Chapter Text
if i was standin’ there in your apartment
i’d take that bomb in your head and disarm it
Josh has been gone for three days and Donna is almost ashamed to admit just how much she misses him.
It’s hardly her fault, she decides halfway through day two when she’s practically falling asleep at her desk, exhausted from yet another night spent tossing and turning because she’s no longer able to fall asleep without him there.
She supposes she’s just far too used to falling asleep beside him, to falling asleep to the sounds of his gentle breaths, his heart thudding reassuringly under her ear, to waking up in the morning with his arm thrown over her hip, their limbs tangled together and his face pressed into the back of her neck.
If she’s going to blame anyone, she’s blaming Josh.
He’s the one who burrowed his way into her heart all those years ago and never left, who told her he loved her three hours into a spontaneous Hawaii vacation barely a month into their relationship, who had sheepishly asked her to move in with him on the way home from the same spontaneous Hawaii vacation. Who carved out a space for himself in her life and her home, and made it damn near impossible for her to function without him.
And now he’s in London, five hours ahead, and Donna finds herself missing him more than she can say.
They speak on the phone, of course, at least several times a day, and Lou hilariously coached him through a Skype call, so they have that too now. But its just not he same, not the same as burying her face against his warm chest in the early morning, greeting him with a kiss at the end of the day, going home together to cook dinner in their tiny kitchen, to cuddle up on the couch, never quite able to keep their hands off each other for very long.
But, at the end of the day, they both work for the White House and even their meticulously scheduled calls are oftentimes brushed aside by last minute meetings and unexpected chaos and disaster.
Which is why, on day three, Donna finds herself calling him long after he should be asleep. Really only calling for the comfort of hearing his voice in his outgoing message, anyway.
She’s surprised when he answers after the first ring.
‘Donna, hey.”
“Hey. What are you doing up?” She glances at her watch, quickly adding on the hours to figure out what time he’s on. “It’s three a.m.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, and she can picture him ducking his head, hand coming up to run across his face. “I didn’t realise it was so late.”
“Josh…” It comes out as a sigh, a hint of worry in her voice. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he insists, but his voice is terse and she can hear the telltale sounds of his pacing. Never a good sign, especially not in the dead of night. He lets out a shuddering exhale and clears his throat. “I can’t sleep.”
“Did it go okay today?”
“Yeah, it went great,” he lets out a huff of hollow laughter. “Couldn’t have gone better, actually.”
He doesn’t elaborate on this, a heavy silence filling the distance between them. And Donna can feel herself growing frustrated, is trying not to let it show, but it’s not that easy to ignore the sudden concern that settles in her chest and spreads through her whole body.
“But you can’t sleep?”
“No. It doesn’t matter. How are you?”
“Josh —“ And she doesn’t really care that her voice comes out begging, that she can tell by the sigh he lets out that he’s becoming frustrated. It’s not like him to be up all night like this — not anymore, and she figures she has every right as his girlfriend to question it. “Don’t —“
“Leave it,” he snaps. “I’m fine.” Her breath catches in her throat and there’s a beat of heavy silence before he lets out a shuddering exhale and she can hear the sound of him flopping down onto his bed. “Tell me about your day.”
“Okay,” she relents with a soft huff of frustration, because she knows what will happen if she pushes and she knows that’s not what he needs right now.
Still, the four thousand miles between them feels greater than ever.
“Okay,’ she repeats softly. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what you had for lunch,” Josh suggests, and there’s enough of a smile in his voice to placate her. For now.
.
Donna tries not to let herself worry, knows that he gets caught up in work, that it’s been hard for him to change the habits that have been engrained in him for the past twenty years, that he’s trying for her and it’s probably just the distance that’s making it all too easy for him to regress.
But she hasn’t heard from him all day beyond a courtesy good morning text, and the longer he goes without answering his phone the deeper the pit of worry in her stomach gets, and the harder it is to ignore.
Because the last time he’d pushed her away like this she’d quit her job and spent a miserable year missing him. And the time before that she hadn’t seen the signs until it had been too late, until he’d come into work with a poorly bandaged hand and a PTSD diagnosis.
She remembers a conversation they had in his bed, the late morning light filtering through his thin curtains as they’d woken up together on Christmas Day. Back when it had felt enticingly scandalous to sleep beside him, back when he’d been nothing more than her boss — her best friend, really — and she’d been just another White House assistant with a tragically predictable crush on her boss.
Back before she knew what is was like to wake up beside him every morning. Back before she knew how it felt to be loved by him.
She remembers Josh telling her, voice distant and eerily calm, that he had no memory of putting his hand through the window; only that he had known he would have done anything to make it all stop.
(She remembers desperately trying to hold back tears of her own as he’d fallen apart in her arms.)
Things are different now; they’re different now, but, when the whole day passes without a single text or answered phone call, Donna can’t help but worry, can’t help the fear that takes root in her chest, the anxious voice in the back of her head telling her to expect the worst.
He’s probably just busy, she reasons. He is the second most important man in the country, after all.
And doesn’t that give her a thrill to think about? That Josh Lyman, Chief of Staff to the President of the United States, is arguably the second most important man in the country, and she’s the one he chooses to come home to every night? Only, it’s hard to find any sort of satisfaction in that when he’s still screening her calls. When she still doesn’t know if he’s okay, or what’s causing him to feel this way in the first place.
Despite the late hour and the beyond irritating time difference, Donna still calls one last time, just to hear his voice before she goes to sleep.
He answers on the fifth ring.
“‘Lo?”
“Josh?”
At first she thinks that she’s woken him, that the slur in his voice is from exhaustion, but then he laughs, a humourless chuckle that rumbles deep in his chest, and she can tell straightaway that he’s been drinking.
“Hi, Donnatella,” he singsongs, his words all but incoherent. He hiccups. “How’re you?”
Donna frowns.
“You’re drunk,” she points out flatly, not quite able to disguise the concern in her voice.
“We went out for drinks, Donna. It’s not a big deal.”
“Where’s everyone now?”
“We got back a couple hours ago,” he tells her with a note of irritation. “They went to bed.”
And she can feel her chest tighten, her breath catching in her throat as a dull panic washes over her.
Because if they got back a couple hours ago then there’s no way he should still be this drunk. Not unless he’s been sitting in his hotel room alone getting wasted off the mini bar. And that’s not like him at all, not something he’s ever done in all the years she’s known him.
She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen Josh really and truly drunk, and the only other time she’s ever seen him like this had been a week after Leo’s death, when he’d shown up at her apartment barely able to keep himself upright, tear tracks on his cheeks and a pain in his eyes that told her everything she had needed to know. She had rubbed soothing circles on his back as he had thrown up in the toilet then, after a somewhat depressing shower, had comforted him in her arms until he’d fallen asleep.
“Josh…”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
But he doesn’t sound fine and Donna doesn’t know what to say.
“Listen,” he begins, pauses as the words get caught in his throat and another hiccup escapes. He continues, a defensiveness in his voice that gives her pause. “We were just letting loose. It’s been a busy trip, our meeting was a success, and some of the guys wanted to celebrate by grabbing a drink.”
“And you continued that celebration alone in your hotel room?” She guesses, the harshness in her tone contradicted by the waver of her voice.
“Well, yeah… It’s not a big deal, Donna. I just —“
“Josh,’ she interrupts, voice a hoarse cry. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“God, Donna,” he groans, voice choked and angry. “I don’t need your help. I said I’m fine.”
“Okay,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she desperately blinks back tears. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then. Goodnight, Josh.”
She hangs up without waiting for a response, tears spilling from her eyes as she finally lets out the sob she hadn’t wanted him to hear.
.
Donna barely sleeps. Spends the night tossing and turning, anxiety churning in her stomach until she thinks she might physically be sick. Has been wide awake for hours by the time her alarm goes off in the morning.
She’s late for work, all but sprinting to her office to dump her coat and bag before rushing to meet the First Lady, a garbled apology on the tip of her tongue.
Helen brushes her off with a gentle smile, makes a teasing joke about Matt’s Presidential hangover and Josh’s sensitive system that has Donna frantically excusing herself before she throws up what little food she has in her stomach in the middle of the East Wing.
“Is everything okay?” Helen asks when Donna returns five minutes later. Despite only being five or so years older than her, Helen has always treated Donna with a warm, almost maternal kindness that’s made it all too easy to build a trusting relationship with her that just manages to toe the line between professional and personal. (Helen has, on more than one occasion, introduced Donna to old friends as her Chief of Staff and dear friend. Not that Donna minds, having grown very fond of the First Lady herself.)
Donna nods, plasters on a smile.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m fine.”
Helen accepts this with an easy smile before turning the conversation to their days itinerary, but she must have seen something in Donna’s eyes, because she doesn’t mention Josh again.
.
Her phone rings just before lunch. It’s Josh. She almost doesn’t answer.
Donna, however, doesn’t think she would ever be able to live with the guilt if he really did need her and she hadn’t answered out of sheer pettiness, so she takes a deep breath, steels her shoulders, and picks up the phone.
“Hi,” she murmurs, teeth digging into her lower lip and brow furrowed as she leans back in her chair.
“Hi.”
He doesn’t speak for a long moment but, just when Donna is starting to feel the irritation rising once more, he says her name in a soft exhale.
“About last night…” He trails off, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m sorry, Donna.”
She doesn’t think he even knows why he’s apologising, and that’s more terrifying than anything right now.
The worst part is she has no idea how to help him. Not when he keeps shutting her out like this.
“Josh —“
“I didn’t mean to… get like that. I swear. It was just a crappy day. And I miss you.”
And she can be mad at him later, can argue with him when he’s home, but right now it seems he needs her. And right now, she needs him just as much.
“I miss you, too,’ she tells him softly. “I love you”
The soft sigh of relief he lets out at hearing this shatters her heart.
“I love you, too,’ he says, firm and desperate. “And I’m sorry.”
“I know, Josh,” she whispers, tears pricking the corner of her eyes. “It’s okay.”
(Two days later, Donna ducks out of an arguably very important meeting so she can meet Josh the moment Air Force One touches down at Andrews.
She can sense his nervous energy the second she sees him, his eyes frantically scanning the tarmac, the tension seeming to drain from his body the moment he meets her gaze, and then he’s all but running into her arms, his arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace while he buries his face in the crook of her neck.)
.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ Donna asks quietly from the doorway of their bedroom, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe as she watches him unpack.
He’s been withdrawn all afternoon. Had clutched her hand in the backseat of the car home but hadn’t said a word; has barely let her out of his sight since they arrived home, looking for excuses to be near her and to touch her, a heavy silence surrounding them as she lets him work through what she knows to be the jumble of thoughts in his head, as she gives him time to realise that it’s okay to not be okay sometimes. That it’s also okay to ask for help when he needs it.
His shoulders tense and he shakes his head. And she knows not to push, knows that it makes him antsy and angry, ashamed, even, but right now, more than anything, she just needs him to know that there’s absolutely nothing he can do that’s going to scare her away. That she’s seen him at his darkest and fell in love with him anyway, that she loves him more than she’s ever loved anyone and will do anything to take away his pain.
“You can tell me,” she says softly, crossing the room to wrap her arms around his torso from behind. He melts into her touch, shoulders trembling slightly as his hands come up to clutch at her arms.
“It’s stupid,” he murmurs.
Donna swallows past the lump in her throat, presses her face into his back, finding comfort in his familiar scent.
“Tell me.” This time it comes out as a desperate whisper and she finds herself blinking back tears.
“It’s the anniversary of Rosslyn next week,” he tells her quietly, and she can tell he’s struggling to keep his voice even.
“Yeah.” Her breath catches in her throat, her arms tightening around him.
“I knew it was coming up. But I guess I never realised it was so soon. Seven years.”
“Josh, what happened?”
“Someone mentioned it. I don’t think they knew I was there. And I was fine at the time but —“
“Yeah.”
Because she gets it. More than anyone, she thinks. While she hadn’t been with him at Rosslyn, she had been with him for every agonising step of his slow and painful recovery. She had been there on the nights he woke up screaming in tenor and drenched in sweat; had been there on the days he’d returned from physical therapy, angry and bitter and so frustrated; had been there the morning he’d given in to his pain and anguish, had held him in her arms as he’d cried and cried.
She just wishes she had been there for what had come next, too.
(Wishes she had caught the signs long before she had, wishes she had done something to stop him from falling into this pit of despair, to stop him from losing all hope.)
“I’m fine,” he insists quietly. “It’s not a thing. It just… caught me off guard, I guess.”
Donna hesitates, knows he’s not going to like this part, but also knows it’s what he needs. “Do you want to talk to someone?”
“I’m talking to you,” he hedges, loosens his grip on her arms. “Does that count?”
She pulls away at this, moving around to sit on the edge of the bed, desperate to see his face.
“It counts,” she tells him with a nod and a soft smile, reaches for his hand and laces their fingers together. “But only if you actually talk to me. And I mean when it’s happening. Not three days later and only because I’ve pushed.”
Josh sighs softly, expression contrite and devastatingly sad. He tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Donna murmurs, lowering her gaze to their joint hands, her thumb gently tracing the faded line of his scar.
“You didn’t do anything.”
“No, but I’m sorry this happened to you.”
Josh nods once, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows. Then he’s pushing his half-open suitcase onto the floor, the contents spilling out, and throwing himself onto the bed beside her, his arm hooking around her waist as he pulls her against him. Donna can’t help the laughter that spills out as she tucks herself into his side, one hand resting on his chest, something reassuring about the steady thump of his heart.
“Sometimes…” Josh stops himself, shakes his head with a wry smile. “It doesn’t matter.”
She frowns, cranes her neck slightly so she can meet his eyes.
“No, what is it?”
He closes his eyes, his fingers flexing where they rest on her hip, his other hand reaching blindly for the hand on his chest.
“Sometimes I worry this is too much for you. You know — this isn’t what you signed up for. How is any of this fair to you?”
Donna pushes herself up onto one elbow, lets go of his hand so she can cup his cheek, thumb tenderly tracing the line of his dimple.
“Josh, I’ve been in love with you for nearly a decade,” she tells him plainly, eyes filling with tears at the soft look of awe on his face. “There’s nothing that’s going to change that. It feels like a physical law of the universe at this point. Besides,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice as she bites back a fond grin. “If anything was gonna be a dealbreaker, it wouldn’t be this. It would be one of your thousand annoying habits.”
“Annoying habits?” He sputters in faux indignation, and she’s pleased to see the smile on his face, the sparkle in his eyes. “Name one.”
“I don’t think you want me to go there,” Donna jokes. Her smile falters, her voice catching in her throat as she says, “Anyway, I’m hardly the epitome of good mental health either.”
Josh shakes his head in fond disbelief, lets out a soft huff of laughter as he rolls onto his side, his hands coming up to frame her face, his nose brushing against hers as he leans in for a kiss.
“That’s not true,” he insists. And it’s sweet, but she’s had more than her fair share of trauma induced anxieties, the most recent being the morning of this past Memorial Day — Josh talking her down from an unexpected panic attack in her office after she’d been caught off-guard by a news clip of the explosion playing on one of the screens in the bullpen.
Josh pulls away to meet her eyes, awe and love plain on his face, and it still warms her right through to think about just how long he’s been looking at her like this. Still remembers how it had felt when he’d given her that exact same look their first morning in Hawaii and she’d realised he was as gone for her as she was for him. (That was also the moment she had realised he could still give her butterflies with just a look.)
“Love you,’ he murmurs, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin as he lets out a contented sigh.
Donna rolls onto her back so he can nestle into her side, her arms wrapped firmly around him.
“I love you,” she tells him in a soft whisper. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
he says he doesn’t believe anything much he hears these days
i say, “believe in one thing, i won’t go away”