Better Than Perfect

by: Ygrawn

Character(s): Josh and Donna, with some ensemble
Pairing(s): J/D
Category(s): Romance, Humor
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don’t own Josh and Donna et al. There are references to real people herewith, and I don’t own them either.
Summary: It's Josh and Donna's Assistant Anniversary. Josh has plans. As usual, they don't work.
Author's Note: I’m Australian, and this was begun before Bartlet’s 3rd SotU. This swaps between Josh and Donna’s POV, and starts with Josh’s. And for reasons that will soon become obvious, 17 People and the disputed anniversary didn't happen.

CJ rescues me. My beautiful Claudia Jean uses the beloved adjoining door to rescue me. I’m ready to kiss CJ. Well, not really, because we have that whole I’m an elitist jackass and she’s a paranoid feminista thing going. It’s subverted love.

But I’m halfway through a painful explanation about it being Donna’s and mine Assistant Anniversary - and the accompanying celebration, money-spending and general Donna-worship that goes with that - when CJ opens the door. “CJ,” I say, mid-sentence, my tone admittedly joyful.

I like Joey. I like her enough to have dinner and a drink with her as friends, because our moment has passed. But not on our Assistant Anniversary, when Donna’s hair smells so incredibly divine and - CJ is talking.

“Joey, I think Andie is looking for you. She’s in the Mural Room,” CJ adds, gesturing to the adjoining door. “The quickest way is through here.”

“Our flight is at eight o'clock this evening,” Kenny informs me.

I smile at Joey. “Well, it’s been nice seeing you, Joey.” It’s true: Joey is feisty and vivacious and doesn’t take any crap from me. Reminds me of a blonde I know.

“It was good to see you too,” Joey answers.

“I’ll see you next time you’re out here. Or I’m in California.”

“Yeah.” Then Joey hesitates, before continuing, “Donna’s crazy about you too.”

She holds my gaze - firm and unyielding - then leaves.

“Don’t even think it,” CJ glares at me. “Donna is not crazy about you. Donna is crazy because of you. You have made Donna insane. And me, too.” She returns to her office, only to open the adjoining door two seconds later to snap, “I can tell you’re thinking about it.”

“Sorry.” I attempt to focus on the amendment to Section 51 ACC, regarding unconscionable conduct.

What exactly does that mean? Donna’s mad about me too? That would suggest I’m mad about her in the first place.

This is Donna we’re talking about. The woman who overstated everything and took over my life. Donna, who almost never stops reeling off useless pieces of trivia; the woman who has bad handwriting, and refuses to bring me coffee.

Back to 51 ACC: That these sections do not apply to the supply of financial services.

She of the thirty-four freckles and the fine blonde hair and long legs that are so distracting they should be made illegal. Donna, who’s wearing her best suit, shoes, and jewelry and the perfume CJ gave her for her birthday last year.

Unconscionable conduct: the innocent party has to have had a weakness at the time of dealings.

Donna, who ruins my whole day - week - by being angry with me.

Unconscionable conduct: the stronger party has to have known about the weaker party’s situation.

Donna, the walking encyclopaedia, who constantly astounds me with her intelligence and thirst for knowledge, who has distinctive penmanship, and although she refuses to bring me coffee, she makes me laugh instead.

Focus, Josh, focus.

Whether as a result of the conduct engaged in by the supplier, the business consumer was required to comply with conditions that were not reasonably necessary for the protection of the legitimate interest of the supplier.

Donnatella Isabelle Moss, with her stupid rules and our lunches and her hugs, and her tears and her shaking hands, because I was shot and my world fell apart, but she stitched it back together for me.

Well, I now have two severe problems.

Problem One: It’s never occurred to me that Donna could possibly be crazy about me in return.

Problem Two: I’m not just crazy about Donna. I’m in love with her.

****

Six minutes later, I’m the middle of reeling in shock from my revelation - and doing a fairly good job of it - when Toby enters my office. Through CJ’s door.

“Why did you use CJ’s door?”

Toby’s flaps his hand. “It’s closer than going around to your door. And she’s doing her briefing.”

“Oh.” Toby hovers about my office. “What can I do for you?”

“I knew someone was coming from the Ethics Committee. It was supposed to be Waltham, but he’s sick or something, so he sent Andie in his place.”

Why is he talking to me about this? Surely he can see that firstly, I have the rest of my reeling from my revelation to get on with, and secondly, I’m useless at helping people with their personal problems. Helping people with their personal problems usually involves listening to them, and remaining patient, and thinking before I open my mouth to offer advice.

It never ends well.

“Oh,” I reply again.

Toby doesn’t seem to notice that I’m subtly signalling my disinterest, and continues. “I think I should say something to CJ.”

Okay, even I - Joshua Lyman, Idiot Extraordinaire - can tell that’s a bad idea. “Are you sure about that? CJ knows you didn’t know.”

“I think I should...” he trails off and flaps his hand again. “I should...”

“Finish your sentence?”

He stares daggers at me. “Apologize or...something.”

I stare at him in horror. “You apologize, you’ll scare her. In the Bartlet Administration Bible, Toby Ziegler actually apologising - instead of just skirting around the word - is the seventh sign of the Armageddon.”

“Now I remember why I didn’t want to talk to you about this, being that the sixth sign is Joshua Lyman not screwing up for once.”

I sigh. “If you apologize, you’ll remind CJ of the whole...thing, and the professional relationship you’ve cultivated will fall apart.”

Toby blinks. “You’re saying I should act as if nothing happened?”

“Yes. No. Be nice to her for the next few days, just don’t talk to her about it.”

Toby rubs his face. “Yeah.”

“Today’s already upset the balance between you two. Don’t make it worse.”

“I know.” He looks at me, silently asking the same thing CJ did this morning.

“Yes, Toby,” I say softly, “She thinks about it.”

He leaves quietly, and I realize that what I said to Toby also applies to me.

Donna and I have upset the balance enough today. The condoms and the thirty-four freckles and her being mad at me for something I’m still not clear about. Telling her I love her isn’t something I can take back afterwards, or pass off as a moment of stupidity. Particularly when being in love with your assistant could mean bringing down an entire administration.

So, I return to unconscionable conduct.

I realize I’m never going to be the same person again.

********

Dr. Freeride.

Dr. Freeride is standing right in front of me.

No, really, he is. I know it’s real, because I’ve been pinching myself repeatedly for the past twenty seconds and he’s still standing there.

“Hello Donna,” he says, smiling.

“Matt,” I manage weakly.

His grin grows wider. “Surprise!”

Yep. Sur-fucking-prise. “Uh...how did you know where I worked?”

“I bumped into your sister a few months ago, and she told me where you worked.”

"Which sister?"

"Ebony."

I never liked Ebony.

Matt continues. “I wanted to look you up, see how you were. How are you?”

He wants to have a regular conversation? I want to climb under the desk and stay there until next week. “I’m good.” I’m really not. “How are you?”

“Good. It’s so great to see you Donna. I didn’t believe Ebony when she said you worked in the White House. For the Deputy Chief of Staff nonetheless.”

Yeah, pretty good for the girl who would - and I quote Matt verbatim - never do better than him or get any further than Wisconsin, because some people just aren’t destined for greatness.

I got Josh Lyman and the White House, asshole. The President of the United States knows my full name and laughs at some of my jokes.

“You look fantastic,” he adds, when no response from me is forthcoming.

I frown. “How did you get into the building? You need a pass.”

“I used my good looks and charm on the security guards,” Matt tells me. Matthew Harris makes Josh look like a humble man. No, really, he does.

“That’s funny,” I say, with a false smile, “Because the security guards are supposed to be immune to good looks and charm.”

“I told them I was your boyfriend in college and I really wanted to see you.”

Great. Within the hour, courtesy of the loud-mouthed security guards, the entire building will know that my ex-boyfriend visited me.

“And they let you through. Just like that," I comment disbelievingly.

Matt shrugs. “Yeah. Anyway, I was wondering - would your boss mind if we went for coffee right now? I’d like to catch up on old times. I’ve missed you.”

He’s missed me? He’s missed me as much as he’d miss having gonorrhea. And what does he want to catch-up on? How badly my friends want to kick his ass for the way he treated me? How much money he owes me? The two years of my life he took from me? How about the scars to my self-esteem that were slowly healed when I met this amazing man who respected me and listened to me...

Josh.

Josh could walk out here any minute. It would be ugly. It would be...

“Donna!”

I wonder if my pencil is sharp enough to go all the way through my eye. Josh is standing in his doorway, with a piece of paper in one hand, the other on his hip and a frown on his face.

Just shoot me now.

“Josh,” I say, deliberately not looking at him, “This is Matthew Harris. Matt, this is Joshua Lyman, the Deputy White House Chief of Staff.”

Matt holds out his hand, “I’ve seen you on television.”

"I got that a lot," Josh says, shaking Matt’s hand. “Are you a friend of Donna’s?”

I hold my breath in anticipation. “We were at college together,” Matt says.

“Oh, okay. Donna, I need that research on the thing.”

I finally twist to look at him. “Five minutes.”

“Okay,” he nods, unconcerned. He turns to Matt. “It was nice to meet you.”

Oh, if only you knew, Josh.

“Same here, Josh,” Matt replies, all smiles. Although I’m having vivid homicidal fantasies involving Matt and hepatomancy, even I have to admit that my bastard ex-boyfriend can be the consummate charmer.

“Five minutes,” Josh clarifies with me, and I nod. He heads back to his office, and I start breathing again. Now I only have to get rid of Dr. Freeride.

“I’m in town for a medical conference,” Matt says, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Josh freeze mid-step. No, no, no, no, no. The one time I need Josh not to be an expert at putting seemingly random pieces of information together and coming up with the right answer, and he does. I'm never working for a politician again.

Josh turns round slowly. “You’re a doctor?” he asks.

Matt looks confused by Josh’s intensity, but nods. “Yes.”

“And you and Donna are old friends?”

The emphasis of the word isn’t lost on Matt. “Well, we dated for two years.”

Excuse me while I perform seppuku with the letter opener.

“Really?” Josh’s voice is low and terrifying. “You’re Dr....”

I stand abruptly. “Matt, could you excuse us for a minute?” I pivot and throw Josh into his office.

“Donna!” he says, backing me up against the door. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I step away from him - I can’t handle Concerned Josh now. It’s taking all my resolve to hold back my tears. I’m furious Matt can still do this to me.

“You’re not fine,” Josh disputes hotly. “That’s Dr. Free...”

“I know,” I interrupt.

“No, but that’s Dr. Freeride out there,” Josh bursts out. “That’s Dr. Freeride, your asshole ex-boyfriend.”

“Stop yelling,” I yell. I lower my voice. “I know, Josh.”

Josh begins to pace. “He’s standing out there, in my bullpen, with that shit-eating grin. ‘We’re old friends’. ‘We dated for two years’. Dated? He treated you like dirt, took you for granted, and didn’t respect your intelligence, but he thinks he can waltz into my bullpen, and act like nothing happened? I don’t think so.” Josh stops in front of me. I’m blocking the door. “Get out of my way.”

“Josh,” I begin, trying to make sense of everything. Matt’s out there, Josh is talking about how intelligent I am, and now he’s going to do something stupid.

“Out of the way,” he repeats. “I’m going to make that man wish he’d never laid eyes on me.”

“What are you going to do, Josh? Beat him up?”

“Damn straight.” Josh stares me down. “And after that, I’m going to...”

“Stop it! You’re not doing anything. You’re staying here, whilst I tell Matt that I’m too busy to have coffee with him.”

“He wants to have coffee with you?” Josh grabs me around the waist, lifts me up and moves me. I’m serious. He just picked me up and put me down five feet to the left of where I was just standing. If I weren’t so overwhelmed, I’d be turned...I’m not going there.

Josh reaches for the door handle. Panicked, I grab him around the waist and haul him away. What else was I supposed to do - reason with him? Have you met Determined Josh?

“Let go of me,” Josh demands, but I hold him with a vice grip. My ex-boyfriend is standing in my bullpen, whilst I’m trying to stop my indignant, hostile boss from beating the crap out of said ex-boyfriend.

“Josh,” I implore, my words wavering because the tears are really threatening.

He stops up short, and suddenly, we’re standing in the middle of his office, my arms around Josh’s waist from behind, his broad, supple back aligned with my body.

“Donna,” he says in a soft voice.

“Don’t,” I say softly. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Donnatella,” he says again and it almost undoes me.

“It’s endearing that you want to beat Matt up, but the press are everywhere, and it wouldn’t do much for your career."

“I don’t care.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. “I do. I care.”

Josh places his hands over mine and for a moment, I don’t care how wrong this is. “He hurt you,” Josh says, his anger so stark that my eyes water over again.

“Yes, but I have to handle this myself. It’s been three years since I left him. I’m a stronger person.”

“You always were a stronger person.”

It needs to be said, so I say it. “Yes, but you made me believe it. And now, you have to let me fight this one on my own.”

“Can I tell Sam and Toby that I wanted to beat him up but you thought I might kill him with my Herculean strength?”

I smile against his neck. Only Josh can make me want to laugh and cry at the same time. “I’ll get that research for you.” Although it hurts to, I pull away from Josh and walk towards the door.

Josh catches my hand before I leave. “Donna...”

“I’ll be fine Josh.”

I probably won’t be.

********

One minute later, I throw open Sam’s door and find him on the phone. He takes one look at my face and hangs up. “What’s up?” he asks, pulling his glasses off, all seriousness and readiness.

“Dr. Freeride.”

Sam’s brow crinkles; he obviously expected a political crisis. “Dr. Freeride?”

I point, trying to find words. I’m so angry and still reeling from my earlier revelation that I’m not even sure I point in the right direction. Thankfully, Sam has become adept at interpreting at me.

“Dr. Freeride’s out there?” Sam asks. I nod. “Talking to Donna?” I nod again. Sam's voice gets louder. “Dr. Freeride is out there talking to our Donna?”

“My Donna,” I correct.

The door opens, and it’s Toby. "I'm sure that neither of you is familiar with the concept, but I'm attempting to write something resembling a speech, and the noise you're making isn't exactly conducive to my work.”

“Dr. Freeride is out there talking to our Donna,” Sam interrupts, bristling with indignation and all those other Sam-like qualities I love.

“My Donna,” I repeat.

Toby frowns. “Dr. Freeride is that sobriquet you invented for ass Donna dropped out of college for?” And people say that Toby pays no attention to his colleagues’ personal lives.

“Yes,” I confirm.

Toby shrugs nonchalantly. “Let’s go beat the crap out of him.”

That’s more like it. Toby and Sam can be just as rash as I am. Sam nods. “I’ll...” But Sam’s door slams behind us and the three of us jump.

It’s CJ, of course.

Sam hugs closer to his desk, I step behind a chair and Toby looks around desperately for some form of cover. CJ's face is slowly going purple.

“Why would three grown men want to beat anybody up? In the White House? In the god damned White House! Do you know what would happen? Do you have any idea of the ramifications this administration would face? Leo would eviscerate me for letting you three morons roam free! Then he’d kill you. And I'd come back from the dead to kick your asses around some more! Let alone the fact that between the three of you, you couldn’t beat up a little kid. And Toby, I expected more from you!”

This all comes out in a rush and we’re trying to process what she said, which is why stunned silence ensues. “Answer me!” she demands.

“CJ,” Sam begins, “You have to understand. It’s...”

“I don’t care,” she interrupts. “You three supposedly run the free world! We can all sleep safe at night, knowing that our country is run by juvenile men who go around beating defenseless people into a pulp! Good God, I didn't think this day could get much worse, I didn't reckon on the combined power of the Three Stooges."

“CJ,” Toby interjects.

CJ gesticulates wildly at Toby. “I expected more from you!”

“You already said that,” he points out quietly.

I get in before the next wave of admonition. “Dr. Freeride is in the bullpen asking Donna for coffee, and she said that she wants to handle it, but Sam, Toby and I have decided to beat him up.”

CJ takes a deep breath. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" She calmly opens the door. “Let’s go kick his ass.”

****

When we emerge from Sam’s office, Kathy, Bonnie and Ginger stop their various tasks and stare at us with consternation.

“Ah...” Kathy begins, “What’s going on?”

Sam says, “Dr. Freeride has managed to finagle his way into the building and is now asking Donna for coffee.”

“Finagle?” Toby questions.

“It’s a word,” Sam protests. “How about it, girls?”

“He’s going down,” Ginger intones, as we exit the Communications bullpen.

We grab Carol, giving her a quick explanation, and continue towards battle.

“I’m just saying that nobody uses it in real conversation,” Toby continues.

"I do," Sam says.

Toby snorts. "Sam, your vocabulary..."

“Shut up,” everyone says.

We round the corner and find Donna typing serenely at her computer.

Dr. Freeride is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?” I ask. I think I sound crestfallen.

“Hmm?” Donna looks up and recoils at the octet assembled in front of her desk. “What are you all doing here?”

Toby frowns. “Josh said...Dr. Freeride...”

“Coffee,” Sam adds helpfully, “And finagling.”

“Oh.” She shrugs. “I told him I was busy.”

“And he just went away?” Sam asks doubtfully.

“Yes. He was disappointed, gave me his hotel number and left.”

“You’re not going to call him, are you?” CJ questions.

Donna gives her an arch look. “Yes, CJ, I’m going to call him tonight, tell him that I miss being his slave, that I made a terrible mistake in leaving him twice, and although it's asking a lot, could he please take me back and make me miserable?”

“Yeah, okay, stupid question,” CJ apologizes.

Donna surveys us. “Were you all coming to rescue me?” Nobody answers. She looks at me. “Josh?” My feet are suddenly fascinating. “Josh.”

“I just casually mentioned to Sam that Dr. Freeride was out here...”

“They were being noisy,” Toby adds.

“I wanted to ensure the Three Stooges didn’t do anything stupid,” CJ explains.

“And we were trying to get out of work,” Ginger finishes.

“That’s sweet.” Donna looks up at me. “Josh, I’ve got that research for you.”

I realize what’s going on. Donna’s being nice to the others, but she’s going to drag me into my office, under the premise of research, and kill me. The others must come to the same conclusion, because they give a flurry of excuses and disappear. Who needs enemies when I have friends?

“You couldn’t let me handle things on my own?” is the first thing Donna says.

“I was just looking for an excuse to beat Dr. Freeride up. The guy has an agenda, Donna.”

She shrugs. “Matt always did, and I used to just fall in line. These days I don’t care what his agenda is - I’m not interested in having coffee with him.”

But she’s doing that thing where she tells the truth, but not completely. She’s wearing her overly-sincere face, and I can there’s something she’s not telling me.

“So that’s all there was to it?”

“Yeah,” Donna nods, and she’s being truthful about that. She told him she was busy; he accepted that; he gave Donna his hotel number and left.

So what isn’t she telling me?

********

For about six months after I left Matt, I had these vivid dreams of him showing up and begging me to come back to him. I would deliver a righteous speech about what a bastard he was, and how I wouldn’t go back to him if he were the last man on earth.

Then one night, we were travelling from God Knows Where to Who the Hell Cares on the bus. Only Toby and I were awake. I was staring out the window when Toby asked me who Matt was. I must have looked mortified, because Toby explained that I’d been talking in my sleep and he’d heard me say the name Matt.

“Oh,” I blushed. “He was...he was someone I knew.”

“You don’t like him much anymore, do you?”

“No,” I admitted.

It took me a long time to be comfortable in Toby’s presence. Sam I loved from the second we met; Leo scared me until he told me about Josh’s graduation day and I realized how much Leo loves Josh; and I absolutely worshipped CJ.

Toby was different. Like President Bartlet, you know when Toby walks into a room. But the President’s presence is mostly benevolent. Powerful, and determined, but compassionate. Toby’s presence is dark and slow-burning and often disconcerting, and it wasn’t until I understood that Toby is perhaps the most idealistic of us all, that I could be comfortable with him.

"If you hate him, you’re thinking about him. You’re focusing on him," Toby continued in that stumbling way of his, when he's trying to help you without you knowing it.

He resumed writing and I returned to the prairies, and by the time the others starting to stir, I’d realized Toby had a point. After all, Toby knows all about psychologically damaging relationships. And I didn’t need to get revenge.

Don’t get me wrong. Nobody can walk away from a relationship like that and suddenly be okay about it. I was still angry and upset for months, but there was a campaign, and a group of people who became my family and it didn’t matter so much.

Thing is, I’m really wishing I’d told him what an asshole he was to me.

After all, a girl’s gotta get a little satisfaction, right?

****

Twenty minutes later, I’m typing a memo when I realize I left the documents I need in Josh’s office, which is where I find him still working on the amendments. After I grab the pertinent documents, I notice Josh’s jacket is hung across the back of his chair again. I walk around to Josh’s side of the desk to collect it.

“What are you doing?” he asks in an odd tone, when I step towards him.

“Collecting your jacket. Something wrong?”

“No,” he answers too quickly, moving his chair away from me. “Why do you need to get the jacket?”

“Because,” I answer, bemused, “I always hang your jacket up and it always ends up on one of your chairs. Or the filing cabinet. Or even on my chair.” I collect the jacket.

He seems to sigh in relief when I step back from him. Then he looks at me askance. “I don’t think it’s you,” he tells me.

“And the winner of today’s non-sequitur award is Joshua Lyman.”

“The perfume you’re wearing. I don’t think it’s you.”

“It’s a very expensive perfume and how would you know what perfume is right for me anyway?”

“I just...” he trails off and mumbles something.

“Strangely, it’s a little hard to hear you when you’re mumbling.”

“I...nothing,” Josh returns to his amendments.

Yeah, I’m going to let him out of it that easily. “Josh, I’ll have to pull out Julia Roberts again.”

“And what makes you think that’d be a problem?”

“Nice try at misdirection. My perfume is just...what?”

“Distracting.”

I blink. Several times. “My perfume is distracting?”

“No. Yes. It’s...hard to concentrate when you stand so close, and you’re wearing that perfume and I...I get distracted.”

“By my perfume?” I try and clarify again.

“Yes,” Josh says with exasperation. “Just...don’t stand so close.”

“My perfume distracts you?”

“Yes! How many times do I have to say it?”

I cross my arms. “You’ve never said anything about it before.”

“Don’t you have things to do?”

I shrug. “Later. How is my perfume distracting?”

“Go away,” Josh tries again.

“No.” I stand there with my arms crossed and a glare on my face, until Josh begins to fidget. It’s so easy to play him it’s almost unfair.

“I just...I think about...other things when you wear that perfume.”

“Is this like the nose thing?” I ask quietly.

His forehead crinkles up. “The nose thing?”

“This morning, when I reminded you of your meeting with Leo, you stared at my nose. Is it like that?”

Josh nods. “Yeah, it is.”

“Is my nose distracting?” I ask.

"No. But there are thirty-four freckles on your nose.”

“You - you counted the number of freckles on my nose?”

“You should really go away from me now,” he tells me. “CJ will yell again.”

“For discussing my nose? You counted the freckles on my nose?”

“Probably. And yes.”

“You know you’re insane, right?”

“Yes,” Josh admits without hesitation. “Now go away.”

I close the door behind me, still confused.

And find Zoey and Charlie standing in front of my desk.

****

During the campaign, of the core group of people, I was the closest person in age to Zoey. She used to help me out, which Mrs. Bartlet appreciated, because it gave Zoey something to do. Zoey also appreciated it, because she had a rather obvious crush on Josh. So, we spent a lot of time together, and right now, I can tell Zoey has a problem. And on a scale of one to ten, it looks like an eleven.

“Is Josh in?” Charlie asks, sounding slightly spaced.

“Yes.”

“Could we see him?”

Zoey still hasn’t spoken. “Zoey?” I ask quietly.

“We need to speak to Josh,” Charlie reiterates. Zoey’s lip starts to quiver.

“Okay.” I open Josh’s door. “Charlie and Zoey are here to see you.”

I hold back the door and Charlie steps into the room. Zoey’s about to cross the threshold when she grabs my hand. “Donna,” she says desperately. I don’t care if Charlie just wants to see Josh; I’m not leaving Zoey.

Josh can tell something is wrong. “Zoey, do you want a seat?”

“No,” she says. “We have a problem.” She looks helplessly over at Charlie.

Charlie is leaning against the wall. “Ah...Zoey is...late.”

I close my eyes. Oh. My. God.

“For what?” Josh asks in bewilderment. Ten seconds later, it hits him. “Oh.” He looks at Zoey, then to Charlie, then back at Zoey. “Well. Shit.”

“How late?” I ask.

“Ten days.”

Josh speaks carefully. “What...when did you..."

“I realized this morning,” Zoey interrupts his hesitant question. “I’d go to Mom, but she’s in Buenos Aires, and Ellie and Liz are too far away, and Dad...well...”

“So we came to the two of you,” Charlie says simply.

“It’s not like we didn’t use protection,” Zoey says hurriedly, her words almost falling out of her mouth. “We did. But I was so distracted by this essay I had to write, which was extra credit anyway, and I lost track of the days...”

I interject, “Have you...did...” The men in this room are cramping my style.

Thankfully, Josh realizes it’s time he and Charlie left. “Charlie and I are going for a walk.” He looks at me meaningfully. “Do you need us to get anything?”

There’s only one way to find out if this is as bad as we think it is. “Yes,” I answer softly. “Use the chemist near Pete’s Deli, and try to be served by a girl called Amelia. She knows nothing about politics, so she won’t recognize you and Charlie.”

He nods and starts to shepherd Charlie out of the room. “Zoey,” Charlie begins, “Are...” But Josh pushes him out of the room and closes the door.

And, as I predicted she would, Zoey bursts into a flood of tears.

********

Charlie glares at me, but I keep pushing him through the bullpen. “Right now, you’re the last person she wants to see. She needs to be with Donna."

We bypass CJ’s office hurriedly - considering CJ can sniff trouble a mile off, I don’t want to take any chances. We get by fine, but I hold my breath until we’re out of the building. Charlie is silent all the way down New York Ave, and I have to stop him from walking into other pedestrians twice. There are a million one thoughts flying through his brain, and they're all drowned out by the absolute inability to think properly. I know what that feels like.

“We were safe,” he says, while we wait for the lights to change at 14th Street. “I don’t want you to think...I was the one who didn’t want to, because I thought she would regret it, but...”

“I know,” I reassure him. Charlie is a true gentleman.

He continues. “My little sister loves Zoey. She’s crazy about her. She told Zoey and I the other day that Zoey would make a great Mom one day and we laughed. Then after lunch today, Zoey came to see me, and she said, ‘Hey Charlie... that one day might be today’.”

We cross the road, and pass Pete’s Deli and Charlie stops. “I should get something for the President,” he says seriously.

I pull him towards the drugstore. “Charlie, it’s four o’clock - I’m sure the President’s already eaten.”

“Zoey does all the voices when she reads to my sister.”

“My Mom did that too,” I tell him, and we enter the drugstore. I skirt around a blonde woman and head for the pregnancy tests. “We better take two.”

"Why?"

"Just...just in case." I grab the first brand I see. “Who was the woman...the one who knew nothing about politics?”

“Amelia,” Charlie supplies, with his excellent memory. “I’d say she’s the one wearing the nametag that says Amelia. She's crazy about Zoey.”

“Amelia?"

"My sister."

"You said that already,” I point out gently.

We walk up to the counter and I hand the tests over. “Nice day outside, isn’t it?” Amelia asks politely, scanning the barcodes.

“Yes,” I agree, smiling as if everything is perfectly normal.

“$15.90, thanks.” I hand over the money. The blonde woman from before arrives at the counter as Amelia puts the tests in a paper bag. “Your change, sir. And who’s the lucky man?” Amelia inquires coyly.

Charlie freezes.

“Ah...I am,” I answer, before smiling weakly and marching out of the store.

****

Seventeen minutes later, I’m leaning against a 200-year-old wall, staring at the Giotto outside Zoey’s bathroom. She’s possibly pregnant and I’m gazing at an original Giotto. A freaking Giotto.

We made it back to my office without bumping into anybody. We found Zoey and Donna sitting on the floor. Donna was telling the story of how her grandparents met. Donna told me that story, one night after the shooting, when I couldn't sleep. Although Zoey probably didn’t hear a word, Donna’s voice was mellifluous and calming and even Charlie stopped fidgeting when he heard her.

>From there, the Amazing Donnatella took complete control. She marched us over to the Residence, took the tests from me - commended me for buying two - and told Charlie and I to wait in the hallway.

I don’t wait well. Anybody who’s known for me than three minutes can tell you that I’m impatient. For example, I like my burger burnt beyond recognition, but I get impatient waiting for the kitchen to cook it that way, even though I know that's the way I like it, and I'll probably yell if I doesn't come that way. Yeah, so, impatient.

But if I’m antsy right now, Charlie’s a total mess. He’s pacing; he starts sentences and breaks off mid-way; pulls at his tie, fiddles with his cuffs and looks at me with these beseeching eyes.

I reach out a hand and stop him mid-step. “Stop pacing.”

Charlie looks at his feet. “Sorry.”

I exhale slowly. “Charlie...whatever it is...”

But the bathroom door opens before I can finish.

********

I have two older sisters. Ebony, then Lucy, who’s three years younger than Ebony, and three years older than I am.

And before you think Lucy got the normal name, it’s short for Lucrezia. As in Lucrezia Borgia. I think I did pretty well with Donnatella.

Ebony’s only six years older, but she’s always acted as if it was ten, and that created a lack of understanding that still remains. We like each other - we just can’t relate. Ebony treated Lucy the same way, so we turned to each other. It was Lucy I played Barbie’s with, Lucy who told me the truth about Santa Claus and sex, Lucy’s clothes I borrowed, and Lucy who brought me alcohol when I was underage.

When I started at University of Wisconsin, Lucy was in her final year of nursing and was dating Adam Rowe, who later became her husband.

I remember with absolute clarity the day she told me she’d found a lump on her breast. It wasn’t the idea that she might have breast cancer that almost killed Lucy. It was waiting for the results.

It was three and a half weeks of torture. I’ve only been through one thing worse, and during those fourteen hours, every second I waited, little fragments of me kept crumbling away, until I was terrified there’d be nothing left.

But waiting isn’t the knife-edge cliché everyone pulls out and dusts off. It’s like being stuck in the middle of a prairie that stretches for miles and all you can see for as far as you look is flat, shapeless land.

I’ve never had to take one of these tests, thank God, but I’ve sat waiting with friends, in cold, unforgiving bathrooms, when I was supposed to be studying Brecht or revising my French impassive verbs.

Now I’m in the White House, with the First Daughter, and it occurs to me that it doesn’t matter who you are or where you live. It’s the waiting that kills you.

Zoey emerges from the toilet with the stick in hand. She looks at me and I point to the cup sitting on the basin, where she delicately places it. She washes and dries her hands, her movements overly precise.

Then she lowers herself gently to the edge of the bathtub where I’m sitting. She looks so awfully young. She’s wearing jeans and a turtleneck, her hair is pulled back in a messy knot, her pink nail polish is chipping and she’s chewing her lower lip.

I could distract her with another inane story, but it wouldn’t make the next three minutes even remotely bearable. Instead, I place my hand over hers.

One minute.

“I remember when Liz found out she was pregnant with Annie.” Zoey’s voice is husky with unshed tears. “Dad cried.”

“When my sister announced she was pregnant, all my Dad said was ‘Well, at least you’re married’.”

“Mom rang Liz everyday to check on her, and Dad went around the house telling everybody exactly what stage of development the baby was in. And when Annie was born I got to hold her, when she was just twenty minutes old.”

Two minutes.

“What did your sister have?” she asks me.

“She had a boy...Gideon. He’s five now. And she had a daughter, Celeste, a few years later. The day after we won the New York primary, actually.”

“I remember that day. It was only a month after Josh’s father died, and when the numbers came through, he just stood there.”

“I remember that too.” It was awful. Everyone else was jumping up and down, but Josh just stood there with this blank, little-boy look on his face. Ever since Chicago, Josh expects bad news on election days.

“I wanted to help him, say something, but I didn’t know what. But you went over to him,” Zoey continues. “You just took his hand, and said something to him. And Josh wrapped his arms around you, and stood like that for five minutes, while chaos was erupting around you. I always wondered what you said to him.”

I stroke Zoey’s thumb. “‘Your father knows’.”

Three minutes.

“I can’t be anybody’s mother right now.” Zoey’s voice is tearing up. “I still need my own mother too much.”

“Time to look,” I tell her.

Zoey exhales shakily. “I can’t. Would you look for me? Please?”

I shake my head. “No. You have to look.” I take her chin between my fingers. “You have to look.”

We stand slowly, and suddenly the stick is in Zoey’s hand and we’re looking at it. Her other hand squeezes mine, and her eyes go wide.

“I’ll get Charlie,” I tell her.

I walk over and open up the bathroom door.

****

Hepatomancy: Divination through observance and interpretation of the surfaces and cavities of animal livers. Etruscans, Hittites, and Babylonians typically sacrificed sheep and oxen, but there are unproven and entirely dubious reports that some cults used humans.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

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