Chapter Text
Josh & Donna
"A constant reminder of where I can find her,
a light that might give up the way
is all that I'm asking for
without her I'm lost,
but my love don't fade away."
–"Reminder" by Mumford and Sons
Josh
This can't be happening.
"—and what's more, I don't know why I ever expected anything else from you! I can't believe I was naive enough to think you could be a grown-up about this. I can't believe that after all of that, after a perfect week together, you won't have a serious conversation with me about what's happening between us, where you think it's going to go, how we'll make it work. No, as usual, you just get that panicky look on your face and you stand there and you don't tell me what you're feeling and you expect me to just do it all myself and you—"
"Donna, please, that's not what I—"
"Let me finish. You only know how to work. That's what you do, Josh. You don't commit to women. You don't know how."
"That's not fair, and you know it."
"Really? Look me in the eye and tell me you aren't scared shitless right now. Go on, do it. I'll be waiting."
Josh opens his mouth, but there's a dull buzzing in his ears, and his heart is pounding wildly, and he doesn't know how to put this back together. He doesn't know how to make her understand. Donna's eyes are cold and hard and burning straight through him. They both know she's right.
"Good answer." Donna whirls away, pulls her coat and purse off the back of the couch, and heads for the door. "I'll be at C.J.'s. I'll figure out how to get my stuff out of here when you're at work tomorrow."
"Donna, come on."
"I can't do this. I refuse to do this. I waited for you for years, Josh, and I'm—I'm in love with you. I'm not sure I ever won't be. But I'm done waiting for you to be in love with me. I'm done hoping that you see a future beyond the White House. Your life is the job, and that's fine. That's what you want, I guess. I just want more. I need more."
"I know. I'm sorry." The words are out of his mouth far too fast. Josh is certain, with sinking dread, that it was exactly the wrong thing to say. It sounds like he's giving up.
"Not sorry enough," Donna says quietly. She slams the door, and for the third and final time since the day they met, Josh lets her leave him without saying a single thing to make her stop.
ooo
Josh sits on his bed, staring at Donna's suitcase. It's still leaning against the wall. He had been hoping she'd unpack it later tonight or tomorrow...he'd had this whole idea of how he'd rearrange his dresser and his closet to make room, how he'd help her pull her stuff out of storage this weekend and figure out how to make it all fit in his townhouse. Or maybe, he'd take her to find something bigger, something in Wheaton or Silver Spring with a yard; Donna had always talked about wanting a dog, and when they had kids, the kids would want a swingset—kids need swingsets, they need space to run around, they need fresh air to breathe and dirt to track in to the house and safe cul-de-sacs to race their bikes through.
Josh pinches the bridge of his nose. Why the fuck had he gotten so impatient about the timeline? He should have just told her he thought they were past it. He should have told her he didn't need two more weeks (and four days) to figure out what he wants from her. He's already there. He's been there since he kissed her that first time, when he realized that he might actually have a shot with her. When he realized that she could ever think of him this way, that she would honestly want him, Josh, with the vanishing hairline and the mountains of issues and the high-strung workaholic tendencies. He'd been so afraid she'd just thought of him as a campaign fling until that ultimatum, which she'd thrown down with such poise and confidence. Josh hadn't known what to do with that, how to juggle not fucking everything up with Donna and learning how to be Leo. It was why he had initially tried to buy more time. The weariness and anxiety had been so all-consuming at that point that Josh could barely think ahead past the next thirty minutes, let alone a month into the future.
Thank God for Sam. Thank God for Hawaii. Thank God for bikinis and warm oceans and pineapple and ten hours a day of sleep, sex, and Donna—Donna, plowing her way through two and a half novels in five days; Donna slathering on layer after layer of sunscreen and going all freckled and pink anyway; Donna, reciting Kauai trivia late into the night ("Josh, did you know that Kauai's building code dictates that no building shall be taller than a coconut palm? And did you know that Kauai is the only Hawaiian island without the mongoose? And don't even get me started on the feral chickens."); Donna, half-drunk on mango daiquiris, dancing barefoot in the sand with her arms above her head, her hair coming undone in the moonlight.
It had taken an impressive five hours after getting home from the best week of his life for Josh to shove his foot firmly in his mouth, and only another hour after that for Donna to decide she'd had enough. He's now wasted another hour sitting here and missing her, utterly lost and miserable and alone. As usual.
He's so tired of being alone. He's physically, mentally, emotionally exhausted from it. He knows how to be alone without getting lonely; he knows how to get by without aching for more; he knows how to do work and nothing but it. For most of his life, and really, all of his adult life, that's been enough. The thought of at least four more years in the White House, slogging through each day, dragging himself home to the same empty apartment for a couple hours, and then getting up to do it all again, makes Josh feel sick. He wants to serve his President. He wants to serve his country...but it doesn't mean anything to him without Donna.
He's not sure how or when that happened. All he knows is that if she asked him, he'd hand Matt Santos his resignation. He'd move to Wisconsin. He'd learn to grow corn. He'd build her a house himself, brick by brick. He'd marry her in a little white church, without so much as a chuppah, and let his mother howl. He'd shave his head and change his name and follow her down any dusty road she led him. He'd wear a Phillies jersey in public. He'd learn to map the stars in distant galaxies, and name them all for her. He'd do everything short of vote Republican, but she'd never want that, anyway.
Josh stumbles to his feet. What the hell is he still doing here?
He should be running to wherever she is.
ooo
"Josh?"
Danny's wearing boxers, an old Harvard t-shirt, and a frown. Josh falters, unsure what to make of this. Of all the people he'd expected to open C.J.'s door, Danny Concannon absolutely hadn't been one of them.
"Uh...hi, man," Josh says, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry, did I wake you?"
"Not at all," Danny says dryly. He steps aside, jerking his head. "Come on in. Looking for Donna?"
"Yeah." Josh glances around C.J.'s very empty, very quiet living room. "I'm sorry...I thought she was here?"
"That she was," Danny says. "Want a drink?"
"What?"
"A drink. C.J. has scotch, wine, beer, vodka..." Danny rummages through a cabinet and comes up with a handle of Tito's. "I'm in the mood for a vodka soda, personally."
"No, that's okay. I really do apologize for just having barged in this way, but...um, did Donna leave, then?"
"She certainly did." Danny splashes some club soda into a glass and stirs in quite a bit of the Tito's.
"Danny, I'm sorry to be a pain in the ass, but where the hell did she go?"
"Well, Josh, she banged down the door at around 10:30—interrupting what was shaping up to be quite the romantic evening, might I add—and sat there sobbing on the couch for a good half hour after that. Then, in her infinite wisdom, my beautiful Claudia Jean decided that a change of scenery was in order and whisked her off to the nearest bar. It was decided I should remain here, as I am a man, and men are on the collective shit list tonight. Now, why do you suppose that is?"
Josh swallows.
"Uh-oh."
"That's right. Uh-oh." Danny takes a swig of his drink and then points an accusatory finger in Josh's face. "This is your fault, pal. You are the reason I am sitting in my girlfriend's apartment alone on a Saturday night. She works fifteen hour days, Josh! When do you think I ever get to have sex?"
"Wait, when did you and C.J. start dating?" Josh asks, before catching sight of Danny's frankly menacing scowl. "Ah, I mean...congratulations!"
"Look, I've been on Team Josh for years," Danny says, throwing what an unwitting onlooker might have mistaken for a friendly arm around Josh's shoulders. Danny slowly walks Josh to the door, an unsettling smile plastered across his face. "I placed my bets. I went to her apartment with you to throw snowballs and be the bad cop. I even talked you up a little tonight, damned if I know why—that's when they banished me to the bedroom. So, I have to ask myself, Josh, what has it all been for? And what are you going to do to fix this, and then ensure it never happens again?"
"I'm going to put in a valiant effort," Josh says, wriggling out of Danny's grip. "Really, I came here to swing for the fences."
"Terrific. Get the hell out of here."
"Wait! What bar?"
Danny drains the rest of his drink.
"McCormick's. Make a left; it's just down the block. And Josh?"
"Yeah?"
"If you make my night any worse, I'm going to call my buddy at the Post and tell him to be ready to run an obituary for the incoming White House C.o.S."
"Thanks, Danny. I'm really, uh, you know. I feel like an asshole."
Danny waves a hand, his creepy smile softening slightly.
"Oh, whatever. Go get her."
Josh spins on his heel and takes the stairs two at a time. When he hits the street, he sprints, the buzzing rising in his ears, adrenaline and anticipation and the slightest bit of hope shuddering through his chest. It's been a long time since he ran anything that wasn't a campaign, but then again, it's been an even longer time since he had anything worth running to.
He hopes Donna will meet him at the finish line.
Donna
The whiskey isn't helping.
"I can't drink any more of this," she nearly has to scream at C.J., because of course, it's karaoke night. The guy up on stage is hollering "Don't You Forget About Me" into the microphone at a truly alarming decibel.
"Whiskey is my go-to if I need to cry," C.J. yells back. "Tequila if I need to laugh. Vodka if I'm pissed. Gin if I'm feeling sexy."
"I don't want to cry," Donna complains, but that's not strictly true. She wants to cry, all right—has been crying, in fact, for hours. What she really wants is for Josh to not have been such an unbelievable jackass. She wants to be in his apartment, wrapped up under the covers with him, wishing they were back in paradise, but sleepily starting to plan their future. She wants Josh to want that, too. She wants to rewind to this time yesterday, when she was eating a peanut ice cream cone from a little video store down the road from their hotel, and Josh was telling her the funniest story about his older sister and a squeaky piano.
Goddammit. Why had she brought up the timeline?
She'd just felt antsy. She'd wanted Josh to be ready for this—Hawaii had spoiled her. She had gotten used to a Josh without responsibilities, a Josh who could nap on the beach in the middle of the day, a Josh who didn't want to talk about politics or flip on C-SPAN. Donna had even been excited when he asked if she wanted to stay with him while she figured out her apartment situation, but then she'd felt a little ripple of anxiety. She had wanted to be reassured.
It had popped out of her mouth without warning: "I don't know if that's such a good idea until we figure out where we want to be two weeks and four days from now."
Josh had looked at her, a strained expression spreading across his face, and asked what she meant.
If she'd just have stopped there...
But no. She had decided to pick that particular fight.
She told him she really wanted to know where they were heading before they got any further, that they should talk about all of this, even if they didn't come to a decision, even if they still needed the extra couple of weeks. And Josh had snapped at her, had huffed away across the living room and muttered: "Why are you so hung up on this stupid deadline?"
Which meant, of course, that he thought Donna was stupid—at least, that's how she took it—and so she'd proceeded to inform him that a deadline, a timeline, actually wasn't stupid at all, that it was important and that they needed the structure of it so that it wouldn't fall to the wayside in the middle of the transition. Josh had gotten even angrier, and then he'd growled that Donna knew the kind of pressure he was under, that he was about to start the most important work of his life, and why the fuck did she have to pile onto it?
That had infuriated her. Yes, of course he was under a lot of pressure; she'd never said he wasn't, had never once invalidated how hard it was going to be. This was precisely the point of setting a timeline with an end in sight—so that Josh could be prepared. So they both could be. And why did it always have to come back to this, to the White House, to Josh's career? Why couldn't it, just this once, be about them?
To which Josh had shouted that she should know more than anyone what his job meant to him. She should know him better than that. Why couldn't she just drop the fucking ultimatum and stay with him and not make it all into a thing?
It was the way he said "thing" that really hit her hard. Thing. Like this was all some ordeal, a distraction from what was really important.
Donna had wondered, in the split second before she started shouting back at him, what Josh would do if she made him choose. She would never do that, not really; she was never going to be that kind of woman. Josh should have his passion, his work. It was so intrinsically part of him. He should need to do it. He should sacrifice and struggle and throw himself into it all, headfirst. Donna had always admired that about him, that fervent, undiluted desire to help people and make the world better and beat back all the Beltway bullshit. He lived for it. He loved it.
Donna had just wanted him to love her more.
It was selfish and beyond naive. Short-sighted. Unfair. Unrealistic—no, not just unrealistic.
Impossible.
And so she'd kept ranting until her throat was raw, kept cutting him off and not letting him explain himself. She'd stormed out into the night and had to basically throw herself in front of a cab to keep from turning around, racing back in there to yell some more and to kiss him senseless and to try not to care that he was still putting her second.
She misses him. She misses him, and it's only been a couple of hours.
"Do you want to go, Donna?" C.J. asks, reaching across the table to grab her hand. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I know you hate karaoke."
"I ruined your night," Donna says, sniffing angrily and swiping at the tears on her cheeks. "The least I can do is get you drunk."
"You didn't ruin anything," C.J. insists. Donna has to laugh at little at that. Danny had looked ready to start throwing things when he'd opened the door and found her standing there. Donna's rarely seen him so miserable.
"You don't have to lie to me. Poor Danny. I seem to keep doing this to him." The guy on stage finally finishes butchering Simple Minds, and it's blessedly quiet for the first time in what feels like five years. Donna takes a celebratory sip of the whiskey and grimaces. "Ugh, I really can't drink this. Do you want it?" C.J. starts to say yes, but freezes, her gaze locked on something behind Donna's back.
"No," C.J. whispers.
"What?"
"Oh my God. Donna, don't—"
"So, I'm really sorry." A familiar voice is blaring through the bar's sound system. There's an unusual wrenching sensation somewhere in the vicinity of Donna's chest. Ever so slowly, she turns in her seat, and her mouth falls open. C.J. grabs her hand again, clenching down on her wrist like it's the only thing stopping them both from floating away.
Josh is standing on the little stage, blinking into the single watery-blue spotlight.
"C.J., he can't, he can't, he can't," Donna says urgently, the words coming out in a breathless jumble. "He—what is he doing, he can't—people will recognize him, there's gonna be a reporter or a friend of a reporter or a reporter's third cousin's brother-in-law or I don't know what and then this is going to be a story or something. This is going to reflect poorly on—"
"Shhhh. Listen." C.J.'s grip around her wrist tightens, if that's possible.
"I, uh. I understand that it's karaoke night," Josh is saying, and now he's squinting out into the crowd, one hand over his eyes. "I paid Jackson over there fifty bucks to take his spot in the line-up. I'll try to be as quick as I can about this."
"Boooooo!" someone in the back shouts. A bunch of people giggle and shuffle nervously, but the bar itself has gone uncomfortably quiet. Everybody is paying attention. Donna covers her face with her free hand, bites down on her palm.
"Yeah, whatever, buddy. I get that I'm depriving you of some off-key Billy Joel right now," Josh calls, and Donna can see through her fingers that he's glowering in the general direction of the boo-er. "Have another Zima or something. Anyway. So, my dad took me to my first Mets game when I was eleven. He didn't want to take me until he thought I was old enough to appreciate the experience. I'd been driving him crazy for years, asking when we were gonna catch the train down to the city for a game, begging and bargaining and, you know, being a pain in the ass. He made me wait, though. He made me wait until I wanted it so bad that it was all I could think about, until he knew I was going to respect it and remember it perfectly and be able to tell all you fine people now, thirty-odd years later, that it was overcast and humid that day, and that we beat the Cubs 26-9, that Tug McGraw was pitching, and that I ate two hotdogs with mustard but no ketchup and slammed four bottles of Coke.
"My dad told me, once the game was over and I was pretty much high on all the soda and the win...he looked at me and told me that anything worth having in life would require patience. He said that it wasn't going to be easy, that I was going to have to learn how to sit still and bite my tongue and figure out how to wait for the good stuff. My dad was...well, he was a man of the law, like me. I think even then he was trying to prepare me for a life of red tape and bureaucracy and sweet-talking politicians. But he also told me that the wait makes you better. I didn't get it then, and I don't think I really understood him until right about now, standing here like an idiot in front of all of you. I'm not even drunk." There's more laughter, some whispering, but it's kinder this time. Donna's hand has fallen away from her face and she's staring, her fingers intertwined with C.J.'s, biting her lip so hard it's starting to bleed, her thoughts smashing into each other one after the other. Something is happening. Something is happening.
"It may not surprise any of you that I'm standing here like an idiot because of a woman," Josh says, wincing a little. C.J. inhales audibly. Donna stops breathing entirely. "Donna: I can't see your face, but I spotted you when I came in, so I'm just gonna...I'm gonna talk at where I think you are." Josh turns, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, and exhales nervously into the mic. "Okay. Donnatella Moss: I think maybe I only have one more shot to get this right. I think I've used up about ten years' worth of chances. I think I paid Jackson fifty bucks and got up here with a microphone to embarrass myself because this is what works in the movies, and because the only thing I've got left is a big, stupid romantic gesture that I'm ruining with stories about baseball. I just need you to hear me out. I need you to know that I'm not going to let you go this time without putting up some kind of fight. I need you to know that I am insanely, unapologetically, incontestably in love with you. I need you to know that not telling you that every day for the past eight years—not even letting myself think it—was probably the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.
"I need you to know that the best parts of me are from you, that I was a fucking mess without you, and that I never intend to feel that way again, because I will do or be whatever you want me to, and I will go wherever it is you feel like going, and Donna, God, I don't know. I don't know what else to say. You thought I needed four weeks to figure this out? I didn't even need four seconds. I waited and waited and waited for you and I think that when that wait was finally over, I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I...wasn't sure it was for real. Waiting for you has been tough and hilarious and miserable and genuinely worth it. I wouldn't trade it, I wouldn't change it. I like that it was hard. I like that I'll be able to tell people in ten, twenty, thirty years what you looked like that first day in Manchester and what color your dress was at the second Inauguration and the way your voice sounded when you were trying to convince me to put some guy on a stamp. I like that it gave me time to learn you. But you know what I love? I love that the wait is goddamn over. I love that it's not complicated anymore. I love you. When I asked you if we could just forget the timeline and not make it a thing...that's what I, y'know. That's what I meant." Josh pulls his hand through his hair, nods. "So...that's it. That's all I wanted to say, except to add, I guess, that I would do it all again, every single second of it. You made the years fly by, Donna, but I'm a pretty impatient guy. I'm impatiently ready to get to the part where we're together, and not just wishing we were. If you'll have me."
It's intensely silent. Josh is still peering out into the darkness, and C.J., mascara running down her face, turns to Donna with a disbelieving, wide-eyed smile, and then, Donna is unentangling their hands, rising to her feet. She's halfway across the bar in seconds. People are staring and whispering, and there are cameras, and absolutely some reporter is going to be making Lou Thornton's life hell for awhile, but Donna gets up on the stage anyway.
She's crying again. Josh stares at her under the heat of the spotlight, and the mic slips from his hand. Donna wants to tug him offstage, away from the audience, but he just poured out his entire heart to a roomful of strangers. If it's going to be a story anyway, it might as well be a good one.
"I think your dad was right," she says, her voice catching halfway through. "I am so much better for that maddening, impossible wait. And you have made it beautiful, Josh." He smiles his slow, quiet smile. The one that's just for her.
"What's next?" Josh asks, but he doesn't need to wait for an answer.
When Donna kisses him—her hands on either side of his face, her fingers curling into his hair—the bar erupts. There's screaming and whoops and applause and cameras flashing; there's Josh's arms around her waist, and then he's whipping her off to the side and down the steps, through a wall of cheering people trying to stop them, and into the chilly November night. Josh grabs her hand, pulls her around a corner, and then he presses her against the side of McCormick's and kisses her some more, until Donna pulls back and gasps out, "Joshua Lyman, you are the most ridiculous man I've ever met. What the hell made you do that?" Josh raises his eyebrows and smirks.
"I know what women like," he says, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. Donna screeches indignantly and kicks him. Josh yanks her back in, laughing, and tucks her hair back behind her ear. "I really wanted to make sure I got your attention. I was just going to stand on the bartop, but then I got there and they had a microphone. I wanted to be perfectly, one hundred percent clear. I wanted witnesses."
"You're crazy."
"You love it."
"As we speak, gossip columnists throughout the District are downloading photos of us making-out in front of eighty people at a seedy bar."
"It was a classy make-out session. Like Casablanca."
"You practically killed me. And C.J.! Oh my God. C.J.! We just left her there, along with my coat and my purse and my Visa for the bar tab..."
"Donna."
"What?"
"I really meant it. And I really love you."
"I really love you, too. You idiot."
"Someday, this is going to be one of those stories our grandkids get all gooey about. Just wait and see."
"Our...grandkids?"
"Yep. I'll probably be about 150 by the time we have any, so you may have to do the story-telling for me. I hope you were paying attention in there. You'll wanna tell it right."
"I don't know if I'll make it to grandkids if you keep up like this. My poor little heart can't take it."
"I haven't been waiting all this time just for you to keel over at the ripe old age of thirty-four. You're supposed to be the one keeping me youthful."
"Okay, Grandpa."
"Speak up! My hearing's not what it once was."
"..."
"..."
"Hey, Josh?"
"Hmm?"
"I still can't believe you said all of that in there."
"Me either, really."
"And Josh?"
"Yeah?"
"I want to go home."
"You do, huh?"
"I want to have my way with you."
"How many times?"
"As many times as it takes."
"You're an incorrigible woman. I knew I should have slipped you some bromide when I had the chance."
"I'm also a pretty impatient woman, Joshua."
"Not in my experience."
"If you don't take me home right now, I don't know if I can be held responsible for my actions."
"Mmm. Well. We're just going to have to get your stuff from C.J. another time, then."
"She'll understand."
"She's always been so magnanimous."
"So patient."
"She'll wait."
"But this can't."
"I'm glad you were listening."
"Josh? Call a damn cab."
Josh
"Tell me another."
Josh rolls onto his side and opens his eyes. Donna is propped on one elbow, the blankets falling away from her shoulders. Her hair's tousled, sticking up slightly on the left; she's beaming at him. Josh is pretty sure that no matter how many times he sees her like this, he'll never get used to it.
"It would be faster for me to tell you about the times I wasn't about to figure it all out. Or kiss you. Or, I don't know…throw myself at you."
"Well, I like this better," Donna says, dropping down and wiggling further under the covers. "This is way more fun." Josh loops his arm around her and draws her in, wraps one of his feet around her ankle.
"You'll get bored," he mumbles, smushing his face against her neck. He kisses a spot just above her collarbone, tugging a little with his teeth, and Donna sighs happily. "It's gonna be an early morning. We should sleep."
"If you think that hearing you talk about mooning after me is boring—"
"Mooning! I never mooned."
"You totally mooned. You pined. You were a man possessed."
"Hey, I wasn't that bad!" Josh pokes at her side. "I am nothing if not composed. Smooth, even."
"Oh, please," Donna says, and then pinches him. Josh yelps. "Your deep dark secret is out, mister. You looooove me."
"You are really not as cute as you think you are," he informs her, scowling as authoritatively as possible. Donna just grins up at him and pinches him again, right on the fleshy part of his arm. "Ow! C.J. is going to be here at six to give you back all your stuff and probably slap me around a little. We have to be up at five! And then we have to go to work and be adults. I'm thinking we need at least a couple of hours of rest to pull that off."
"We definitely need to take C.J. and Danny out to dinner or something," Donna says, tucking her head just underneath Josh's chin.
"I'd bet hard money that Danny was five minutes away from strangling me with his bare hands tonight. I think all he really wants is an uninterrupted evening with C.J., some vodka, and possibly to never see either one of us again in his life."
"Let's figure out a way to make that happen for them."
"Done." Josh is struggling to keep his eyes open. "Now, go to sleep."
"Right after you tell me another," Donna says, tracing a pattern on his chest. "So, there was some night in your office, and I was distracting you…"
"When weren't you distracting me?"
"Exactly. And then there was that time you were being an ass about the NEA budget report…"
"God, okay. Fine." Josh flips onto his back, and Donna props herself back up on her elbow, leaning over onto his pillow. She's enjoying this way too much.
"Um…there was this time, with Toby. It was, I don't know, I think the second or third year in office? We were all at the bar, but you and C.J. were somewhere else, and Toby told me I needed to get it together because it was becoming more clear each day that I was trying to get you in bed."
"Oh, yeah. C.J. told me he'd had a talk with you."
"I'm pretty sure they were in cahoots," Josh says, rolling his eyes. "Of course, at some point, everyone from Charlie Young on up to the President of the United States had a talk with me, in one way or another. Toby was just the most obnoxious."
"Why did Toby's talk get to you the most, though?" Donna wants to know. "Why is that the story you picked?"
"I think it's because it was the first time I admitted to myself that any of them were right," Josh says, frowning up at the ceiling. "I mean, I knew I was attracted to you. I knew that wasn't good. I had thought, I dunno…I'd thought that maybe I'd get over it. Or maybe that you would get married to one of your gomers and I'd have to get over it. But I didn't. And you didn't. And then Toby asked if I loved you, and he was looking at me like I was a puppy he'd accidentally kicked in the head, like he'd just figured out some heartbreaking thing even I didn't know about myself. Like he maybe even vaguely regretted giving me a hard time about it! Toby."
"That," Donna says, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek, "is very, very sweet."
"I agree."
"Unbelievably sweet. What else?"
"Donna!"
"Josh!"
"Well, of course there was Gaza."
"Mm."
"And there was that first time we…you know. Before the election?"
"You hadn't totally figured it out by then?"
"Well, I'd certainly figured out how I felt. I just wasn't sure about you."
"What!" Donna's the one scowling now. "How could you not know?"
"Well, first of all…you'd recently hated me. We'd only just started talking normally again. I thought maybe you wanted to burn off a little steam, I guess? I was obligated to ignore it, but I knew we'd always had a tension."
"Okay, I never hated you," Donna says, smoothing a hand over Josh's forehead. He bends into her palm. "Never, Josh. I was just angry and hurt and I wanted you to be hurt, too. I can admit that. But I was in love with you then, and in love with you now, and I suppose, in love with you pretty much every day before that."
"Well, when did you figure it out?" Josh asks. Donna's hand stills, her fingers just barely brushing his temple. "When did you really know?"
"You're going to laugh."
"I won't."
"I think you might," she says. Josh shifts, peeking up at her. It's dark, but he can still tell she's blushing.
"Was it tonight? Was that when you knew?"
"What?"
"You just look so embarrassed! I'm not gonna be offended, Donna. My feelings wouldn't be hurt if you weren't…certain or something, until you were yelling at me and it slipped out—"
"Canandaigua."
"Bless you."
"It's the name of a town, Josh."
"Okay, but where the hell is Canan…whatever?"
"Upstate New York."
"Really? I mean, we haven't been there in…what, at least four years, right? Didn't we stop on the last campaign?"
"Not in Canandaigua."
"So…wait. When…?"
"We had rented a car," Donna says, voice hardly above a whisper, "and I cried on you at a diner with the best milkshakes in the state."
"But…that was…that was 1998," Josh says, propping himself up on his elbow, too. Donna pulls the blankets up a little further and worries at the edge of the knitted one, the one Josh's mom had made for him so many years ago. "The first campaign. That was right after you'd come back, when you were upset about Freeride and we were lost and you hadn't been sleeping…and you knew?" Donna doesn't respond. "Donna. You knew you were in love with me when you were twenty-five years old? You really knew?"
"Yeah," she finally admits. "I was a pretty hopeless case myself."
Josh gapes at her.
"You blow me away," he manages. "You blow me away, and I don't deserve you for a second." And then, he crushes her to his chest, and pulls her on top of him, and kisses her enough to try to apologize for all the times he couldn't, and fuck it, he doesn't ever need to sleep again, doesn't need anything else but this, her, forever, as long as they've got, however long they're lucky enough to have it. Now. Now. Now.
Donna
"Tell me another!"
Josh could not possibly look more pleased with himself, or more smug. He's still mostly on top of Donna, his arms on either side of her head. She tries to hide her face under the blankets, but he catches her, pinning her against the pillows.
"Jooooosh," she complains.
"Nope. Fair's fair." He smacks a kiss on her cheek, then her forehead, then her other cheek. "I suddenly see the appeal."
"It's so late! It's nearly three-thirty."
"Sleep is for the weak," Josh says. He yanks on her hair. "Donnaaaa. It's your turn."
"I hate you."
"You definitely don't."
"I'm beginning to."
"I'll win you back. I'm three for three; I like my odds."
"Would you please get off of me?"
"Sure. Right after you tell me another."
"That night after the shooting, when I slept in your bed."
"Yeah, nice try. I already knew about that one."
"What! How?"
"Because you wrote about it in your diary, and I'm capable of drawing the obvious logical conclusion. I did go to Harvard, you know."
"You're an elitist snob."
"Also, Yale. They loved me there."
"Then maybe you should stop crushing my ribcage and go back. I'm sure they'd be overjoyed to have you."
"Okay, sounds like a plan. I'll head out, right after you tell me—"
"The night with the diary, when I had to let Cliff Calley read it, and you were so disappointed in me. That was another time."
"Aw. It was?"
"Of course. I thought the entire world, including you, was about to find out I was in love with you. I also thought I was gonna go to jail because of it."
"Wait—that's why you lied about it?"
"I thought you went to Harvard and were capable of drawing the obvious logical conclusion."
"You told me it was because you wrote about the time in my bed—"
"Well, I did. I also wrote about regularly undressing you with my eyes—"
"How regularly?"
"—and I meticulously analyzed almost every word you said to me—"
"Can we go back to the part about undressing me with your eyes? Are we talking, what, a couple times a week? A day? An hour?"
"—plus, of course, I detailed all the ways you nearly drove me to legal insanity—"
"Was it any tie in particular that did it for you? Was it the rolled-up sleeves? The Tuesday suit?"
"Focus, Joshua. It was everything."
"Everything?"
"Even Sam's foul weather gear."
"Gross."
"Yes, you were."
"Okay, but you really wrote all that stuff? About me? In the diary?"
"Yes."
"You're adorable."
"This is almost as humiliating the second time around."
"No wonder you didn't want it subpoenaed."
"Can you even imagine?"
"Yeah, I can."
"What's with that dopey look on your face?"
"I wish you'd have let me read it."
"That would have been horrible!"
"I know. But I still wish you'd have let me read it."
"You sadist."
"Yep. Now. How about another?"
"This is never going to end, is it?"
He rolls off of her, settling down on his side. Donna rolls too, angling in so that their noses are nearly touching. She can't think of a time Josh has ever looked happier.
"I hope not," he murmurs.
It's halfway to four AM. They have to be up in less than two hours to face their friend, and then their coworkers, and then the future President and First Lady of the United States. There will be questions. There might be pictures and gossip and mean-spirited accusations splashed through the papers and the online columns. It's going to require patience. It's going to be hard.
Donna reaches for Josh.
"When you got the President to call Mrs. Morello," she says, tracing the planes of his face. Josh runs one hand over her shoulder and down her side. "The night you threw snowballs at my window. All the times you left coffee for me on my desk and pretended it wasn't you. Every single night you made up a hundred excuses for me to stay, just so I would have to cancel my plans and pretend to be pissed about it. When you dated Amy, and I thought maybe I was really going to have to let you go for real. When I dated Jack, but couldn't quite shake you. When you flew all the way to Germany for me. When my mom told me how you never moved from my side the entire time she was there, except to hold her hand. When C.J. talked to me after Leo's funeral, and told me how you used to stare at me. When you took me to Hawaii. When I fought with you about my timeline. When you got up on a stage and did the bravest, dumbest, most beautiful thing you've maybe ever done. Five minutes ago. Right now. Tomorrow. Ten months from Tuesday. One thousand years from then. Always."
Josh wraps her up in his arms, Donna's lips brush his neck, and they curl there together in the dark, in the comfortable silence, in the simultaneous novelty and familiarity of each other.
Yes, it will be hard, Donna thinks. There will be work and fighting and long nights; there will be politics and Josh shouting for her and the occasionally lazy Sunday morning and mistakes and complications and tough decisions and at least a few broken promises. But: there will also be Josh, with his smile, and Josh, loving her so intently, and Josh, arguing because he can't not, and Josh, needing her despite himself, and Josh, who may never stop surprising her.
Josh, who Donna would wait ten more years for. Maybe ten hundred, if that's what it took. She smiles to herself, breathing him in, wishing she could go back to that bright day in Canandaigua and know what she knows now. Wishing she could tell her young, frightened self to count to ten.
The wait makes you better, she'd whisper, staring off after Josh into the sunshine and the noise and the swell of things to come. The wait is only the beginning.