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.

I have five amendments left when the adjoining door opens and CJ steps into my office, carrying a suit-pack, and looking confused. “Celia just dropped this off at my office, and said you’d know what it’s about. So, Josh, what is this about?”

I frown in concentration. “Oh.” I lower my voice. “It’s Donna’s dress.”

CJ blinks. “Donna’s dress was just dropped off at my office?”

“Yes. So she has something to wear to the symphony.”

“And she couldn’t go home and - I’m just going to throw this out here - get dressed herself?”

“There wouldn’t have been time. There will be now, because Leo organized a snap health inspection, but three days ago, when I rang Donna’s roommate Celia, there wouldn’t have been time.”

“What?”

“Just give me the dress,” I say, walking around my desk to take it from her.

CJ holds it back. “You know that if you got her pregnant I’d kill you.”

“Yes, but then Donna would be a single mother.”

“I’d still kill you.” She hands over the dress. “I’d do it with a spoon.”

I raise an eyebrow. “A spoon? Isn’t that a little...ineffective?”

“It’s dull you twit, it’ll hurt more.”

“Twit?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a quote from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. The...” CJ trails off. “Never mind.”

“You’re quoting a movie where Robin Hood had an American accent?”

“I take it back. A spoon’s too good for you.”

I hang Donna’s dress up on my window casing. “I can just hear you now. ‘My weapon of choice was a spoon, Detective, but I was reduced to using a screwdriver in his ear’.”

CJ grins evilly. “Screwdriver in the ear, huh? Not as good as cutting you up into small pieces with a sharp knife and roasting them over an open spit, but it has merit.”

“You’re scaring me. Begone, or someone will drop a house on you too.”

“I’ll get you my pretty,” CJ returns, cackling rather convincingly.

“And his little dog, too?” Toby asks with amusement, from my doorway. “The little dog being Sam,” he qualifies.

“Hey!” I glare at Toby.

CJ grins. “No, I’ll leave Sam’s demise to you, Tobias.”

“How many times do I have to explain that’s not my actual name?”

“The same number of times you have to apologize for the incident in Topeka.”

“It was dark. I was tired. It was an innocent mistake.”

“Innocent, my ass,” CJ retorts. “You were nowhere near my ribs.”

Toby sighs, as if this is an argument they’ve had before. They lost me after Topeka. And I'm kind of happy they did. “Again, it was dark.”

“You got it wrong three times!”

“Guys,” I interrupt tiredly, “Could you go and flirt somewhere else?” I stop dead. “Argue,” I clarify in a squeaky voice. “Not flirt. You weren’t flirting. You never flirt. You're too professional to flirt. You argue. Could you go and argue somewhere else?”

But they’re not looking at me; they’re looking at each other. CJ tilts her head. “Shall we?” Toby follows CJ into her office. If they’re in there longer than half-an-hour, I’ll have to go in after them.

Thirty minutes is enough time to do something twice. If you’re driven and dedicated. And I should know.

Right now though, I get to surprise Donna with one of the things that’s gone right today. “Donnatella!” I yell.

She appears in my doorway. “Don’t yell.”

“Would you please look in the front compartment of my backpack?”

“Do it yourself. “

“Donna - ”

“If I don’t bring you coffee, I can’t imagine why you would think I’d - ”

“Donna, just do it!”

She recognizes the tone of voice, so she picks up my backpack, unzips the front compartment, and glares at me. “What am I looking for?”

“Left-hand pocket.”

Frowning now, she pulls out the symphony tickets. And her face lights up. “Oh, I forgot all about those.”

She what? “You what?”

She looks stricken. “Uh...I saw them when I was looking for Terry McAuliffe’s number. By accident. But I forgot all about it, with Dr. Freeride, and Zoey...”

“You knew?”

Her eyes soften. “Yes, but that doesn’t take anything away from it, Josh. Thank you - it’s a lovely present.” Then she looks at her watch. “But if we’re going to opening night, I’ll have to go home...” I hold the suit pack up. “What’s that?”

“Open it.”

She crosses to stand in front of me and unzips it. “It’s a blue - it’s my dress. And my shoes!” Donna stares at me. “Why do you have my dress and my shoes, and a pair of pantyhose and...Josh you have an entire outfit here!”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrow. “Should I be asking questions about what you do when you aren’t in the office?”

“No! I - no! Celia dropped it off.”

Donna’s forehead crinkles beguilingly. “My roommate Celia?”

“I called her a few days ago, and explained I was taking you to the symphony, and there wasn’t enough time for you to go home and change. After you left for work this morning, she got this stuff together, and dropped it off here.”

Donna’s giving me that look. The one where she’s about to go all girly. That soft, melted, girly look. She hangs the suit-pack up. “You’re about to get emotional aren’t you?” I ask. “Donna, you know how much I hate it when - ”

“Shut up, Josh,” she murmurs, and then she hugs me. Her arms wind around my upper back and she tucks her face into my neck. Not caring how wrong this is, I wrap my arms around her waist, bury my nose in her hair, and close my eyes. I'll go home tonight, and I'll lie in bed staring at the ceiling, and wonder, when I'm doing everything I ever wanted to do with my life, why there's a hollow spot somewhere inside of me. I'll remember this moment, and I won't quite so empty.

“Thank you Josh,” Donna says. Her body is pliant and wondrous.

“After the condoms, and the health inspection, I had to get something right today,” I say ruefully. I’m can’t resist the temptation - I gently touch her hair.

Donna pulls back slightly, wearing a quizzical expression. “Health inspection?”

Shit. “I said that aloud, didn’t I?”

“What health inspection?”

I mentally kick myself. Hard. “I was going to take you to dinner.”

“At St. Jude’s. The woman called about the reservation, and...” she trails off and connects the dots. “The Health Board closed St. Jude’s down?”

“Leo asked them to make a snap inspection. They did it this morning, and closed them down for a fortnight.” I wrap a strand of her hair around my forefinger.

“Leo closed down St. Jude’s?”

“He took Mal there the other week and apparently it wasn’t up to his standards. I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay, Josh. We can eat dinner at one of the restaurants near the Kennedy Centre. There are some nice places there.”

“But you really wanted to go to St. Jude’s. You’ve been telling me for weeks, about the food, and the dancing...”

“Would you have danced with me?”

I eyeball her. “You know how much I hate dancing.”

“I would have made you,” Donna says, grinning.

“I know,” I admit. “I just...I’m really sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” she orders. “I just can’t believe you did all this.”

“Well, I have a standing to maintain as the Best Boss in the Building.”

Donna rolls her eyes. “You aren’t the Best Boss in the Building.”

I let go of her. “The symphony starts at eight-thirty, so we should leave at about seven.”

“I’ll need about thirty minutes to get ready.” Donna collects the suit-pack and stands in the doorway. “I’ll have to clear that with my boss.”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

I watch her as she turns and walks out of my office with a smile on her face.

********

He organized clothes for me.

Joshua Huen Lyman, who couldn’t organize a fish to be wet without me, managed to organize clothes, dinner, and the symphony, without me finding out.

So, the dinner isn’t going to happen. It’s not his fault. I can’t find a single way to blame him, and I can usually find a way to blame everything on Josh.

But just then, when he looked so disappointed about not being able to take me to St. Jude’s, I felt like telling him that if he took me to a soup kitchen for stale bread I wouldn’t care, as long as he was there with me.

The man organized clothes for me. If I was head-over-heels before, I’m flat on my ass, outright, foolishly, insanely, past-the-point-of-no-return nuts about him now.

I have to take some memos to Kathy and collect a report from Ginger, and when I arrive at the Communications Bullpen, Margaret is talking to Ginger; Bonnie is on the phone and Kathy is filing. I think I’m grinning like an idiot.

“Hey Donna,” Margaret greets me.

“That’s the grin of an idiot,” Kathy says.

Margaret nods. “Josh must have told her.”

I frown. “You guys knew?”

“He could hardly pull something like that off by himself,” Ginger says.

I’m still confused. “You guys helped him?”

“Leo asked me to type the submission, and I could hardly keep something like that to myself,” Margaret says. “And it’s not a little raise either - I saw the figures.”

I freeze. “What?”

Margaret shrugs. “I wasn’t snooping - Leo did ask me to type the submission, and I could hardly ignore it whilst it was being dictated to me, could I?”

“What raise?”

Margaret realizes I’m clueless. “Josh didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“I...ah...” Margaret looks to Kathy and Ginger for assistance. They stare mutely back. “I thought he...you were looking so happy, and I...”

“I’m getting a raise?”

Ginger sighs. “Josh asked Leo, and Leo made the submission to the Budget Committee who obviously haven’t passed it yet, because Josh hasn’t told you.”

I’m still stuck on the raise. “I’m getting a raise?”

“Budget meets on Fridays. I guess he was going to wait till then,” Kathy says.

“Josh is getting me a raise? On Friday?”

“He wanted to give it to you today, for your Assistant Anniversary. We thought you knew.” Ginger is genuinely apologetic.

I blankly hold the memos out in Kathy’s direction. “He organized clothes for me, and he wants to give me a raise.”

Kathy grabs the memos. “He organized clothes for you?”

“He’s taking me to the symphony,” I tell her. “And we were supposed to go to dinner, and I wouldn’t have had time, so he asked my roommate to drop off a dress.”

“Josh organized it?” Margaret looks at me with disbelief.

“Yes,” I tell her proudly. “I didn’t have a clue.”

“You were supposed to go to dinner?”

I stare at Ginger. “Huh?”

“You were supposed to go to dinner?” she repeats. “You aren’t now?”

“Josh was going to take me to St. Jude’s, but Leo closed it down, because he went there with Mallory, and apparently, it wasn’t up to his standards.”

“Where are you having dinner now?”

“Not sure,” I tell Ginger.

Bonnie hangs up the phone, jumping straight into the conversation. “Did he pick a good outfit? Toby wouldn’t have a clue where to start.”

“I think Celia chose it.”

“It’s official,” Carol says, as she enters the bullpen. “Donna is still the girl with the Best Boss in the building.”

“How do you know about it?” Kathy demands.

Because our offices are so close, Carol and I can often be found trading office supplies or attempting to reconcile our bosses. “CJ just told me about the symphony, the dinner, and the clothes. And I knew about the raise,” Carol answers.

“Donna didn’t,” Bonnie tells Carol. “We spoiled Josh’s surprise.”

Carol looks stricken. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late now,” I say, “The others told me five minutes ago.”

“Good, Josh can’t blame me. I’ll mind your phones while you change.”

“Thanks, Carol.”

“I think I’ll ask Toby for condoms next anniversary - at least they’re useful.”

“Bonnie!” Margaret exclaims.

“You’re the one who went and got the spares,” Kathy points out.

“Donna! You told her!”

“I did not,” I defend myself.

“I saw you,” Carol says. “You’ve got your fifth date with that guy from Phillips Fox on Saturday, don’t you?”

“Aaron Lawrie,” Ginger provides. “Sam says he’ll make partner in a year.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Margaret asks me, with classic misdirection. “It’s quarter past six.”

“I’ve got your phones,” Carol calls, as I hurry towards my desk.

********

It’s six-forty when I finally finish with the amendments, and I don’t want to see a word about third line forcing or merchantable quality for at least the rest of my life. When I emerge from my office, the bullpen is mostly empty, and Carol is at Donna’s desk, on the phone. “He’ll get back to you as soon as he’s available.” She hangs up and drops the message in the bin. Then she sees me. “Hey Josh.”

I point to the bin. “Who was it?”

She shrugs. “Some flunky from the FDA. When you don’t call back, they’ll realize you only talk to the people in charge. Donna taught me that.”

I grin. “Speaking of which, whilst this assistant-swapping is a novel idea, where is Donna?”

“Getting ready. You should get changed too,” Carol adds.

I frown at her in confusion. “I’m not getting changed.” Carol gestures to the coat-rack, where one of my suits is hung in drycleaner’s plastic. “Donna’s making me get changed?”

“If she’s dressing up, you can’t go out looking mussed.”

“Mussed?”

“Her words, not mine.” Carol surveys me. “Although, you look rather mussed, Josh.”

“I do not!”

CJ appears from around the corner. “Carol, where are tomorrow’s briefings?”

“Where I usually put them, CJ.”

“They’re not there.”

Carol exhales exasperatedly. “I’ll go and put them in their usual place then, shall I?”

CJ pins me with a look after Carol disappears. “You knew exactly where those briefings were,” I realize. “What do you want, CJ?”

She walks over to the coat rack and collects my suit. “You should get changed.”

"Okay." I walk into my office, and she follows.

I stare at her. “I’m going to change now. That involves taking clothes off.”

“Oh, right.” She turns around and faces the door.

I don’t feel even slightly weird about changing with CJ in the room. Time is a precious commodity on a campaign, and if CJ had to brief me on something she’d stand outside the bathroom door or turn her back while I changed, rather than wait. It’s the same with the others. Beds were communal, bathrooms belonged to everybody, suitcases, clothes, and books were all interchanged. By the end of the campaign, half of Donna's clothes were in my suitcase, and I'd snuggled with Sam more mornings than I like to think about.

I realize CJ is talking. “Toby didn’t know Andie was coming today.”

I change pants, draping the old ones over my chair. “He told you that?”

“It was his way of apologizing.”

She has a tone of voice that makes me ask, “What are you thinking, CJ?” I pull on a fresh shirt, and do the buttons up. Did you know that you button faster if you go from the bottom to the top? Guess which blonde know-it-all told me that?

The dying sunlight catches CJ's hair and turns it a brilliant gold. “What?”

“Done,” I say, and she turns around. “I can tell you’re thinking something.”

I hook my tie under my collar, and begin to tie it, but CJ walks around my desk, and grabs it. “I’m not thinking anything.”

“Yes you are.”

She’s concentrating on my tie. “I thought we could go out for a drink.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You and I?”

“Josh!”

I sigh. “CJ, if you invite Toby for a drink this evening, please invite Sam.”

“But...”

“It’s a bad idea,” I interrupt her. “It’s a...”

“I know!” she exclaims, jerking the knot up tightly. She glares at me before loosening it.

“I know you know. I just wanted to be the one to say it, instead of you telling me all the time.”

“You’re such a jackass,” CJ mutters, smoothing my tie down. “There.”

“Thanks. You and Toby have been there before. You go out tonight, have a few drinks, and suddenly it’s so much easier to give into it.”

“I don’t know why I talked to you about this.”

“You couldn’t talk to Sam, and Donna would have said the same thing.”

CJ sighs. She might hate it, but she agrees with me. “Okay, I’ll invite Sam.”

“Thank you.” I grin. “It’s been my experience that Sam is the world’s best chaperone. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, but he does it very well.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have talked to you about this.” CJ straightens my tie again. “You be good with Donna this evening, or I’ll sic Sam onto you. ”

“Wouldn’t work. He’s rooting for Donna and I.”

“Oh, that’s all we need. Eager Sam.”

“Eager Sam’s cute,” I defend. “He’s better than Outraged and Idealistic Sam.”

CJ groans. “Don’t.”

Someone knocks on the door. I walk around and open it. “The briefings were exactly where I left them,” Carol tells CJ. Then she reaches out and tweaks my tie.

“Women,” I mutter under my breath.

CJ shrugs. “I should go and find Tweedledum and Tweedledumber.”

“Who’s Tweedledumber?” Toby asks with amusement, appearing with Sam. They’re both wearing their coats and carrying their briefcases.

“It varies from hour to hour,” CJ answers. “Where are you two going?”

“Out for a drink,” Sam replies. “We were wondering if you wanted to come.” He holds up her coat and purse.

“You didn’t know whether I’d come, but you took the liberty of collecting my coat and purse?” she asks.

Toby shrugs. “Are you coming or not?”

“Why not?” CJ turns and Sam helps her into her coat. Then, he takes two steps towards me, and smoothes down my tie.

“Thank you,” I say dryly.

“Hey,” Donna says, appearing from the hallway.

I twist my head around Sam to look at her. And look at her. And look at her some more. “Wow,” I muster.

“760 verbal, Joshua, and all you can manage is ‘wow’?” Donna asks.

“You look lovely,” Sam tells her.

“Thanks.” Donna walks over and adjusts my tie. “We should get going.”

I look at my watch. “I’ll get my things together.”

She starts to tell CJ and Carol something when I step into my office, and I look at her again. She really does look ‘wow’. She’s wearing a strapless navy blue dress with a long skirt that follows the line of her body. She's done something with her hair - it's piled on top of her head, with little wisps falling around her face. Her left leg peeks out of a high slit, the sheer length of it incredible. With her alabaster skin, shadows falling across her shoulders, and the enticing curve of her neck, she looks magnificent.

She turns and sees me watching her, but I don’t pretend I wasn’t looking.

Then I collect my coat, and help Donna into hers. My father tried to teach me those things: helping women with their coats, opening doors, walking on the outside of them, letting them order first at restaurants.

But I know that if I ever let Donna or CJ order before me, solely on account of them being female, they’d kick my ass and order first anyway.

“Shall we?” I ask, gesturing towards the hallway. My palms are sweaty again, and I remind myself that this is a strictly professional outing. My assistant and I are going out for dinner to celebrate our professional relationship. Yeah, I know. I couldn't convince a two-year-old with that crap.

“Have a good time,” Sam says. “Where are you going for dinner?”

I turn to Donna. “What about the Roof Top Terrace?”

“It’d be booked out,” CJ disputes.

“I’m the Deputy Chief of Staff, CJ. I could get us a table,” I reply loftily.

“I was going to suggest Fitzgerald’s,” Donna says quietly.

I grin at her, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes - the food is nice, and I know you like it there.”

“We can go the Roof Top Terrace,” I offer again. “I don’t mind.”

“Fitzgerald’s is fine,” Donna decides.

“Have a good time,” Sam says.

“Good night,” Toby says, with typical economy.

“Sam,” I suddenly say, “Walk with me. We need to talk about Mike Fraser.”

Sam looks at CJ and Toby. “I’ll meet you at the west exit in five.” We walk down the hall. “Mike Fraser?” he asks, as soon as we’re out of earshot.

I shrug. “It had to sound convincing.”

Donna’s keeping up with us, even in those shoes. Do women get special lessons on how to walk in those things? Because I couldn’t take two steps without falling on my ass. “Who’s Mike Fraser?” she asks.

“One of my tutors at Princeton - Josh and I met through him.”

“Toby invited you for a drink, right?” I ask Sam as we round the corner.

“Yes,” Sam replies, confused.

“He and CJ know they shouldn’t be alone tonight, so you’re the chaperone.”

“Why shouldn’t they - chaperone? I am not a chaperone! Chaperones are matrons who wear those...” he gestures to his head, “Lace things.”

“Mantillas,” Donna provides. “And yes, you are, Sam.”

We’re almost at the exit. “Anyway, stay with them, but make some excuse and leave before they do, okay?”

Sam stops up short. “But if they shouldn’t - you want me to let them...”

I shake my head. “They deserve...” I trail off, unable to express myself. I don’t know why I’m doing this - some fit of empathy, I guess, although it’s unlike me and I feel uncomfortable.

“I know,” Sam says understandingly, already turning back down the hall. “Have a really great time.”

Donna hooks her arm through mine. “That was a nice thing you just did.”

I shrug as we exit the building. “You know, Fitzgerald’s gets pretty crowded.”

“It doesn’t matter. And I meant it Josh,” Donna continues, “That was a really nice thing you just did.”

What can you say to that? “We’ll take my car - I’ll drop you back here after the symphony.”

“That’s fine.”

We reach my car. Donna rubs my wrist. “What?” I ask.

“Just...nothing.” But she’s wearing her Mona Lisa smile.

********

Fitzgerald’s is in an alley off F Street. It’s a bar, but serves four-star food, and is always packed with politicians: congressional aides, Senator’s staffers, government employees, lobbyists, consultants, and a few select journalists.

There’s a montage of photographs over the east wall and amazingly, it’s partisan. There’s a huge photo of JFK.

There’s a picture of Nixon’s victory pose, although somebody has taken the much-applauded liberty of adding horns and a tail to Tricky Dickie.

The role call goes on, and some of the pictures are great.

Right near the bar is a picture of President Bartlet, giving his Inauguration speech. The First Lady and Leo are sitting behind him, their little fingers linked, as they listen to Toby and Sam’s beautiful words.

Below it is a picture of CJ, Toby, Sam, and Josh, taken at the formal ball. CJ is beaming, her arms around Josh, who is gripping hands with Sam and Toby. They look exhausted but victorious, and I can never pass that photo without a shiver running up my spine. Neither can Josh.

When we walk through the door, every second person in the place tries to catch Josh’s eye. “We could have a drink at the bar,” I suggest.

He shakes his head and guides me to a table. “It’s okay. The Senator’s aides will bitch, the lobbyists will try to put a bug in my ear, and the journalists will want me to go on the record with things they know I’ll never go on the record with.”

“It’s what you live for.”

“Sometimes, I live for other things,” Josh replies cryptically.

Our waiter arrives and asks for our drinks order. “A glass of the house white,” Josh says, giving me a pointed look that just dares me to challenge him.

“A whiskey sour,” I tell our waiter, who hurries off to the bar. Josh just gave up a room full of politicians for me - he can have a glass of wine.

Dinner is nice. Not just the food, which is always excellent at Fitzgerald's, but all of it.

Josh and I are always hurrying somewhere, solving a crisis, finishing a report, spinning a story, scrounging up votes, or working out strategies to strong-arm committee members. We love the pace, but sometimes it’s nice to just sit and talk, knowing that we don’t have to finish up in ten minutes because Josh has a meeting.

During the campaign, Josh and I had time to talk. That’s how we got to know each other - hours on the bus, where the only entertainment was trading life stories. We don’t have that time now, and that’s why dinner is so nice.

We talk about Margaret’s boyfriend; we discuss the Hudson Hawk report on mandatory minimum’s; he tells me a story about Sam’s old assistant, Fifi. We talk about his mother - I spoke to Marah yesterday, and Josh rang her last night.

“Marah’s a lovely name,” I comment.

He nods, taking a sip of his wine. “It’s Hebrew for bitter, which is as far removed from my mother as you can get.”

“She should be called Naomi instead,” I offer.

He looks surprised, but pleased. “I thought you were a heathen Protestant.”

“I am, but I looked your up mother’s name and it quoted that part of Ruth.”

“I’m going to tell my mother that. Did you know there’s a Book of Joshua?”

I roll my eyes. “Even heathen Protestants know there’s a Book of Joshua. But the world has conspired against me. How am I supposed to keep your ego in check when there’s a book of the Old Testament in your name?”

“Maybe the world sees something in me that you don’t,” he teases.

“I’m with you 24/7, Josh. If I can’t see it, it’s not there.”

He doesn’t deign to reply, and our meals arrive. We talk about an op-ed piece in today’s Times; we dissect what happened on Capital Beat the other night. Which leads to Ainsley kicking Sam’s ass, because when someone mentions Capital Beat, we have to mention Ainsley kicking Sam’s ass.

Josh gestures to his plate. “You want some osso bucco?”

“Sure.” He transfers some to my plate. “You want some matriciana?”

“No thanks.” Then he says, “I’ve noticed you don’t talk about your family much.”

I frown, surprised by the non sequitur. “You know about my family.”

“I know your father was a accountant, and you have two older sisters, but that’s it.”

I shrug. “My family don’t think about the things beyond their day-to-day existence. To them, the conflict in Jerusalem isn’t important; they don’t debate Nature vs. Art; they aren’t interested in the role of the media or the importance of protecting the First Amendment.

"And there’s nothing wrong with that. They’re good people, who contribute to society, pay their taxes, and believe in the importance of a strong work ethic, a strong community, and the family unit. They just don’t think into the deeper meaning behind their lives. So, they don’t understand my lifestyle. They don’t understand what it means. When I’m around them, I feel I have to justify my choices. I get upset because I want to make them understand this passion I have for my work, but I can’t. That’s all.”

“There are other people who get it, though,” Josh points out softly.

“Yes, there are. And that makes it okay.”

He smiles. “You have two sisters - Lucy, and Ebony, right?”

I nod. “Yes. Ebony’s a housewife, and Lucy’s a nurse.”

“Do they look like you?” It’s an odd question, but he’s genuinely curious.

“No. I’ve got a photo, if you’d like to see.” I reach for my bag as Josh scoots his chair around. I pull the photos our of my wallet and hand them over to Josh. It's a picture of the three of us - I'm standing in the middle, my arms around Ebony and Lucy.

I point out Lucy. The photo was taken three Christmases ago, and I have silver tinsel wrapped around my wrists. Let me tell you, tinsel is damn scratchy.

“You're right," Josh says. "You don’t look like either of them.”

“They look like my mother, Iris. She had two sisters, Rose and Violet.”

“Your grandparents obviously liked the floral theme."

"Yep. Ebony and Lucy have Mom’s brown hair and brown eyes, they’re average height and they’re more...curvaceous than me.”

Josh grins. “I could say something, but I won’t.” I grin back, knowing what he would say. “Who do you look like?”

“I have my father’s height and his eyes - his name is George - and my mother’s skin, but no one in the family is blonde.”

He points to the other photo in my other hand. “Is that the whole family?”

It’s from the same Christmas. It took my father twenty minutes to work out how to use the timer on his camera, although Lucy’s husband Adam tried to help. I’ve always liked Adam: he debates politics with me; thought I did the right thing in dumping Matt; and gave me a hundred dollars when I set out for Manchester.

“That’s Ebony’s husband Peter, and that’s Lucy’s husband Adam. Adam’s a high school history teacher, and Peter’s a bank manager. They’re Ebony’s kids - Celeste and Gideon.”

“Gideon?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know why. And frankly, I don't want to know why. That’s Lucy and Adam’s son, Vaughn.”

“That’s a nice name.” Josh’s finger hovers near me. I was sitting next to Adam. “You look...stressed.”

I shrug. “Between listening to Ebony and Peter argue, and trying to explain to my mother why I left Matt the second time around, it was a fun-filled holiday.”

“Your mother knows about Dr. Freeride’s complete stupidity?”

I eyeball him. “Of course. I was living with my parents until I could get my old apartment back. But then I was in the accident, and returned to the campaign.”

“So...your family knows about me?” This seems strangely important to Josh.

I nod slowly. “Yes. I talk to them about my work, which leads me to talk about my employer.”

“What do they think of me?”

And Josh’s ego makes an overdue appearance. “My parents think you’ve corrupted me, Ebony thinks you should dress better, after the secret plan to fight inflation Peter thinks you’re an idiot, and Adam thinks your tax fraud comment was very funny.”

“It was.”

“Josh, it wasn’t funny. It nearly got you fired. I keep telling you...”

“What about Lucy?” he interrupts.

Josh has heard my thoughts on his runaway mouth many times. “Lucy likes you. But that’s because she hasn’t met you. The second anyone meets you there’s no possibility of them ever liking you again.”

“Your consistent mockery of me is something to behold, Donna.”

“It’s a talent.”

“That’s one word for it,” he rejoins dryly.

The waiter arrives to clear the table. “Would you like some dessert?” he asks.

I look at my watch, then at Josh. “We don’t really have time.”

Josh agrees and asks for the bill. “We can get coffee and cake afterwards.”

“That would be nice.” It would be nice, because I don’t want this night to end. I want the talking, and the look in Josh’s eyes, and the way everything is crackling between us, to go on forever. I want to walk around the city until the small hours of the morning, talking in the way that we do - without guise, without hesitation, without any awkwardness.

The waiter arrives with the bill.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I tell Josh, and he nods, going to pay. When I return, he’s standing at the bar with Danny.

“Evening Donna,” Danny says.

“Hey Danny. How are you?”

“Good. I understand it’s your Assistant Anniversary.”

“Yes, it is. How do you know about that practice of ours?”

“I have my sources,” Danny replies, trying to sound mysterious.

“Carol,” Josh and I assert in unison. Danny shrugs, but we’re right.

“You should head over,” he continues. “Have a great time.”

“Thanks Danny,” I smile. Danny and Josh nod at each other, then Josh and I perform the demanding task of exiting the over-crowded bar.

The weather has cooled outside, and the breeze stirs my skirt and my hair as we cross the road. Josh keeps his hand at the small of my back as we cross the road. There's quite a crowd at the Kennedy Center - I immediately recognize Senators and other members of Congress, and a whole knot of senior DoD guys as we climb the steps.

Sometimes, I wonder whether Josh really knows how impressive a presence he commands. People in D.C. either revere or revile Josh, but they all respect him. And he's like a celebrity over here - if there was a red carpet, he'd strut it, give an interview with Joan Rivers, smile suavely at cameras, with some young blonde thing hanging off his arm.

Right now, everyone in the lobby is looking at Josh out of the corner of their eye and making comments under their breath, and the only thing he seems to care about is escorting me to our seats. I tell you, it's enough to make a girl weak-kneed.

I realize though, that I'm the young blonde thing.

Josh and I are almost at the staircase when someone calls out my name. I only hear it faintly the first time, and shrug it off. I definitely hear it the second time though, and so does Josh. We frown at each other and turn around.

Dr. Freeride is back.

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

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