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It’s Christmas Eve.
It’s Christmas Eve and Josh is still working with no end in sight. This is probably for the best, he thinks, somewhat melancholic, considering all he has to look forward to on Christmas morning is an empty apartment and two day old leftover Chinese food.
Arguably not the worst Christmas Eve he’s had.
Everyone else is flying out somewhere or reluctantly entertaining family and, with his mom down in Florida, it’s all too easy to make up excuses to stay in D.C., to spend Christmas alone. It’s not his holiday anyway.
Donna’s going to stay at the Washington Inn with Jack Reese. Has been going on and on about it for weeks, excitedly telling anyone within earshot that Jack managed to get them a room and they’re going down for Christmas and isn’t that so romantic? Isn’t he so romantic?
And the thing is, Josh doesn’t hate Jack. Far from it, actually — thanks to an afternoon spent trailing him about the west wing and pretty much waxing lyrical about Donna in an attempt to convince him to give her a chance. All in all, Jack appears to be a nice enough guy, and he seems to really like Donna which is already a point in his favour in Josh’s opinion.
But Jack as part of Jack and Donna? Josh absolutely hates it. Even just the thought of it makes him feel sick, fills him with a bitter jealousy he doesn’t know what to do with, an ache he can’t quite ignore.
It’s not like he hasn’t watched Donna moon over guys before. This time is different, however. This time he knows why he gets butterflies every time Donna smiles at him, every time she leans into his touch, every time she knows what he needs with just a look. He’s not completely oblivious. Well, he had been somewhat oblivious until halfway through telling Jack the scented candles story (a personal favourite and one of his fondest memories) when he had realised, yeah, he’s pretty much been in love with Donna this whole time.
Not that this sudden epiphany had mattered, Donna latching onto him and asking about Jack the moment he’d returned to the bullpen. And as mad as she’d been about the stories he’d told Jack, as embarrassing as she’d found them, they’d worked, hadn’t they? How could they not?
“Those stories would make me like you,” he had told her fondly as he’d watched her wrap her scarf around her neck and shrug into a coat.
“You like everyone,” she’d said absentmindedly as she’d sorted through last minute phone messages, rifled through her purse.
Not like that, he’d wanted to tell her. Not the way I like you.
But she was already gone, taking a piece of his heart with her.
Now it’s Christmas Eve and Josh is working late.
(And desperately hoping Donna can’t see right through him — something she’s never had any trouble with in the past.)
“I’ll get you there first thing in the morning,” he tells her, not quite able to muster up a smile as he averts his eyes, head angled down so she can’t see the pain that he’s certain must be clear on his face.
He can feel the almost suffocating weight of Donna’s gaze, can see out the corner of his eyes the way she ducks her head and licks her lips, before steeling herself and looking straight at him.
“What did you mean when you said it's not what it looks like?” She asks him quietly, and he swears his heart stops in his chest.
Josh looks up at her, can’t quite hold her gaze.
“Jack's already down there?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call him and apologise.”
But it seems that Donna isn’t going to let it go. Not this time, at least. Which is absurd when he thinks about it. She’s never had a problem with it before — it being lingering glances and fleeting moments, words spoken with subtext and hidden meaning. They’ve been existing like this for four years now and not once has either of them decided to question it.
Until now, apparently.
“What did you mean?”
“I meant that I wasn't keeping you here on purpose.” He lowers his gaze, picks up his near-empty coffee cup just to have something to do with his hands, takes a sip of the long cold liquid.
Donna frowns, a sadness in her eyes that tugs at his chest, makes him want to take her in his arms and beg her to stay.
“Why would I think you were doing that?” She asks softly, eyes wide and cheeks slightly pink.
“I wasn’t,” Josh insists. As though he hasn’t spent years ruining her dates, sabotaging any potential future relationship she may have. This time, however, he’s telling the truth. This time has nothing to do with him.
(This time, he thinks smugly, luck is on his side.)
“Why would I think you were?”
He opens his mouth to respond — to deflect, to deny, to distract her with a joke. But the way she’s looking up at him gives him pause. Something about the way Donna is smiling nervously, almost hopeful, something in her eyes that tells him she knows what he’s too scared to say and there’s a real possibility she feels the same. And maybe it’s the soft glow of the Christmas lights behind her, maybe it’s the way she looks so soft in her ridiculous Christmas sweater with her hair falling gently around her shoulders, or maybe it’s just because he’s loved her for a long time and he’s tired of pretending otherwise.
“I meant—“ Josh cuts himself off with a weak chuckle, licks his lips nervously as he rounds the desk, comes to a stop in front of her. “I meant don’t go with Jack. Stay here with me.”
“Josh,” Donna murmurs, awed and breathless, but he’s not quite finished, having been somewhat encouraged by the imperceptible quirk of her lips and the tears welling in her eyes.
“I like you,” he clarifies. “Romantically. And I don’t want you to leave.”
She inhales sharply, his name a breathy exhale on her lips. But there’s something about the way she won’t meet his eyes, the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her sleeves pulled over her hands as she fidgets with the cuffs.
“I have to go,” she says eventually, voice no more than a whisper. She swallows, finally meeting his eyes. And he wonders if the pain and uncertainty in her expression is mirrored in his. “Jack —“
“It’s fine,” Josh interrupts, his stomach churning as he forces a weak smile. “I get it.”
“He’s waiting and —“ She shrugs feebly, voice devastatingly apologetic as she says, “I need to give him a chance.”
“Donna, it’s fine,” he insists, even though this whole situation is anything but fine. Even though he thinks he could throw up at any moment, even though his heart feels like someone has crushed it in his chest and is stomping on the pieces. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay. I’m gonna…” she motions vaguely towards the double doors at the end of the hallway and all Josh can do is nod, a feeble smile that’s much more of a grimace playing on his lips as he watches her walk away.
.
Donna goes on her trip. Not that Josh thought she would change her mind, but part of him — a large, overwhelmingly hopeful part of him — had hoped that she might. That maybe his words had been enough to make her stay. That maybe he would be enough for her.
But she’s gone, probably halfway to the inn by now, and Josh is still moping about the White House, shoulders slumped and head ducked as he shuffles about look for something to do — anything to distract him from thinking about Donna’s plans for the evening, from thinking about Donna’s romantic weekend trip with someone that’s not him.
“Was I insensitive before,” Leo asks him an hour or so later, “about telling you Donna was gone?”
And if even Leo can see how far gone Josh is for Donna, then he dreads to think who else has realised, who else has watched him flirting with Donna and chasing her around the west wing, who else has watched him pine and yearn and long for her. Who else who else has figured out he’s in love with her.
“This — this is better than good,” he says with a nod, not quite sure who he’s trying to convince. “It’s the way it should be.”
Leo shakes his head, something far too close to pity in his eyes.
“Oh, get it together, would you please?”
“I’m trying,” Josh tells him before he can stop himself. Waits for Leo to give him a disapproving glare, another warning about getting to close to his assistant.
Instead, he accepts this with an encouraging nod and an imperceptible twitch of his lips, and Josh can’t help but wonder her goddamn pathetic he must look right now for Leo of all people to be all but telling him to go for it.
Except, he did go for it. He did try. And look where that’s left him — with a pitiful rejection and a broken heart. And Donna happily on her way to the other side of town to spend Christmas with the man she does love.
.
Despite it being almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and despite the freezing night and seemingly never-ending blizzard, the Hawk and Dove is packed.
Mostly students, Josh thinks, crowds of young people who never managed to make it home for the holidays. As well as a large crowd of White House staffers in the back corner making the most of being stuck in D.C., most of them already more than halfway to drunk.
Josh doesn’t stay very long, has two drinks before he decides he’s in no mood to feign cheer and joy and Christmas Spirt.
Donna must have arrived by now, must already be at the inn, in their room — with him. And he wonders what she’s doing, can picture the soft smile on her face as Jack opens the door for her, the warmth and affection in her eyes he used to think was reserved for him.
The others must be able to sense that something has happened — either that or they were subjected to watching him sulk about the west wing all night and have put two and two together — because they let him sneak out with nothing more than a sympathetic smile from C.J. and a grateful nod from Toby. Josh can’t even muster up a smile in response, giving them a half wave as he ducks past the others, pushes through a crowd of drunk people, and makes his way outside.
He trudges home in the snow, the biting cold a welcome distraction to the ache in his chest.
.
His apartment is cold and dark, just like it is every night. Tonight, however, it just makes him feel an unbearable loneliness. Tonight, it makes him wish he had someone to come home to.
No, not someone — just her.
Josh tightens his coat around himself as he fiddles with the thermostat, turns on some lights to make the place feel at least a little lived in. The leftovers in the fridge appear to be just this side of inedible, so he quickly calls the Chinese around the corner that he knows stays open late — even on Christmas, he’s learnt from years past — and jumps in the shower.
He’s just out the shower, still shivering slightly as he pulls on sweats and an old sweatshirt he probably should’ve thrown out years ago, when there’s a banging on his front door.
His first thought is that it’s his food, that someone must have left the door open downstairs so they’ve come right up, but why would the delivery guy be pounding on his door like that? And surely he’s not ordered that frequently that the delivery guy knows his name?
It’s Donna. Donna banging angrily on his front door and yelling at him to open up before she breaks the door down. Which, admittedly would be very funny to watch, but he’s still trying to comprehend that she’s outside his apartment right now, decides he should probably just open the door and let her in that way.
She pushes past him before he even has a chance to take in the bag thrown over her shoulder, her hair damp from the snow, her cheeks and nose tinted pink from the cold. Before he even has a chance to take in the fact that she’s here in his apartment when she should be at the Washington Inn with Jack.
“Um, hi?” Scratching his head in confusion, he pulls the door closed and follows her to the living room, where she’s unceremoniously dumping her bag, her coat, her scarf, kicking off her wet boots.
And he’s far too distracted by the sight of her all but undressing in the middle of his living room that he fails to notice the frustration in her movements, the anger on her face.
“You’re unbelievable,” Donna cries, arms thrown up in annoyance as she rounds on him, eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed.
“Me?” Is all he manages to get out, voice unnaturally high, as though there’s anyone else she could be talking to right now. As though anyone else turned her world upside down by choosing the worst possible moment to admit four years worth of repressed feelings.
(And, God, he really hopes he was the only idiot to do this to her tonight.)
“I’ve been waiting years for this, Josh. Years. And you wait until I’m with someone to tell me how you feel?”
Wait — what?
But she’s not done, has started pacing the length of his tiny living room, her shoulders fraught with tension, and what he personally thinks might be some misplaced anger, as she takes a deep breath and continues.
“I really like this guy,” she tells him, somewhat unconvincingly and with a hint of a whine in her voice. “I really thought he might be the one —“
And if Josh thought he had any idea what heartbreak was before, well, that was nothing compared to the sudden tightness in his chest, a pain so piercing it guts him to the core, makes him feel as though he’s being torn apart from the inside.
“And if he’s not the one,” Donna continues sadly, sounding almost defeated, seemingly entirely unaware of his inner turmoil and heartache. “I thought, at least I’ve found someone I can be with without constantly wishing I was with someone else.”
She comes to a stop in front of him, shrugs helplessly as she looks up at him with the wide doe-eyes he’s never been able to resist. And he wants nothing more than to help her, to make her feel better like he always does — only, he did this to her. He’s the reason she’s feeling this way. And that hurts more than anything.
“Donna…” he murmurs softly, reaches for her hand before changing his mind at the last second, his own hand dropping helplessly to his side, his breath catching in his throat at the tears glistening in her eyes, the tremble in her voice as she says:
“I need to know if you meant what you said. I need to know,” she all but pleads with him, tears spilling out and voice breaking as she shakes her head with a bashful smile and a self-conscious shrug, clears her throat before starting over. “I need to know because every time I’m with Jack — every time I’ve been with anyone — I’ve found myself wishing I was with you instead.”
Josh nods frantically, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he reaches up to frame her face with his hands, thumbs rubbing tenderly at the tear tracks on her cheeks.
“I meant it, Donna,” he tells her, voice firm and sure, despite the emotion rising in his throat. “Every word.”
Donna lets out a breathy gasp, her lips turning up at the sides despite the quiver of her lower lip. But there’s something in her eyes, a hint of uncertainty, that tells him she’s still holding back. So, figuring he’s not got much left to lose, he takes a leap of faith — and kisses her.
She responds immediately, her hands coming up to wind around his neck, her lips soft and pliant under his, a tiny whimper escaping as he nips at her bottom lip with his teeth, soothes it with his tongue.
Josh has imagined what it would be like to kiss Donna at least a hundred times. He used to think about it on the campaign, when she would fall asleep next to him and the bus and he’d wonder what it would be like to wake her with a soft kiss; the night of her birthday when they both got a bit too drunk and a bit too handsy and spent the night holding each other up and conversing through hushed whispers and giggles. He thought about it the night his father died; what it would be like to seek comfort in her arms. The first time she tied his bow tie for him and he couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to close the gap between them, let his lips brush against hers.
And countless times since then.
The reality, however, is vastly different. The reality is Donna tugging lightly on his hair as she deepens the kiss, Donna’s tongue sliding against his as she moans into his mouth, Donna pressing her chest against his as he tightens his grip on her. The reality is a thousand times better than he could have ever imagined.
The door buzzes and he pulls away slightly dazed, at least lucid enough to see that Donna looks as equally dazed.
“I, uh, ordered food,” he explains, all too distracted by the rise and fall of her chest, the flush of her cheeks, the pout of her lips.
It would be all too easy to lean in and kiss her again, so he does, a quick peck on the lips before he pulls away to answer the door. Leaves her staring after him with a soft smile and a fondness in her eyes.
Josh gets rid of the delivery guy in record time, kicking the door closed with his foot as he tosses the food in the direction of the kitchen before making his way over to where Donna is perched on the arm of the couch.
“Before we do this,” he tells her, tugging lightly on her hand to pull her flush against him. “I need to tell you —“
“What?”
He hesitates, not quite sure where he’s actually going with this, only sure that he needs her to understand how important this is to him. He doesn’t want to scare her off, however, thinks he should maybe take it slow, ease her into it.
But then she smiles up at him, one hand reaching up to comb through his hair, the other sliding under his sweatshirt to scratch lightly at the bare skin of his back, and he can’t think past how good it feels to be with her, to hold her, to kiss her — to love her.
And, if anything, she deserves to know he’s planning on doing this forever.
“This is it for me,” he says softly, tenderly. “You are it for me.”
Donna lets out a soft huff of laughter, her hand coming up to swipe at her cheeks.
“Jesus, Josh,” she admonishes lightly, cheeks pink and eyes bright. “Warn a girl before you say something like that.”
He laughs, smiles fondly at her before leaning in until his nose brushes against hers, mere centimetres between their lips.
“I love you.”
Donna laughs, pushing up on her toes to kiss him — only it’s impossible because they’re both smiling so much.
“I love you, Josh” she says, her forehead resting against his as they sway on the spot, holding each other impossibly close. “And you’re it for me, too.”
.
Later, as they’re lying in bed in his dark bedroom, Josh lets his fingers trail along her bare arm, smiling at the goosebumps that appear before leaning in to press a soft kiss to her shoulder.
Donna lets out a contented sigh, already half asleep as she shifts closer to him, her legs tangling with his and her arm thrown across his chest. He pulls the blanket up around her, tightening his grip on her as he moves to get more comfortable.
“I used to wish it was me too,” Josh tells her, voice a soft murmur in the quiet of the night. “I used to think about you and — God, it took me so long to realise that the jealousy I was feeling wasn’t normal. Took me even longer to realise it was because I’m in love with you.”
He can just about make out her face in the light coming in through the gap in the curtains, the slope of her nose, the flutter of her eyelids as she tilts her head back to look up at him, and something warm and affectionate swells in his chest — something he’s been missing for so long that, now he knows exactly what it is, he doesn’t think he’ll ever shut up about it.
Donna smiles, her foot running up the inside of his calf as she pushes up on her elbow to kiss his jawline — the closest place she can reach.
“I knew I loved you embarrassingly early on.”
“No, you didn’t,” he challenges, if only because the thought of Donna being in love with him all this time leaves him breathless. “When?”
She buries her head in the crook of her neck and he can feel her smile against him.
“When you gave me your I.D badge that day in Manchester.”
Josh rolls her onto her back so he can see her face, his expression awed and wonderstruck as he takes in her shy smile, the slight flush in her cheeks he can just about make out in the dark.
“You did?” He asks breathlessly.
Donna bites her lip, nods.
“Your turn,” she whispers. And he can tell she’s embarrassed to have admitted she fell for him almost straightaway, and he’s more than happy to even the score.
“I fell in love with you when you tried to smuggle eleven scented candles in your overnight bag.”
She rolls her eyes, halfheartedly pushes him away.
“That was years ago. No, you didn’t,” she echoes, somewhat self-conscious.
“I did,” Josh insists, leaning down to press a trail of kisses along her neck. Her hands come up to clutch at his t-shirt and he finds himself momentarily distracted, has to pull away before he finds himself incapable of any kind of coherent thought. “I just didn’t realise until I was telling Jack about it and he didn’t seem to find it as funny as I did.”
“Of course he didn’t. That was insane.”
“It was endearing,” Josh corrects her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck to hide his smile, nips gently at the soft skin before pulling back to meet her eyes once more. “And charming, and loveable. And so very you.”
Donna shakes her head, but she’s beaming at him, both of them suddenly wide awake. She hooks her leg over his hip and rolls him onto his back, and he’d be embarrassed by the moan he lets out if it weren’t Donna doing this to him.
She leans forward to kiss him, her hair falling down and tickling his face, her hands resting firmly on his chest, thumb gently rubbing just below the puckered skin of his scar.
“I’m glad it’s you, Josh,” she whispers, her lips brushing against his.
And all he can do is meet her lips in a searing kiss, his hands coming up to tangle in her hair, desperately hoping his kiss can convey the feelings he doesn’t think he has the words for.
Desperately hoping he can show Donna just how much he loves her.