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.

Why won’t Dr. Freeride Just Fucking Die?

Why can't he fall in front of a train, or get run over by a bus, or have his head taken off by a helicopter blade? Why can't any of these implausible things happen? Is it too much to ask?

“Donna,” Dr. Freeride says, standing two steps below us.

Matt - I have to forcibly remind myself of his Christian name - is breathless, like he’s been running to catch-up with us. I look at Donna. Her lips parted are in an ‘O’ of surprise, her eyes are wide, and her body is wound tight as a spring, ready to explode. I want to touch her - to reassure her - but I think it would set her off.

“I...” she begins. “I...what are you...when...how...” she doesn’t know which question to go with first. She settles on, “What are you doing here?”

Dr. Freeride sighs. “It sounds crazy but I followed you. After I left, I went back to my hotel, but I realized I had to see you again. I waited outside the White House, and I followed you - I don’t know why, but I waited outside the restaurant. I wasn’t going to come up to you, but now I...” he trails off. His voice is jerky and frenzied, like it’s a physical strain for him to get the words out.

“You just what?” Donna demands. Oh, dear. She’s about to bring the hysteria.

“I just...I had to tell you that I still love you, Donna, and I want you back.”

“I don’t...I don’t understand,” Donna says, her voice beginning to break. “I don’t...”

“I can’t walk away without knowing for sure if there’s a chance you feel something for me. I know my timing is shocking, but I...I want you back.”

What? The? Fuck?

Donna’s supposed to go back to Madison, where her family don’t understand politics and she’d be a doctor’s wife, throwing dinner parties and serving lunch at her daughter’s school cafeteria? Back to Dr. Freeride? I repeat: What? The? Fuck?

I can’t make the words to tell this guy to get the hell away from Donna, because he doesn’t deserve her. Nobody does. Not even me, if I’m going to be honest. Nobody deserves her brilliance, determination and verve. But I get it. I understand her. Dr. Freeride doesn’t have a clue. He only understands the kind of woman he needs Donna to be.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. The silence has disheartened him.

Donna has a hand on her chest, like her can’t breathe. Maybe she can’t. “I don’t...I can’t...”

He nods. “It was a mistake to follow you. I’m sorry for disturbing your evening.” He turns and leaves. If I didn’t hate the man, I’d respect him for knowing when to walk away.

I turn to Donna and reach out to touch her shoulder. “Donna?”

Donna looks at me blindly. “I have to...” she trails off.

Then she walks after Dr. Freeride.

****

After seven rings, Sam answers his cell. “Hello?” he shouts. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” I shout back, although it’s relatively quiet where I am. The stragglers entering the Kennedy Center stare at me. “Where are you?”

“What? Hang on. It’s Josh,” he says. There’s a pause, and when Sam speaks again, it’s quiet. “You there?”

“Yeah. Where are you?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be listening to the beauty that is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart right now?”

“Yes Sam, I am.”

“What happened? Is Donna okay?”

“I don’t know. She ran after Dr. Freeride, so it’s entirely possible she’s agreed to be his wife and she’s deliriously happy right now.”

“Dr....what? Josh, what happened?”

“Where are you?” I ask again.

“The Elephant and Wheelbarrow.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I say, hanging up before he can pester with any more questions.

It’s actually nineteen minutes by the time I get to the car and find a park near the ridiculously named Elephant and Wheelbarrow. I mean, really, what do elephants and wheelbarrows have to do with drinking liquor? I enter the bar, though. It's low-lit, and relatively quiet, and jazz plays in the background.

Sam and CJ wave their arms around when they see me. They're sitting at a corner table, and a wend my way over there.

“What happened?” Sam demands, the second I sit down.

“Did you hurt Donna?” CJ immediately adds.

Toby looks up from his beer but remains silent.

“Dinner was fine,” I say, looking over at the bar. “I need a drink.”

“Not yet,” Sam insists. “Dinner was fine - then what happened?”

“Dr. Freeride happened. He appeared at the Kennedy Center, as we going up the stairs, declared his undying love for Donna and told her he wanted her back."

“And?” CJ urges, when I stop.

I shrug. “Donna didn’t say much of anything, so Dr. Freeride left. Donna ran after him.” Those four words really hurt.

Sam gives my forearm a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

“She followed him?” CJ’s eyebrows are arched in disbelief.

“Yes. She followed him. Don’t ask me why, but she’ll probably be serving lunch in the school cafeteria ten years from now, mentally planning her next dinner party.”

CJ frowns in confusion. “What?”

I sigh. “Never mind. I’m going to get a drink.”

“I’ll get it,” Sam says, heading for the bar before I can say anything. I suddenly remember why he's my best friend.

“You sure you didn’t hurt her?” CJ asks again. “If Donna tells me a different version of what happened, I’ll believe her and kick your ass into next month.”

Toby finally speaks up. “Men do not have the exclusivity of hurting people, CJ. What makes you think she followed Dr. Freeride to tell her she loves him?”

I stare at him. “What else would she be doing? Giving him sight-seeing tips for his stay in the District?”

“You give her too little credit,” Toby continues. “Maybe she was going to tell him what an asshole he was to her. She does spend a lot of time with CJ.”

CJ grins at the backhanded compliment. “Toby’s right.” She pauses. “I cannot believe I just said that. But he is right. Donna refused to have coffee with Dr. Freeride - she’d hardly do that if she was in love with him.”

“She still followed him,” I say. Sam arrives with two Sam Adams. “Thanks, Sam.”

“We should have kicked Dr. Freeride’s ass when we had the chance,” Sam says consolingly. They may be arguing Donna's case, but they're still my friends. And frankly, this whole thing is that asshole's fault.

“You need to talk to her,” CJ says, finishing her grasshopper. “Donna’s not the same woman she was three years ago. Do you honestly believe she’d go back to him like some kind of subordinate doormat?”

“No, but doesn’t make me feel any better about the fact that she ran after him, leaving me in the middle of the Kennedy Center with two tickets to the symphony..”

CJ rubs my arm reassuringly, then asks, “How much have you drunk this evening?”

I laugh caustically. “I’m not going to get drunk, CJ. I don’t have the energy.”

“You don’t need energy to get drunk,” Toby says. “Just determination.”

“So, you guys having a good evening? Anybody stand you up?”

Sam shrugs. “We’re sitting in a stupidly-named bar, discussing our work because we have no social lives. How good could it be?”

“We really are a depressing quartet,” I commiserate.

“Speak for yourself,” CJ shoots back.

I gesture with my free hand, trying to explain myself. “No, I mean, the jobs we do are so specialized - there’s only one current White House Press Secretary in the whole world. There’s only one Director of Communications and one Deputy. No one else - except for those in the White House - could even begin to understand our jobs. That’s why we sit around in badly-named bars discussing our work and the fact that we can’t maintain a relationship.”

“Look, it’s the poster boy for self-destructive behaviour,” CJ cracks, before snapping her mouth shut and placing her hand over it in horror. “Oh my god. Oh, god, Josh, I’m sorry.”

I frown at her in confusion. “For what?” Then I realize. “Oh, CJ, it’s okay. I don’t feel self-destructive. Betrayed, yes. Self-destructive, no.”

Toby sighs with sufferance. “We shouldn’t sit in badly-named bars discussing our emotions. It’s wrong.”

I point to Toby. “Ladies the gentlemen, the spokesperson for Emotional Healthiness.” Toby glares and Sam laughs, but CJ grins with unfettered delight. “What are you grinning about?”

“You said spokesperson, not spokesman.”

“Josh has a point,” Sam says. “I lost Lisa because she didn’t understand my job.” His mouth twists slightly - it’s hard for him to talk about Lisa.

CJ nods. “My list of lost relationships is too long.”

“Most men don’t like powerful women,” I point out. CJ rubs my arm again. “Ah, how many grasshoppers have you had?”

“This is my third,” she tells me. I exchange a look with Toby and Sam - Flirty CJ is about to appear. When she's drunk, she flirts. It's amusing for a while, and then it's just awkward.

“What about Ainsley?” CJ suddenly says to Sam.

“Uh...what about Ainsley?” Sam asks, clearly confused.

“Ainsley understands your job - you could make things work with her.”

My eyes grow wide. “You’re actively encouraging Sam to date Ainsley, but you have apoplexy every time Donna and I look sideways at each other?”

“Ainsley is not my assistant and we work in different departments of the White House, so there would be no problems if we pursued a relationship that was more than strictly professional,” Sam responds. He realizes we’re staring at him. “Except for the fact that she’s a Republican and everything she believes is completely wrong.”

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Toby says. "Repeat endlessly, every time you get the urge to see her naked."

“Mandy,” I contribute. “She practically did my job and we didn’t work out.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You weren’t supposed to be happy with Mandy. She thrives on unhappiness. She’s not human - she’s probably not even a woman.”

“I had sex with her - she was definitely a woman.”

CJ makes a face. “Oh, that gave me mental images I didn’t need.”

“Our careers ruined our relationship faster than if we’d been lawyers,” I argue.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Sam says. “Mandy couldn’t stand the fact that you were smarter, funnier, more charming, more powerful and better-liked than her. Jealously ruins a relationship no matter what you do for a living.”

“And Sam the Philosopher joins us on his third beer,” CJ grins.

“Sam the Philosopher does good work,” Toby remarks. “I just can’t access him until the third beer.” Sam glows with pleasure. Toby then vacillates - it’s clear he wants to say something. “Andie,” he finally says.

CJ’s hand stills on my arm. Sam is looking at his beer as if it’s the most fascinating object in the room. Looks I’ve been the elected the leader in this conversation. “What about Andie?”

“Andie understood my work, and I couldn’t keep her,” Toby says.

CJ looks at me with absolute, naked sorrow, and I can feel Sam’s gaze on my neck like a laser, so I have to say something, even though we never get emotional with each other. “It wasn’t just because of you,” I tell Toby quietly. “It’s never just about one person. Or even their job.”

He rubs his eyebrow. “Yeah, well.”

“And,” I add, in a louder tone, “We shouldn’t sit in badly-named bars discussing our emotions. It’s wrong.”

“I don’t like Ainsley Hayes that way,” Sam says. “She believes that a well-armed militia means people running around armed to their eyeballs because the South might secede any day, and then we’d need a well-armed militia. She doesn’t believe in the ERA, don’t get me started on her economic policy, and she eats all the damn time.”

“Not that you’re obsessing or anything,” CJ smirks.

“She eats all the time?” I query.

“I can’t finish a meal when I’m with her. She just starts eating right off my plate.”

“And when do you have occasion to eat with her?” Toby asks astutely.

“When we...” he trails off, “When we discuss things, or we take meetings on the Hill, and when...you know what, it’s none of your business.”

“You’ve been on a date with Ainsley Hayes?” I ask.

“No! I was in the Mess for lunch the other day and she was sitting at a table. I sat with her and we proceeded to have a series of arguments, during which she ate most of her lunch and mine. That is not a date. It doesn’t even a resemble a date.”

“But arguing is great foreplay,” CJ points out.

“I’m ending this conversation now,” Sam tells us. CJ, Toby and I exchange looks and table the subject for later.

“You parked back at the White House?” I ask Sam. He nods. “I’m ready to go. I’ll give you a lift back up there.” I give him a pointed look.

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “I’ll just use the bathroom.”

“I’ll go with you,” Toby says, moving across the room with Sam.

“You did that very nicely,” CJ commends me. “It was almost subtle, Josh.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I reply, draining my beer.

“Very good! I might let you within five feet of my pressroom by re-election.”

“I’d be honoured,” I say. “Do you think I should call Donna tonight?”

“You should talk to her,” CJ agrees. “But it’s not the kind of conversation to have over the phone.”

“What happened to the lecture about death by spoon if I so much as think about going near Donna like that?”

“It’s too late,” she sighs. “I’m your friend before I’m the Press Secretary.”

“Three grasshoppers and you’re preaching Free Love.”

“On the record, I will deny this. Off the record, you nearly...” CJ swallows with difficulty. “You nearly died Josh, and then we nearly lost you again, and I think of all of us, you deserve...” she shrugs. “Just don’t fuck this up, okay?”

“Does your pressroom know you use language like that?”

“My pressroom knows I often attach four-letter words to your name.”

I lay my hand over hers. “Thanks, CJ.”

“You ready to go Josh?” Sam reappears, and pulls on his coat.

“Yes.” I put my own coat on. “I’ll see you tomorrow Toby.”

Sam says his goodbyes and we wend our way through the tables. Our drive to the White House is mostly silent. Sam changes my radio to a rock station - U2 is playing, and he hums along. Sam is a huge U2 fan. When we reach West Exec., he turns to me. “I’ll start working on the speech.”

“The FDA speech? I thought Toby was doing that?”

Sam grins. “He is. I mean my best man’s speech.”

I could deny it, although I keep finding that harder and harder to do.

Or, I could thank the man who followed me a whim, because he trusted my belief in the real thing. I could thank him for sitting by my bedside for hours when I was shot. When I woke the second time, he rested his head against my hip and cried. I used all of my energy, just to lift my hand and rest it on his head.

I smile. “Hey Sam?”

“Yes?”

“My best friend doesn’t know it, but he’s the real thing.”

Sam smiles in that boyish way of his, and glows with pride. “I love you too.”

********

As I ascend the steps to his apartment I think, Josh must hate me. I try to imagine how I’d feel if he ran after Mandy on our Assistant Anniversary and I have trouble breathing.

I ring the doorbell and wait. After a minute of silence, I consider the idea that Josh is ignoring me. The man can ignore anything if he really wants to. I ring the doorbell again, but leave my finger on the button. He can’t hold out if you irritate him.

Three minutes later I consider the idea that Josh may not be home. The lights are off, and I can’t see the Audi parked on the street.

So I’m not bringing the observational skills right now.

I sit down on the steps and resolve to wait until Josh gets home. I have no idea what I’m doing here. I have no idea what I’m going to say. I only know I have to see Josh. He deserves an explanation at the very least. At the very most, he deserves the truth. I just don’t know if I’m ready to give him that.

For all the time we’ve known each other, our standard pattern of behaviour has operated like this: Josh does something awful to me, then apologises. I make him suffer, then forgive him. That suits Josh’s personality - he acts without thinking, and has spent most of his life apologising. But I think our pattern has made me self-righteous. I never make room for the fact that I sometimes treat Josh badly. And he never calls me on it.

Tonight though, I did something awful to him, and I’ve come to apologise. What happens if he doesn’t forgive me? What happens if he justifiably tells me to fuck off?

I steadily ignore that possibly, and instead, take my heels off and sigh in relief. High heels really are an ancient Chinese torture device. I lean my head against the stair railing and close my eyes, and listen to the sounds of the city around me. It sounds different in the dark - noises come from further away, carry differently. But it's still peaceful.

That’s why, seven or eight long minutes later, the voice scares the crap out of me.

“Sorry, we’re full up for the night, but there’s a YMCA down the road.”

I snap my eyes open to see Josh at the bottom of the staircase. “Hello.”

“Hello.” He raises an eyebrow. “I presume you’re sitting on my doorstep because you’re destitute and you need food and shelter. And also shoes.”

I hold up my shoes. “I’m good for shoes.”

“Food and shelter I can do, but shoes might have been a problem. How long have you been sitting there?”

“Not long,” I tell him. “Where did you go?”

“The Elephant and Wheelbarrow - the others were there. Want to go inside? We could do this on the doorstep - I’m sure my neighbours would appreciate the entertainment - but I’d prefer to go inside.”

I stand, and Josh climbs the stairs and opens the front door. He gestures for me to go first, which is unusual. “Thank you.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

He walks into the kitchen. There's a moment of silence as Josh surveys is bare fridge. Then he says, “I’ve got milk that hasn’t passed its used-by date yet. And teabags, coffee and endless supply of water.”

“Tea’s fine,” I say. I take off my coat and hang it on one of the hooks near the front door. I leave my shoes and purse under it, before walking into the kitchen.

We wait for the kettle to boil; I watch Josh pour water into the mugs; I watch while he pours the milk into my tea. He walks into the living room, so I follow. I find him sitting on the couch, and after a moment of deliberation, I sit beside him. I make sure to maintain my distance, scrunching up against the armrest. We do all this in perfect silence.

Josh finally breaks it. “Sam just told me he loves me.”

I blow on my tea. “Well, having two openly gay men in the Senior Staff should test whether the Bartlet administration is as liberal as the Republicans claim we are."

“No, we’ve decided to resign. We’re going to live in St. Bart’s.”

“St. Bart’s. Yet another place you’ve never taken me.”

Josh sighs. “Are we going to play Places Josh Has Never Taken Donna?”

“Why not? I’ll start at A.”

“You did A at lunch the other week.”

I did too. Josh found my desire to go to Australia amusing, because he pointed out that all they have are poisonous animals and a coral reef that's dying anyway.

“The B’s it is,” I declare.

“I’ve taken you to Boston. Baltimore. Birmingham, Alabama during the campaign...Biloxi...Baton Rogue.” He screws up his nose. “Boulder, Colorado."

“We drove through it. At two in the morning, on the way to Rapid City.”

“Which is in the Black Hills,” Josh grins.

I roll my eyes. “Boulder doesn’t count. Neither do the Black Hills.”

“I haven’t finished yet,” he says. “I like the B’s. Bryan, Texas. And what about that place in Indiana, with the same name as the store?”

“Bloomington,” I provide, “Which has nothing whatsoever to do with Bloomingdale’s.”

“But we went to both Bloomington’s - the one in Indiana and Illinois. Don’t I get bonus points for that?”

“No. I’m talking about the real B’s, Josh. Barbados, the Bahamas, Bangkok, Bolivia, the Black Sea, Barcelona, Berlin, Bordeaux, Bavaria...I could go on.”

“Leo’s the one who accompanies the President on overseas trips.”

“I wouldn’t mind working for Leo. You can have Margaret.”

“If we’re swapping assistants, I want Ginger.”

“You’d have to fight Toby in a duel for her.”

“I’ll get my foil sharpened tomorrow,” he fires back.

“You like Ginger that much, huh?”

“She’s efficient, she takes Toby coffee, knocks before storming into his office to demand a raise, her handwriting is neat, and she doesn’t bitch about the places Toby’s never taken her.” Then he looks at me. “Are we going to keep doing this?”

“Keep doing what?” But I know what he’s talking about.

“Using banter to avoid the conversation we should have.”

“What prompted Sam’s declaration of love?” I ask, giving Josh an answer.

“I told him he was the real thing.”

“Exactly how much did you have to drink after I...” I stop myself. Damn.

“I had one beer after you left,” he answers.

So, I guess that’s the bantering part of the evening done with. “You want to know, don’t you? What happened? And why I followed him.”

He doesn't pretend any differently. “Yes.”

“I followed Matt because I wanted to tell him what an asshole he was to me. How he hurt me, how angry he made me, how little he appreciated me. I wanted to tell him the things I kept bottled up for months after I joined the campaign. I wanted to tell him, and I didn’t stop to think. I just ran after him.”

“What happened?”

I risk a glance at Josh, but his expression is unreadable. “I caught up with him, and I asked him if he had been happy when we were together. He said he’d been very happy. Then I asked why he had dumped me. He shrugged and gave me some line about how he’d been wrong and stupid. And I was ready to let loose.”

“But,” Josh says, knowing what happened, “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” I confirm.

“Why not?”

I shrug. “I didn’t need to. When it came down to that moment, when I got to choose, I realized it still gave him power over me. Seeing him again confused me, but I’m not a doormat anymore. I don’t need him to know what I felt, because it doesn’t define the person I am.”

Josh sips his coffee and says nothing for a long minute.

“I thought you were going to marry him or something."

“You have that little faith in me?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I only thought that for ten seconds. Then I was just...angry.” He shifts restlessly - Josh doesn’t like talking about emotions.

“I’m sorry we missed the symphony.”

“It doesn’t matter - I’ve got Mozart on CD somewhere.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No. But that wasn’t why I was angry.” He falls silent again.

“Why were you angry?” I prompt.

“The same reason I was mad about your date with the insurance guy - Tim? Ted?” he guesses tentatively.

“Todd.”

“It...” He’s thinking before he says anything, which is unusual. “It was the idea there’s someone who spends time with you in a way that I don’t.”

“You’re not my whole world, Josh,” I say evenly.

“I know,” he immediately replies. “I don’t expect that from you. I shouldn’t be your whole world. You deserve better than someone who can’t even..."

“Can’t even what?” I prompt, when he doesn’t continue.

“I don’t like the idea of you with other men,” Josh finally says forcefully. The faster he gets this out the easier it'll be for him, I think. We've always avoided this conversation. “It drives me crazy - ex-boyfriends, insurance guys, the stream of stupid gomers.”

“Why?”

“They don’t...they don’t really see you.”

“Do you see me?”

“I...” he exhales jerkily. “I don’t...I’m not...”

“Do you see me Josh? Sitting here, on your couch at eleven o’clock at night, because I couldn’t bear the idea of you being angry at me?”

“Of course I see you. You’re right there,” he replies facetiously.

“No, do you see me?” He avoids looking at me. “Do you?”

“I’m not...I don’t deserve to...”

We need to do this tonight. Not next week, or next year, because our brains are going to short-circuit if we keep this up.

“There haven’t been any gomers since Christmas. What do you think that means?” I push.

“I don’t know.”

“You do,” I insist. “You do know, Josh.”

“I don’t!” he exclaims. “Why would I know? How would I possibly - ”

“I don’t like the idea of being with other men,” I interrupt. “I spend the whole time thinking about what you’re doing.”

“Me? Why would you - ” Josh stops himself. “Since...since Christmas?”

“Yes. And for months before that,” I add. “Certainly not since Todd.”

“But - why?”

“Because I knew that night, after the things you said.”

“Knew what?”

I sigh. “You were a jerk that night, Josh. You said some awful things to me and I badly wanted to kick your ass. But I suddenly knew.”

“What?” he prompts.

I’m either going to do this, or I’m going to run away from it like I always do, and tell myself that now is not the right time.

But last May, I learnt there never is a right time, because in ten seconds, someone can irrevocably change your life by choosing their right time. And you realize that you don’t get to control time itself, let alone when the right time is.

So, this is what it comes down to: the first time Josh held my hand while we waited for the South Carolina numbers; the way he counted the freckles on my nose this morning; his message in The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing; and the relief in his eyes when he woke up and saw me for the first time at GW.

So, I chose my time now, whether it’s right or not. “I knew that night that you felt more than you were letting on. More...for me.”

Josh swings his gaze back to the window. I wait. Then: “Do you want some more tea? I’m getting some more coffee.” He stands up and walks into the kitchen.

“You don’t get to do that Josh,” I say, following fast on his heels. I'm pushing this further than it can go, but I can't back down now. I can't walk away.

Josh is leaning against the refrigerator door with his right arm wrapped over his stomach like he has to protect himself from something. From me? From the truth?

“I can’t have more coffee?” he asks.

“You don’t get to walk away from me because this is too hard. Of course it’s hard. And you don’t get to pretend that this thing between us doesn’t exist. You don’t get to be a coward because I was brave enough to finally say something.”

He throws his hands up in another defensive action. “I’m a coward. Is that what you want, Donna? Yes - I’m scared out of my mind.”

“Of what? Saying that other men in my life make you jealous? Telling me that you feel more than friendship? Admitting to this thing we have - this stupid act of self-denial we keep committing because it’s politically convenient for everybody else that you and I not have feelings for each other?”

I’m yelling, and Josh flinches every time my voice raises, but I can’t stop. I just can't stop. Turns out there's a moratorium on my patience.

“I’m not...I can’t...” he shakes his head.

“You can’t what?”

“I...” Josh says nothing more. He just closes his mouth and looks at his feet.

Well, there’s my answer.

“Forget it then,” I say, turning on my heel and storming through the kitchen to the front door. “Just forget I said anything at all.”

I yank the door open and leave, without my shoes or my coat. Unfortunately, some time between Josh getting home and now, it started to rain.

I never used to believe in pathetic fallacy.

********

Donna didn’t even put her shoes on. Or her coat. She left her purse. She just stormed out of here into the pouring rain.

I’m an asshole. I really am. I made Donna run away. In bare feet.

So, I walk after her. What else am I going to do? Let her walk home without her shoes, her coat and her purse in the rain?

Yeah, because I’m that mean.

“Donna,” I yell, hurtling out my front door and down the slippery steps. I grab the handrail before I fall on my ass. I can see my assistant over the other side of the street, so I cross the road and race after her. “Donna!” I finally reach her. “Donna!”

She turns around. Her hair is plastered to her face, her dress is clinging to her body, and her mouth is twisted - in anger, sadness or pain, I can’t tell. “What?”

I gesture at my apartment. “You didn’t take any of your stuff. Come back.”

Donna blinks. “That’s what you came after me to say?”

“I...yes.”

“I’ll be fine Josh!” she yells, walking away.

“You won’t be,” I yell back, following her. “What are you going to do? Walk home in the pouring rain, in bare feet? Hail a cab with the money you don't have, because you left your purse at my apartment?”

“What do you care?”

“Of course I care.”

“Just leave me alone!”

Donna increases her pace, but so do I. “No. Come back.”

“Go away!” Donna stops up short and buries her head in her hands. Her shoulders shake and I realize that she’s crying. “Just go away,” she repeats in a broken voice.

Oh God. Oh. My God. I made her cry. I'm made Donna cry. I made my Donnatella cry. I’m slime. I am a horrible man.

“Donna,” I say softly. I want to touch her, because I always want to touch her when she’s near, and it's driving me crazy. “Just come back to the apartment with me.”

“Why?” she asks in a muffled voice.

“Because if you contract pneumonia from walking in the pouring rain without shoes and a coat, I’ll have to put up with a temp. You know how much I hate that.”

Donna looks up at me. Her tears have mingled with the rain. “Pneumonia’s a viral disease and you can’t get it from cold weather.”

“Well, I didn’t know that.” I reach out to touch her shoulder without thinking.

She pulls away. “There are a lot of things you don’t know. I didn’t tell you everything about Dr. Freeride.”

Shit. My stomach does that stupid flip-flop thing. “What?”

“After I decided not to say anything, he asked why I’d followed him. I told him I didn’t return his feelings, and there was someone else in my life.”

“Who?” I demand. Damn it. There's some nameless guy to contend with now? Ex-boyfriends aren't enough, now there's somebody new on the scene?

Donna rolls her eyes. “You’re so stupid!”

I realize what she meant. I am stupid. “M-me?”

“I didn’t identify you to Matt, but maybe I wanted it to be true. Maybe I did want...you, to be the somebody in my life. I wanted it to be true one day, next year...whenever. But so much for that,” Donna mutters.

“Come back to the apartment,” I repeat dully. “I’ll find you a change of clothes, and then I’ll take you home.”

Donna glares at me. “I can’t believe you!” She gathers up her sodden skirts, and continues walking down the street. She seems to be limping slightly.

“Damn it Donna, what do you want from me?” I explode.

She twists back around to me, water trailing down her face and neck, her eyes almost indigo. The streetlight is shining against her skin, lighting up her hair. It occurs to me that I’ve never seen anybody - anything - so beautiful. I’ve never seen anybody look so...real.

I know what she wants from me. So, I give her the only thing I can.

“I can’t tell you I love you because it changes everything. I can’t say I love you because you deserve better than a screwed-up, demanding, self-absorbed workaholic who has PTSD. You deserve someone who’ll buy you flowers and chocolate, and remember the important dates. Someone who’ll always say and do the right thing. And if I say I love you, I can never take it back.”

Donna is holding her breath. “You...you can’t say you love me?”

“I can’t. So I won’t.”

“You just did.”

“I know. I need to work on it.”

“Are you going to take it back?”

“Donnatella, I’m a jerk, but I’m not that much of a jerk.”

“You love me?”

I sigh. “Yes.”

She takes a step towards me. “I don’t want someone who’ll always say and do the right thing. I don't want a guy who'll remember the important anniversaries. I want a screwed-up, demanding, self-absorbed, overbearing workaholic.” Her lower lip trembles and her voice hitches. “With PTSD.” She takes another step. “I want the man who gave me a chance when he didn’t have to. I want the man who never treats me like an idiot. I want the man who hid a terrible pain inside him, because he knew it would hurt me.” She reaches me. “Fortunately, you’re that man.”

Then Donna waits.

And, because I’ve wanted to do it for three years, I kiss her.

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

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