. This wasn't why she'd come to D.C. She'd come for work, and the sad saga of Josh and Donna -- well, if a final chapter was written, she'd deal with it. If not, she'd go back to her life in Chicago unchanged.
But tonight she had a benefit to attend, and no time to waste on such trivial matters. So she concentrated on her dress (a long, black sheath), her makeup (minimal), and her hair (sleek and free-flowing, with one sparkling barrette to keep it out of her face). She gave herself one last look in the mirror and fussed a little with the dress. She was pretty satisfied with her appearance. And despite her self-admonitions, she really hoped Josh would be there tonight to appreciate it.
It wasn't a charitable thought, but Donna didn't really care. Because she'd figured out why he hadn't called -- either he didn't want to see her, or he was planning their meeting as carefully as he used to plan confrontations with members of Congress. If it was the former, well, there wasn't much she could do about it. But if it was the latter, Donna was prepared to play hardball.
Josh had confessed, during their time as lovers, to his obsession with her legs. And the dress she'd brought with her to D.C. just happened to have quite an impressive slit. Chalk it up to her impeccable organizational skills, she thought, giving herself one last once-over in the mirror.
"Eat your heart out, Josh Lyman," she whispered to her reflection.
Then she grabbed her bag from the bureau and sashayed out the door.
***
Despite Josh's desire to arrive fashionably late, he found himself at the hotel right on time. He'd never been good at waiting for things, and his impatience got the better of him, prompting him to leave his condo a good half hour before the damn thing was even supposed to start. Predictably, he was one of only a few people there at first; most Congresspersons played the Let's Make 'Em Wait game, sometimes breezing into a benefit minutes before midnight.
Josh didn't much care about Congress, though. Mostly he was glad he'd had the foresight not to invite Nadine tonight, and that Senator Tolman had pressed him to attend in the first place.
And then Donna arrived, and he promptly forgot about everything but her. She was spectacular in a simple black dress with a not so simple slit up one side. Josh gulped as Donna turned to greet a Senator, and revealed a virtually backless dress; two thin straps framed her shoulderblades, not meeting up with the fabric of the sheath until just above her waist. As a result, nearly all of Donna's exquisite back was visible to the appreciative viewer.
Josh wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his tux and headed for her. He stopped a few feet away, drinking in the lines of her body while she finished up her conversation. Just before she turned, he shoved both hands into his pockets and leaned casually against a convenient pole.
Donna caught sight of him and froze, those expressive blue eyes widening. Josh allowed himself a small smirk, then pushed away from the pole and sauntered towards her.
"Josh," she greeted, recovering quickly. And then it was his turn to freeze as she grasped his arm and leaned forward, moving sideways at the last moment to press a kiss to his cheek.
She smelled amazing. "Donna," he breathed.
***
Smiling up at the slightly dazed look on Josh's face, Donna released his arm. "How are you?"
"Good," he said, his gaze dropping repeatedly to her dress. "I'm good. You look... good."
Thank you, Donna Karan, she thought, still smiling. "Good?" she echoed, amused. "Thank you. You clean up well yourself." That was a considerable understatement, she admitted to herself. He was stunning in his tuxedo, just as he'd always been. She resisted the urge to straighten his tie. That was no longer her responsibility.
He must have noticed her gaze, because he tugged self-consciously at the bow tie. "It's the real thing," he told her.
She raised an eyebrow. "You learned?"
"I had to. You left me."
Her entire body went cold, and she didn't know how to answer him.
They stared at each other, that moment of warm, shared memory replaced by the awkwardness that had marred their relationship toward the end of the Bartlet Administration. She remembered long days in the office, the two of them working together, but not speaking to each other for fear of triggering another fight. The tense silence had become so pervasive that Leo'd called Josh into his office. Josh had never shared with Donna the details of the meeting, but Margaret confessed what she knew. Which wasn't much, just that Leo had threatened to transfer Donna to another department if the two of them couldn't work together. And apparently Leo'd made a few pointed remarks about dating in the workplace.
Looking back, Donna found herself in agreement. A soured personal relationship couldn't help but poison the atmosphere at work. She preferred not to think about those long months, though. Remembering the verbal barbs and the coldness -- it still hurt.
Donna ignored the sick, sad feeling in her gut and nodded. "I went to school. And you were forty-two years old."
He watched her, his stony expression softening slightly. "Yeah," he answered, trying to match her light tone. "It was probably time."
She wasn't quite certain what they were talking about anymore there were so many layers of meaning, but she chose to answer the most obvious. "Long past time, Josh."
***
He didn't know what to say to her. Josh studied her face, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, searching for confirmation that she was talking about more than their professional relationship. Former professional relationship. Hell, former relationship, considering he hadn't seen her in nearly a decade.
Before he could frame a response, Donna broke their intense gaze to glance around the room, feigning sudden interest in the politicos around them. His attention, though, was caught on the simple, silver chain sparkling at her throat. He'd spent hours feasting on her neck; his favorite place to sleep was with his face tucked beneath her chin, breathing in her scent.
Josh realized he'd started leaning towards her and straightened up as she turned back to him, her smile not quite convincing. "Where's Nadine?"
"Not here." He shifted his weight, adopting a casual pose.
Donna hesitated just a bit. "Why not?" To her credit, she sounded almost disinterested; it was the curiosity etched in her features that gave her away.
Josh lifted one shoulder. "We're not attached at the hip, Donna."
A small smile graced her lips, and she opened her mouth, no doubt to toss back an off-color rejoinder. Then her smile faded. "Oh."
Adrift once more, Josh nodded. "Yeah." He did not like this... unease between them. It was disconcerting they way they kept falling in and out of their old patterns. And he didn't like that Donna was holding back, censoring her comments. Unrealistic as it may have been, Josh wanted the old Donna back, the one who wouldn't think twice before taking verbal aim at his over-inflated ego (her words, obviously).
"Josh?"
"Yeah?"
She gestured behind her, at the glittering crowd. "I actually need to--"
"Yeah." He could feel his forehead crinkling, could picture the disconcerted look on his face. Because that wasn't how it worked. He was supposed to leave her standing on the sidelines to work the room, not the other way around. From her slightly dazed expression, he knew she recognized the odd role reversal too. He mustered up a smile. "Want me to hold your cellphone?"
Surprised, she laughed outright, a warm welcome sound that stirred up memories best left undisturbed.
"No, thanks," she answered, grinning at him. "I'm still trying to sweet talk these people."
"I can be perfectly civil," he retorted with what felt like a goofy smile on his face.
The delighted smirk she flashed him was truly breathtaking. "Oh, so you've mellowed in your old age." And with a soft swish of fabric, she was gone, walking away. Again. He couldn't seem to tear his gaze from the play of muscles in her back as she strolled across the room. When the crowd swallowed her up, Josh headed for the bar.
***
Donna made a small stop at the bar to arm herself with wine before she faced the Congressional delegations. Not because she was in any way rattled by Josh, she told herself. Josh in a tuxedo. Josh in a tux, leaning against the wall, those intense brown eyes tracking her every movement. Nope, she wasn't bothered at all.
She took what Josh would surely describe as a swig of wine, straightened her shoulders, and told herself to stop thinking about him. She wasn't there to reminisce about the time they'd slipped off after a State Dinner and she'd peeled that tuxedo off of him -- everything except the bow tie. No, she was there to work.
And work she did, circulating, chatting, and completely ignoring Josh. Some of the pro-choice Senators she already knew, at least by reputation. Her work in Chicago focused more on state and local elections, but her coworkers considered her the resident authority on Beltway politics, thanks to her time with Josh. She kept up with the major players in D.C., so it wasn't surprising, really, that her boss had chosen her to make the trip to the capital for the benefit. At least, it shouldn't have been surprising, but Donna, who'd built up her own, Josh-free world, was a little thrown at the prospect of being back in his town.
Their old town.
All of her memories of D.C. were wrapped up in Josh, or in her work, which was, of course, helplessly intertwined with Josh. The thought of being in the same city as Josh was daunting. All in all, she was quite proud of herself: There she was, almost ignoring his presence altogether.
A small flush of pride touched her cheeks, and she reflexively glanced over to where he'd been last.
He was gone.
Frowning, Donna scanned the room, still making vaguely interested noises at appropriate moments. (Senator Mitchfield was explaining his stance on the flat tax to the small group of lobbyists and politicians around him, for reasons that escaped Donna.) She took a sip of wine and shifted her weight, turning so that she could see more of the room. She moved casually, just in case Josh was watching her. It wouldn't do to be caught looking for him.
There he was, over by the bar talking to Senator Tolman, one of his major allies on campaign finance reform; Craig Tolman had been re-elected, improbably, after eschewing donations from special interests. Quite an impressive feat, but one Donna found she didn't much care about at the moment, because Josh was leaning against the bar in the way he had, like a lion in repose, all that frenetic energy coiled and waiting for an outlet. She shuddered a little, remembering what it was like to have that energy and that focus on her.
Of course, that was the moment his gaze caught hers.
***
He stopped talking abruptly, his attention suddenly focused entirely on Donna. She stood halfway across the room, mostly blocked from his view by various clusters of politicians. As the crowd shifted, he caught the occasional glimpse of her stunning dress. And, to be honest, that still-stunning body beneath the smooth black fabric. But the thing that derailed his train of thought was the look on her expressive face. During their two relatively brief encounters, she'd been guarded with him, more reserved than he remembered. He'd had trouble reading her. But this particular look he recognized.
Once upon a time, that look meant that he would spend hours later that night worshipping her body.
But here, now, not having seen her in nearly a decade? He had no idea what that look was supposed to mean.
He shook himself out of his reverie; she was still staring at him, one hand wrapped around a wine glass, the necklace at her throat sparkling nearly as brightly as she. Josh's gaze traveled slowly down her body, and he felt himself smiling in a way that was distantly familiar. He remembered looking at her like this one night at a State Dinner, remembered tracing the lines of her body from across the room, remembered most of all the enthusiasm with which she liberated him from his tuxedo an hour later.
Even from halfway across the room, he could see the flush on her pale, pale skin, and he wondered if she was remembering that night too. He met her eyes and raised his glass, then held her gaze as he took a sip.
A long, rather desperate sip, because he found that his throat was quite dry all of a sudden.
The familiar expression on Donna's face melted into confusion, but before he could react, she'd turned away.
"Dammit," he muttered.
"Josh? What's wrong?" asked Senator Tolman.
Josh shook his head, watching her blonde head disappear into the crowd. "It's nothing."
***
Shaken, Donna excused herself from Senator Mitchfield and his merry men, slipping through the crowd, pausing only long enough to exchange her empty wine glass for a full one. She reached the hallway and paused, unsure where, exactly, she was going. Mostly, she'd just needed to get away from him, from the memories.
Her cellphone rang, its shrill tones muffled inside her tiny evening bag. She knew even before she pulled it out that it would be him calling. She stared down at the phone in her hand, undecided.
But in the end, she bent to his will, just like she always had. "Donnatella Moss."
"See," his familiar voice said, "you're supposed to say my name."
She swallowed a laugh, chased it with a sip of wine, and set her glass on the edge of a larger planter. "That would probably confuse my coworkers."
"Fair point," he conceded.
"So you had your assistant dig up my number?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation on safe ground.
"How do you know I didn't have it all along?"
Her smile faded a little. "Because you wouldn't have been able to resist calling."
He hesitated. "Maybe."
It was so frustrating, she thought, how quickly things went from comfortable to awkward. "Listen--"
"Are you--" He stopped, realizing he'd all but drowned out her conversational gambit. "Sorry. What were you--"
"No," Donna interrupted. "Go ahead."
He blew out a breath, and Donna could perfectly picture the look on his face. It was the one that always broke her heart, a mixture of frustration, desire, and just a hint of vulnerability. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak.
"I was..." he hesitated again. "Just -- are you leaving already?"
"No," she answered without thinking. She should leave, she told herself. She'd spoken to some key Congressional leaders; she'd done her duty. She could, in good conscience, walk out of this hotel, get into a cab, spend one more night alone in a hotel room, and get on a plane in the morning to go back to Chicago. She had no reason to stay at the party, yet heard herself saying, "No, I'm not leaving yet. I just wanted some air."
"Okay," Josh answered amiably enough. "Do you want some company?"
Well, Donna thought, that was the question, wasn't it?
***
The extended silence at the other end of the phone was not at all promising. Josh paced in little circles, eating up what little free space there was at the edge of the crowd with long, agitated strides.
"Josh," Donna started, and he knew from her tone of voice that she was going to say no.
"You know what?" he asked, before she could say it aloud. "There's a guy in here that I need to talk to about S.R. 431."
"Josh," she said again, and he flinched.
He remembered that tone. That was her "I didn't mean to rip your heart out and dance around on it" voice. Years ago, he'd spent months on end listening to her slip in and out of that voice at the office. When they weren't pointedly ignoring each other. All in all, he'd rather be ignored; he really hated that voice.
"I've gotta go," he said, then disconnected.
God, that was stupid. What the hell possessed him to all but beg her to accept his company? Josh paced some more, glowering at the occasional partygoer who dared cross his path.
He remembered the way she used to look at him, that sad, slightly pitying expression that had both broken his heart and infuriated him. He'd spent years forgetting that face, years trying to remember her only at the height of their relationship -- her blinding smile, her incredibly blue eyes, her musical laugh, her verbal dexterity, and her generosity of spirit. That was the Donna he still craved.
Problem was, she seemed to be completely over him. Which wasn't all that miraculous, considering it had been years. Obviously, she thought he wasn't yet over her, a misconception he'd bolstered with that pathetic performance. Obviously, he needed to prove to her that she was nothing more to him than a fond memory.
Unfortunately, Josh mused, he didn't have any idea how to go about doing that.
***
Amazingly, Donna found a cab as soon as she walked outside. She'd decided discretion was the better part of valor. Or maybe she'd just decided she wasn't up to another awkward conversation with the man she'd once upon a time believed was her perfect match. Whatever the case, she hadn't even gone back inside the ballroom.
She sat in the cab, shivering a little in her thin wrap. It wasn't cold out, not really, but she felt slightly numb. She'd hurt Josh. Again.
Or at least made him angry and defensive, and that was the last thing she'd wanted to do. She'd never wanted to hurt him, not even when they'd been at their angriest.
After such an amazing start, their relationship had ended badly; they hadn't had the time or energy to tend to it, not in the chaos and furor of a Congressional investigation and an incredibly tough reelection campaign. They'd limped along, still lying to themselves that it was salvageable, for almost two more years. It probably helped that their crazy work schedule left so little time for them to deal with each other on a personal level.
Or maybe, Donna thought, it would've been healthier to make a clean break when they'd started to falter. But was it ever really possible to make a clean break from someone with whom you spent fourteen hours a day?
In the end, their inability to separate personal hurts and professional complaints had poisoned what had been a haven for them both. And for a while, Donna had wanted to blame Josh; blame his ego, his workaholic tendencies, his questionable interpersonal skills. But the truth was that her insecurities and her conflicting desires were just as much to blame.
All of which was by way of saying that hurting Josh wasn't what she wanted to do, not ever. Make him remember what they'd been to each other, make him experience the sweet ache of regret that she lived with every day, sure. But hurt him? She didn't ever want to do that.
She sighed, staring out the window as the still-familiar landmarks slid past. They'd been so awkward with each other, so tentative, so afraid of bringing up the past. Maybe that's why it still hurt to see him.
Maybe they just needed closure.
Donna fished her cellphone out of her purse, wondering all the while if he still had the same number.
***
When his cellphone vibrated against his ribcage, it never even occurred to him that it could be Donna. After their abortive conversation, she hadn't come back to the party. He'd apparently chased her out of the hotel. Not on purpose, of course, but the fact remained that she was gone, and it was his fault. Again.
He pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket and answered, "Josh Lyman."
"Notice," Donna said, "how I don't expect you to say my name."
He stopped mid-step, and swallowed about a dozen inappropriate responses. The tone of her voice was playful, and far too familiar. For a moment, it was 2001, and they were happily ignorant of the coming chaos, both personal and professional. "Hi," he finally said. Then he grimaced, because -- how lame was that?
"Look, Josh--"
"Where are you?" he asked.
She paused. "In a cab."
"Your idea of fresh air is definitely unique," he commented, trying to keep his tone light. Trying to mask his uncertainty.
"Yeah," she answered, and he could tell she was smiling just a little. "Well, I decided I wanted my bed more than fresh air."
Josh stayed silent, his unfocused gaze still aimed at the door she'd disappeared through many long minutes before. He didn't know how to answer, or how to stop thinking about the myriad nights they'd spent in his bed, in her bed.
"Josh, listen, I'm really--" She sighed impatiently. "I'm leaving tomorrow, and I'd like to talk to you before I go."
He blinked. "Talk to me?" he repeated, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could think about what he was saying. "Is this the 'let's just be friends' speech? Because it's about ten years too late."
He could tell his words stung by the way she said his name, her voice hushed.
Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. "Donna, look--"
"No," she interrupted. "This is exactly what I mean. I think we should clear the air."
"It's in the distant past, Donna," he said stubbornly.
"Yes," she agreed. "But we're both still angry, or it wouldn't be this hard to talk to you."
He sighed. "You're leaving tomorrow," he said, leaving the "what does it matter?" unspoken. He knew she'd hear it anyway.
She didn't answer for a long moment. "Josh, I'm at my hotel. I'm going to change, and then I'm going to Fast Fong's. If you change your mind, I'll be there."
"Szechuan Chicken with fried rice," he guessed, smiling against his will. They'd spent hundreds of dollars at Fast Fong's over the years, after long, stressful days, after long, passionate nights -- he hadn't been in the place since Donna left him.
"Yeah," she answered. "Should I order the Kung Pao too?"
Josh shut his eyes, debating whether to join her. He blew out a breath and said, "Never ask a politician to make a promise, Donna. Didn't you learn anything from your years with me?"
"Yes," she answered softly. "I learned a lot." And then she disconnected.
Josh tapped his phone against his palm, then slipped it into his pocket and scanned the room, looking for Senator Tolman.
***
Donna changed in record time, tossing her abandoned dress aside in favor of khakis and a wine-colored sweater. She didn't bother with her hair, leaving it in its loose knot.
She walked the six blocks to Fast Fong's, grinning as she recognized some of the stores from a decade ago, drinking in the majesty of the marble government buildings. She really had forgotten how pretty D.C. was.
She hadn't, though, forgotten Fast Fong's. The tiny place hadn't changed much; the pink vinyl booths had racked up some new cracks and stains, but the rest was the same, right down to the bright orange menus.
Donna slid into a booth, suddenly ravenous. And when the server came over, she ordered for herself and for Josh, knowing somehow that he'd show up. Then she waited, munching quite contentedly on fried wontons until she spotted a familiar mop of brown hair, now touched with more than a little grey. Josh entered, clad in a dark blue sweater and a broken-in pair of jeans. Something inside of Donna twisted in recognition -- they'd eaten here countless times; after work, on weekends, after particularly energetic bouts of lovemaking. She didn't believe in having a song or a movie or a restaurant, but Fast Fong's, in all its unglamorous functionality, was the site of many of her most revealing conversations with Josh Lyman.
Perhaps that's why she wasn't surprised when he dropped into the seat across from her, snagged a wonton, and said, "Senator Tolman was quite impressed with you tonight. So was Wilkinson."
She frowned. "Which one's Wilkinson?"
"Democrat. Ohio fourth."
"Ah."
"Yeah." He watched her closely. "Did you order?"
She nodded.
The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Good."
"Yeah." She took a sip of tea. This was easy, she thought. Maybe too easy. They'd probably failed at their personal relationship because it had been so much harder than the ease of their professional rapport. "How's S.R. 431 coming?"
His eyebrows raised a little. "You've been following that?"
She nodded. "Contrary to popular belief, people outside the Beltway do care about campaign finance reform, Josh."
He looked impressed. "Fair enough."
Their conversation lagged as their server arrived. The plates of steaming food captured their attention, and they spent several minutes portioning it out.
"I didn't realize I was this hungry," Josh mumbled before shoving a large piece of chicken in his mouth.
Donna covered her mouth with her hand and laughed.
"What?" Josh demanded, grinning.
"Nice table manners, Josh."
"Well, I haven't had you around to correct me in quite some time," he shot back.
Her smile faltered. Once again, their comfortable banter was undercut by unspoken accusations. "Josh--"
"Please," he said. "Can we eat first?"
Donna examined the tabletop, tracing the fake wood grain with her fingertip. "Sure."
***
Josh tapped his chopsticks against the tiny chip on the edge of his plate, resisting the urge to get up and pace the length of the small restaurant. Probably wouldn't do much for the "unaffected by Donna" image he was doing his best to project. It was futile, but he was doing his best to ignore the little pinpricks of remembrance every time she laughed or looked at him with that light in her eyes. It felt strange, this mixture of old and new, of painful and sweet memories. Even their political talk had some sort of... edge to it that Josh couldn't name.
Although he'd been the one to request a postponement of the inevitable conversation, now that they were quietly eating and making small talk, he found his impatience was getting the best of him. Waiting for things wasn't his strong suit, never had been. He was about to interrupt her soliloquy on the wonder that was the El when the look on his face seemed to register. She stopped abruptly. Apparently she still had the uncanny ability to read his thoughts.
Clearing her throat, Donna placed her chopsticks down, adjusting them until they were perfectly perpendicular to her napkin. Josh knew his brief reprieve was over. She cleared her throat and folded her hands together on the table carefully. "Josh--"
"Please," he interrupted, somewhat desperately. "This has been nice. Can't we just leave it alone?" The closer the moment drew, the more he realized that he didn't want to hear her explain that she was over him, and detail how happy she was without him. He thought it might honestly kill him.
"No," Donna answered quietly, her blue eyes intent on his. "It still hurts." Her shoulder lifted a fraction. "Doesn't it?"
He could feel his mouth tightening, knew he was glaring. "And having some heart to heart over fortune cookies will help how?" he demanded.
Donna smiled, but it was bitter. "I don't know," she answered, her tone bereft.
That's what did him in, that uncertainty. It clicked, finally -- the awkward silences, her strange behavior, the odd, edgy remarks. He wasn't the only one who wondered what could've been, had they paid more attention to their relationship, if they'd managed to avoid the painful crash and burn. Josh found himself leaning forward, his elbows on the tabletop, his voice quiet and almost tender. "Have you missed me?"
She ducked her head, her hair shadowing her expression. Her hands tightened on each other, the skin beneath her fingertips whitening from the pressure.
"Donna?"
Sighing, she met his gaze. "Of course I have, Josh. But that's not what this is about."
Stung, he leaned back in his seat. "Well, then what the hell is it about, Donnatella? Because I don't see how picking at old wounds--"
"It's like..." she hesitated, looking for the right phrase. She still did the same thing, her head cocked slightly to the side, her gaze lifting up towards the ceiling as she searched her impressive vocabulary. "Lancing a boil," she said finally. Then she frowned. "Wait--"
"Lancing a boil?" Josh echoed, incredulous. "You're comparing me unfavorably to a boil?"
"No," Donna said quickly, reaching across the table to touch his hand.
They'd always been tactile people, at least with each other, and the feel of her fingers grazing his was almost too much. Josh jerked away from her, crossing his arms. "You know what? This was a really bad idea."
***
Donna watched him close himself off, just like he did years and years ago. He was an incredibly good man, intelligent and compassionate. Oh, he tried to hide his big heart behind sarcasm and egotism, but he was always the first one fighting for Haitian refugees or Puerto Rican protestors, or really any marginalized group of people.
But maybe too compassionate. His big heart and bigger ego made him believe that he should be able to alleviate the suffering of others. His guilt over his sister's death had molded him into the kind of person who felt he could make up for his good fortune in surviving not just the house fire, but the shooting in Rosslyn as well, only by protecting every other person he loved. And when he couldn't keep Donna clear of the MS scandal, when he hadn't been able to protect her from brutal and invasive questions from Congress, he'd been so furious. With himself, mostly, but she had suspected he was a little angry at her, too. She'd known how hard the President's revelation had hit him, understood how much responsibility he'd taken onto his shoulders, so she'd kept her humiliation and her pain to herself. Looking back, it was pretty clear that he'd read her emotional withdrawal as disinterest, and his anger towards her grew. It had been so unexpected, so the opposite of what she needed from him, that she had pulled away.
And now it was happening all over again in a dingy restaurant. Donna impatiently brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Josh," she implored. "Don't go."
He gave her a look full of indecision. "Seriously, Donna, this is ridiculous."
"Why?"
"Because." He gestured vaguely with one hand, then recrossed his arms. "All of this happened years ago. What is there to discuss? You can say you're sorry for what happened, I can say I'm sorry, and then what? What changes?"
Donna watched him carefully, weighing her words. She was afraid the truth would shatter this fragile peace, but a lie, even a kind one, would defeat the purpose of them talking about this in the first place. "I'm not sorry for what happened," she said finally. "I'm sorry you were hurt by -- Josh!" she called as he slid out of the seat.
He was halfway to the door already, his strides quick and angry. Frustrated, Donna fished money out of her jeans pocket, dropped it on the table, grabbed the fortune cookies, and took off after him.
Josh was halfway down the block, unlocking his old Audi. The same car he'd driven when they were together. The same car she'd watched drive away, her vision obscured by tears and the streaks of pollen on her window after a particularly cruel fight. The same car in which the entire thing between them had started, that cool fall day when an amusing conversation about the typos in the Fast Fong's menus, of all things, had suddenly, explosively turned into something else. Donna ignored the stab of regret at the sweet, painful clarity of that memory and yelled his name. He didn't turn, but his head dropped a little, his shoulders slumping.
"Josh," she repeated softly, drawing even with him on the sidewalk. She watched him over the roof of his car, waiting until he looked up at her, those soft brown eyes glittering in the dim light.
"Donna." That was all, just her name.
"Would you please come here and talk to me?" she requested quietly. "You're not letting me explain."
"Maybe I don't want to hear the explanation," he countered, not moving. His tone was quiet, weary, but not defensive. He sounded like he'd already resigned himself to the conversation, and was protesting because he thought he was supposed to. She thought maybe that somewhere, deep down, he wanted to know why they'd gone wrong too.
"Tough," she said, the corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "Do you know how many hours of my life I spent listening to you explain things?"
Josh turned his head, giving her his profile. Still, she could see a shadow of a smile on his lips. The sight was momentarily distracting. She'd always loved that small, private smile, the one he used to give her in the office in lieu of the words they couldn't say.
"Yeah," he admitted. "But that was ten times the education you would've gotten at Madison."
Donna snorted. "I don't see how my Josh-inflicted encyclopedic knowledge of baseball statistics has helped me much in my present position," she said dryly, relieved that the tension had eased somewhat.
Finally, he turned back to her, a genuine grin on his lips. "Obviously your current boss is lacking the proper respect for the Red Sox."
"I thought you were a Mets fan," Donna remarked.
His grin faded a bit. "Times change."
***
Josh watched her, the streetlight down the block setting her blonde hair aglow. Her bowed head left her face in shadows, and he had to rely on her tone of voice when she answered, "They do."
He could hear the regret, and acknowledged to himself that he'd lost the battle. He couldn't escape her; he'd never been able to. And so he would listen to what she had to tell him, regardless of how much it would hurt. Josh pocketed his keys and rounded the hood of the car, joining her on the sidewalk. She lifted her head, the streetlight illuminating tears sparkling in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said simply, regret and affection in her voice. "I am, Josh. I never wanted to hurt you."
He shrugged. "I know," he answered gruffly. "Me neither."
A hint of a smile. "You never wanted me to hurt you either?"
"That too." He grinned, feeling an absurd amount of relief. At least she was smiling. And it was that fond, knowing smile he'd seen so often during their time together. Well, during their first few months together, before this thing between them turned sour. He wondered if he'd ever see this smile again; he thought maybe he should try to memorize it.
Donna glanced down at her hands, and he noticed that she was holding fortune cookies wrapped in plastic. She smiled up at him, offering him the cookies on the palm of her hand. He took one, the plastic crinkling in the soft night air. There wasn't much in the way of traffic, and no nightlife to speak of, not on this side street. Josh suspected he and Donna were the only pedestrians around.
They were so rarely quiet, back then. Even now, something in the combination of Josh and Donna, something unnamable, wouldn't allow them to just... be quiet together. The dialogue, the banter, the verbal connection they'd made all those years ago was still there. Josh found himself leaning towards her, his body giving in to their magnetism.
"Josh?"
He blinked, his eyes meeting hers with sudden intensity. "Yeah," he murmured.
"What are you doing?"
He would never be sure who moved, would never know who initiated the kiss, who closed the distance, but he decided he really didn't care. Because it was amazing. Familiar, yet new. Comfortable, yet undeniably passionate. Kissing Donna was freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and the Tidal Basin ringed with cherry blossoms and that feeling you get right before your candidate takes the stage to give a victory speech. Only better.
It always had been.
And then Donna pulled away. "Josh," she whispered, ducking her head. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, one hand lifting to her lips as she looked back up at him.
Josh realized belatedly that his arms were still sticking out in front of him, still frozen where she'd left him. He brought them to his hips, turning his head to look out into the street. Clearing his throat, he kept his gaze averted when he said, "I apologize. I should go."
***
He wouldn't look at her.
Donna struggled to get her thoughts in order, not a terribly easy task after that amazing kiss. That kiss that reminded her how tender, how passionate, how incredibly sexy he could be. And his reaction when she pulled away reminded her how complex this thing between them really was.
She was starting to think her visit to D.C. would end up doing more harm than good. Unless she could get him to understand. Donna brushed her fingers across her still-tingling lips, then dropped her hand, reaching out for his arm. "No," she said, her fingers tightening slightly on his muscular bicep. She'd always been a fan of his arms.
"You know what, Donna? I'm sick of this," Josh exploded, finally looking back at her. "You've only been back here-- What? A day? -- and we're already back to the part where you walk out on me."
Donna flinched. She had walked out, at the end, but it had been over long before her physical departure. "I'm sorry you feel that way," she answered softly. "I really just want--"
"You want me," Josh interrupted, eyes blazing, voice reverberating with anger and with something else. Something familiar. Something urgent. Something that made her shudder with remembrance. "Admit it, Donna. A minute ago, you would happily have dragged me back to your hotel room--"
"You're right," she agreed with a small shrug and half of a smile.
Brow furrowed slightly, Josh paused, his muscles tense beneath her fingers. "What?"
"You're right," she repeated, her smile gaining ground. "I would happily have dragged you back to my--"
"Don't say it." Josh lifted a hand in warning, his palm to her. "Please."
She studied his expression, recognized the predatory look that still snuck occasionally into her dreams. "Fine," she agreed. "But my point is that..." She hesitated, her lips pursed in thought. Then she gestured at the air between them awkwardly, her fingers still clutching the fortune cookie. "This was never the problem, Josh."
He watched her, his gaze still a little too intense for her peace of mind. He moved a little, letting her hand slide down his forearm until he could grasp her fingers. "What's this?" he asked, mimicking her gesture with his free hand.
She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Sexual attraction. Sexual chemistry. Se--"
"Stop saying that," Josh demanded, the edges of his lips quirked upwards in amusement. "I take your point."
He squeezed her fingers slightly and she was reminded of all the other amazing things he could do with his hands. Donna raised an eyebrow. "And grant my premise?"
He grinned at her -- that familiar, sexy, irresistible grin. "We have never had a problem with sexual chemistry."
Something inside of her was knocked off balance by the undercurrent of his words, but she forced herself to step back, dropping his hand. The physical connection was too much. She couldn't touch him and refuse him at the same time. "No. We haven't. Me wanting to drag you off to the nearest room with a functioning lock--" She bit back a smug grin when he made a noise that could only be described as a whimper and continued. "--is nothing new. And it has no bearing on the state of our relationship."
***
Frustrated and adrift from her comforting touch, Josh started to move, pacing in small, tight, lopsided ovals. "Donna--"
"I'm saying that the reason we fell apart wasn't because we no longer were attracted to each other, and it wasn't because we didn't still love each other."
He stopped walking, and stared at the security grill covering the entrance to a convenience store without really seeing it. Still, he couldn't seem to frame a response, couldn't make himself look at her. The scuff of her shoes on the pavement warned him as she moved closer. Close enough that he had to press his palms against his leg, the fortune cookie's plastic crinkling its protest, to keep himself from reaching for her.
She lowered her voice a little. "Our problems were complicated, Josh. They were personal and they were professional and they were political, and they were..." He could sense the shrug. "Too much."
He remembered the fighting, the tears, and most of all, the cold silences, the days of terse, minimal conversation at the office, and going home to separate apartments. He remembered the few times their anger had boiled over into sex, he remembered how they'd used each other to relieve some of the tension. He remembered that it never seemed to work.
But mostly, he remembered the problems. Hurt wrapped inside misunderstandings, tied up with conflicting desires. The problems between them really had been too much.
"They were then," he said, his tone non-committal.
"Yes."
He inhaled slowly, wishing it were courage instead of air, and turned. She was watching him, silent, her arms by her sides, hands tightened into fists. He wished he knew her better, this new Donna, because he could swear the look on her face was something like fear. A variation of that expression she used to give him when she was afraid he'd say the wrong thing.
He said it anyway. "And now?"
***
Donna ducked her head, Josh's question hitting her like a body blow. Why did he have to say it aloud? Why did he have to bring up the possibility that they could try this again, try to repair this amazing thing between them, when he knew they couldn't? Why did it hurt so much to deny him?
She inhaled sharply, her breath unsteady, and forcibly relaxed her muscles. The fortune cookie's sharp, broken edges pressed into her palm, and she brought her hand up to show him. "I ruined it," she said softly.
"Donna." His tone was anguished, desperate.
She looked up at the sky, blinking back tears and focusing on the dully glowing stars. Too much light pollution to see them clearly, she thought absurdly. She knew she was avoiding the question, knew they'd reached the moment of truth. And she cursed herself for being such a coward, but she couldn't find the words to answer him. "Josh..."
He laughed, the sound harsh and jarring in the cool night air, and Donna finally lowered her head. Their eyes locked, his filled with regret and pain. She suspected hers were identical. "It's so hard." Frustrated, she pushed back her hair, tucking it behind her ears.
"That's fine, Donna," he answered with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"It's too hard," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "There's so much hurt between us. Too much history."
"Fine," he repeated, the word clipped.
She watched him, watched the way his entire body had tensed up, his shoulders drawing upwards, hands shoved in his pockets. She had to fix this, or it would fester for another ten years. "We live in different cities, Josh. I don't think I ever stopped loving you, but I never stopped hurting, either. We're in different places now."
"We are," he acknowledged with a nod, his eyes skittering away from her. "We're in very different places. And it seems to me that what went wrong the first time was caused by our situation."
She shook her head a little, trying to keep him from saying it. "Josh, we're--"
"We don't work together anymore." He shrugged, his gaze purposefully fixed on something just beyond her left shoulder.
Donna knew him well enough to know that was the closest he'd ever come to asking again. The closest he'd ever come to pleading. This was it. This was her last shot with Josh.
***
Josh couldn't look at her, not until she answered his unspoken plea. But he could see her in his peripheral vision, took note as her chin dipped, her hair falling across her face like a drape.
His entire body jangled with anticipation, with anger, with fear, with expectation. He realized he was holding his breath.
"Josh," Donna said finally, and he knew. She didn't have to say another word, he recognized the tone. He recognized the way his heart felt like it was being rent in two without the help of a bullet or well-meaning surgeons.
"Don't," he managed, his voice barely audible. He should've known she wouldn't listen. She never had.
"You have to know that I would give anything if we could go back and fix what went wrong, Josh. The time when we were together, when it was good? That was amazing."
He took a breath, turning to look at her. But he couldn't answer, couldn't find the words to say what he meant, so he simply nodded.
"We messed up," Donna continued with a simple shrug, the movement drawing his eyes again to the necklace sparkling at her throat. "Both of us. We were both scared and hurt and..." She laughed a little, but it wasn't mirthful. "We messed up. And as much as I'd like to go back and fix it, I can't. You don't want me, Josh, you want the woman I was ten years ago. We're not the same people we were back then."
He shook his head. "I don't think that's true. I'm the same person--"
"Josh," she said softly. "It's been eight years since we've spoken. We're not the same people we were. We have lives. We have separate lives and we have responsibilities and we can't..." She reached out for him, her fingers tangling with his. "We can't go back."
***
She felt tears stinging her eyes but blinked furiously, forcing them back. She wouldn't cry. She couldn't, because then he would comfort her. And if he touched her, if he reached for her, that would put an end to her sensible resistance.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"Yeah," he answered, his tone aiming for neutral and missing quite spectacularly. Some things, she thought, never do change. He still tried to project an aura of nonchalance when he was hurting. And she could still see past it, because that little bit of huskiness in his voice always betrayed him.
She wondered if he still remembered her tiny betrayals.
Donna inhaled the cool evening air, concentrating on her breathing, willing her heart rate to slow. She needed to stop feeling and start thinking. She'd known, coming here, that it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that Josh would still have feelings for her, like she had for him. And she'd known that the only possible resolution was this one.
She looked over at him to find him watching her, his expression guarded. "I really should go," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the Audi. A small, grim smile touched his lips. "I think we've probably said enough, don't you?"
Donna recognized that he was trying to hide behind an air of disinterest, and was surprised by how much that realization hurt. He was blocking her out, obscuring himself. It was ridiculous to be offended or pained; this was her decision. It was the right thing to do. But why did it have to feel like this?
"You're probably right," she managed, her voice soft.
A car drifted past, but she barely noticed the bright headlights and the muffled thumping of the bassline. She was far too focused on Josh.
He dipped his chin once, watching her uncertainly. "I could drive you."
"No," she shook her head. "Thanks. It's only a couple blocks." She shrugged, trying to smile. "It's a nice night."
***
Nice night, he thought. Sure, if you discounted all of the humiliation.
He broke her gaze, turning his head a little. He wound up staring blankly at the small dent on the front quarter panel of his car, the one he always forget to get fixed. It was on the passenger side, so he rarely saw it. The knowledge that it was there, that it needed fixing, lived somewhere in between his conscious and subconscious, almost dormant until he was unexpectedly confronted by its existence. "I should get that fixed," he muttered.
"What?"
His head snapped up, his eyes drawn to hers. "The car," he explained, stepping closer. He drew two fingers along the cool metal, pressing against the rough scrape.
"Oh." Donna nodded, her eyes following his movements. "Nasty ding."
Josh shrugged. "Yeah. It'll get fixed."
Donna let the subject drop, didn't respond for a long moment. He wondered if she was lingering just to be near him for a bit longer, or if she just wanted to make sure he was okay after all of the heart-breaking. Again. She gave him a look that he used to understand, and it seemed like she was trying to smile, her lips trembling slightly. "I'm going to go."
He bit back the words he wanted to say, pressed his hands against his thighs to keep from reaching for her. "Okay." He thought he might've cracked his fortune cookie, but didn't waste the energy to check.
Donna stepped forward, her arms lifting towards him. For a moment he was elated, convinced that she'd changed her mind. Her arms slid around his neck, and she turned her head, tucking it against his shoulder. Her fingers pressed into his back, holding on to him with a kind of fierce desperation that he recognized, and he hugged her back almost involuntarily, crushing her slim frame to him. He memorized the scent of her hair, the feel of her sweater, the sound of her breath. And then she was pulling away.
Her fingers grazed his cheek, and her blue eyes sparkled with tears as she studied him. "Take care of yourself, Josh."
His arms dropped to his sides. "Yeah," he said flatly. "You, too."
She drew in a slow breath, then turned away, striding purposefully down the sidewalk towards the streetlight at the corner. Leaving him. Again.
Josh thought he might be getting used to it.
She didn't look back, not once, and he stood, frozen, until she turned a corner two blocks down and disappeared.
Josh moved stiffly to the Audi, dropping into the driver's seat. He shut the door and looked down at his hands, expecting to see his keys. Instead, he found the fortune cookie.
Just as he'd suspected, it was cracked pretty badly, but he tore open the plastic anyway, pulling the small paper free.
"Your love life will be happy and harmonious."
Josh's laughter had surprisingly little bitterness as he tossed the cookie and its stupid fortune into the empty passenger seat. He dug his keys out of his pocket, started the car, and pulled out. When he drove past the street Donna had turned down, he couldn't help but look.
The street was empty.
***
Donna trudged down the empty streets, somewhat numb. It was a little alarming, because she would've thought she'd be sobbing or at least feeling something. But she wasn't. Not yet. Instead, she was replaying the way his body felt pressed tightly to hers, the look of pain in those warm brown eyes. It killed her to know she'd caused it.
But what else could she have done? She went over the possibilities in her mind one more time. They could've tried again, picked up where they left off. But that was eight years ago, and it had ended terribly. They could start over cautiously, but they lived in separate cities. They were thousands of miles apart; what kind of relationship could they really hope to build, to rebuild, under those circumstances?
No, the only rational thing to do was to part as friends. Or if not friends, to resolve the anger, so they at least weren't parting as enemies.
When a street sign finally caught her attention, she realized she'd walked right past her hotel. With a sigh, she turned back, ducking into a Starbucks to order a decaf caramel mochiatto. Comfort coffee, CJ used to call it. They'd indulge whenever either of them had a really bad day, the kind of day that simply couldn't be treated with yogurt.
There in the coffeeshop, with busy chatter all around her, Donna realized she had a crushed fortune cookie in the palm of her hand. She set it carefully on the counter and dug out her money to pay. While she waited for her drink, she tore open the plastic with trembling fingers.
"He who loves you will follow you."
She stared at it, blinking a few times, convinced she wasn't seeing what it truly said. Then she smiled, and the smile turned into a laugh, and the laugh turned into a stifled sob.
The barista called her drink. Donna dumped the wrapper and the crumpled cookie into the trash then hesitated.
After a moment, she stuffed the slip of paper in her pocket, grabbed her drink, and headed out into the cool night air.
THE END
06.24.02