Chapter Text
i pull at every thread, trying to solve the puzzles in his head
live my life scared to death he’ll decide to leave instead
Donna’s worried about Josh.
This isn’t new, she’s often worried about him in some shape or form; usually because of lack of sleep or because he’s on his fourth burger of the week and he really should be watching what he’s eating, especially now. But that’s not it.
Right now, she’s worried because he’s spent three weeks stomping about the west wing snapping at anyone who crosses his path and brushing off her concerns. Even her attempts at teasing and lighthearted conversation are met with blank stares and huffs of frustration.
Right now, she’s worried because he’s spent weeks obsessing over a pilot who shares his birthday, because he’s angry and anxious all the time. And because everything she does for him, everything she says to try to lessen his pain, just seems to make it all worse.
So she goes to Leo.
It’s awkward and nerve-racking, and it definitely feels like a betrayal of sorts, but it’s also the only way she can think how to help him.
“I’m worried about Josh,” Donna opens with, quiet but certain, her head angled down and hands fidgeting in her lap. She clears her throat, meets his gaze. “He’s not been himself recently.”
“In what way?” Leo asks gently, and there’s something reassuring about the look on his face, the sincerity in his eyes, the fact that he doesn’t seem at all surprised to see her.
She hesitates, understands completely that she needs to be honest with him, that there’s no way Leo can help Josh if she isn’t, but she’s also terrified that something she says will get Josh into trouble. That’s the last thing he needs right now.
“It’s okay, Donna,” Leo assures her, his forearms resting on his desk as he leans forwards. “We both want to help him.”
Donna nods, chewing nervously on her bottom lip as she considers her words.
“He’s been snapping a lot — at me, at interns, at everyone, really. He shuts himself away in his office all day. I think he slept here last night. And he’s just so … angry, I guess. That’s not like him, Leo,” she insists, almost pleading. “That’s not Josh. Something’s wrong.”
She clenches her jaw, desperately hoping he can’t see the tears welling in her eyes, the tremble of her hands. Thinks that she might be embarrassed if she weren’t talking to one of the most important people in Josh’s life, someone who’s known him longer than anyone, who knows him better than even she does.
Leo nods in understanding, reaches across the desk to press his hand to hers before pulling back.
“You did the right thing coming to me.”
And while his words are something of a comfort, it’s nothing compared to the way he leaves her alone in his office with a squeeze of the shoulder and a gruff take all the time you need, before heading out to his next meeting.
(Donna allows herself five minutes to quietly cry to herself before pulling it together and heading back to her desk.)
.
Donna finds Josh in his office before the congressional Christmas party, sitting at his desk and staring blankly ahead, pace pale and forehead sweaty.
She takes a moment to pull herself together, to set her shoulders, before plastering on a fake smile and rapping lightly on the wood of the doorframe to get his attention.
“Are you ready?”
Josh startles, eyes snapping to hers before looking her up and down with a slight blush. But his obvious appreciation of her dress gives her none of the satisfaction it usually does, instead just makes her chest ache.
He smiles weakly, motions to the white bow tie lying on his desk.
“Almost.”
And Donna smiles at this, genuine and sincere, as she crosses his office and picks up his bow tie. He pushes himself to his feet and meets her in front of his desk, stopping close enough that she can feel his warmth, smell his familiar soap. It’s the closest he’s been to her in weeks and she can barely catch her breath.
“Are you excited?” she asks softly, hands coming up to untuck his collar. Her movements are gentle as she threads the bow tie through his collar, her fingers lightly grazing his neck.
“What?”
“For the party,” she says pointedly, mouth turned up at the sides. “It’s Yo-Yo Ma, Josh. Yo-Yo Ma —“
“Rules,” he finishes through gritted teeth. “Yeah, I get it.”
Donna’s face drops, her hands faltering as she scrutinises his face. It’s the same look he’s been giving her for weeks, sad and anxious, panicked, almost.
“Are you okay?” She asks, eyes fixed on her fingers as they gently pull at the knot of his tie.Josh swallows.
He’s not, he hasn’t been for weeks. And she can’t believe it’s taken her this long to realise.
But he nods, gives her a smile she can see right through, leaving no room for argument.
“Yeah.”
Her hands linger on his chest, her lower lip quivering dangerously, before she sets her shoulders and pulls away with a shaky smile.
“Okay. I’m here if you want to talk.”
“I know,” he says, but he doesn’t seem convinced, averting his gaze all of a sudden.
Donna gives him a final once over, nodding her approval, before walking away. Briefly hesitates in the doorway before she heads to the party. Via the restroom so she can take a moment to compose herself, to take deep, grounding breaths until she feels like she’ll be able to join the party without breaking down on behalf of Josh.
Donna has been looking forward to this for weeks. Has been telling anyone who will listen that Yo-Yo Ma is incredible and talented and so unbelievably wonderful.
But now, as she sits in the crowd surrounded by guests who are rightfully in awe of the cellist, she can’t take her eyes off of Josh.
He’s shifting in his seat, his face pale and sweaty, his hands twitching as they come up to clutch at his chest. She can practically feel the tension radiating off of him, can tell by the downturn of his lips that he’s struggling to catch his breath.
And Donna wants to go to him, desperate to help him, but doesn’t know how she’ll be able to do this without drawing attention to what is unquestionably a panic attack. Can’t do anything other than sit through the rest of the performance, hands clenched in tight fists as she tries to ignore the sudden lump in her throat, the pain in her chest.
The music comes to a stop and is replaced with thundering applause, not that Donna notices, eyes tracking Josh as he all but jumps out of his seat, pushing past unsuspecting audience members as he flees the room.
She stands up, hands smoothing down her dress as she smiles awkwardly at the woman beside her, a half-formed apology on the tip of her tongue as she squeezes past her, goes after Josh as quickly as she can without drawing attention to herself. He turns a corner and she loses him, rushes to his office to wait for him there instead.
In the five minutes it takes Josh to return to his office, Donna has managed to upset herself to the point of near-tears. Can’t stop thinking about how terrified Josh looked, how unwell. Can’t help wishing she’d done more for him these past few weeks, wonders if it never would have reached this point had she pushed harder, had she made more of an effort to talk to him, to be there for him. But there’s only so much she can do when he won’t stop pushing her away.
Josh doesn’t notice her as he storms into his office, makes a beeline for the coat he had haphazardly thrown across his desk chair. He doesn’t look any better — in fact, he looks a thousand times worse, and it’s tearing Donna apart.
“Josh?” She asks softly, her voice shaky, almost pleading.
He startles, eyes wide and panicked, before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral.
“What are you doing here?”
“Josh, are you okay?”
“Donna, I’m fine,” he tells her, the conviction in his voice as fake as the smile on his face. “I’m just tired.”
Donna takes him in; his trembling hands, the bags under his eyes, his curls plastered to his sweaty forehead. She doesn’t believe him, doesn’t believe he’s anywhere near okay. But he clearly doesn’t need her right now, is clearly looking for space to work through this on his own, and she’s so terrified she’s only going to make everything worse that she lets him.
“You wanna share a cab?” she offers tentatively, figures the least she can do is make sure he gets home okay.
Josh shakes his head, reaches out and grazes her arm with his hand as he pass.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Then he’s gone and all she can do is stare after him, desperately trying to ignore the gnawing anxiety taking root in the pit of her stomach.
.
Stanley Keyworth asks a lot of questions. He claims he’s here to help Josh, that by talking to her, he will somehow gain an understanding of Josh and his inner psyche. Personally, Donna doesn’t know how he can claim to help Josh when he hasn’t even met him.
She’s also questioning why he thinks talking to her, of all people, is going to give him the answers her needs. But she’s here, in a meeting room she’s never been in before, sitting from a stone-faced Stanley Keyworth and his list of endless questions.
“Tell me about Josh’s behaviour these last few weeks,” he prompts, pen already poised over the pages of his notebook.
So she does. Hesitates for only a moment before she’s telling Stanley exactly what she told Leo.
Tells him about Josh’s moods these past three weeks, how skittish he has been, how irritable. Tells him about the afternoon she’d walked into his office to find him on the verge of breaking down, only for him to steel his shoulders and brush off her concerns, the faint sheen of sweat on his face the only indication she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Tells him, with some reluctance, about the night of the Christmas party.
“And that’s not usual for him?”
“No,” she spits out with more than a hint of vehemence, body tense as she prepares herself to valiantly defend Josh’s honour. Not that she gets the opportunity, Stanley moving on to the next question before she can explain herself.
And how’s that fair? That Stanley apparently only needs to know the worst parts? Why doesn’t he need to know that Josh is endlessly kind and unflinchingly loyal? That he loves blindly and recklessly and will go to the ends of the earth for those he cares about no questions asked.
Surely that will paint a clearer picture for Stanley than any of this other shit.
Donna talks to Stanley for well over an hour. And that’s not including the five minute break they had too take when the conversation got too heavy, when she had to leave the room to compose herself, adamant that this hack of a therapist wouldn’t see her cry.
And, okay, maybe she’s being a bit harsh, he’s probably very good at his job. But that doesn’t make her hate him any less for what he’s put her through this morning, for what she knows he’s going to put Josh through. Even though she knows it’s what he needs, knows it might be the only thing that can help him right now.
Either way, Donna’s not a fan of Stanley Keyworth. And she’s going to be there for Josh when he gets out of his meeting, no matter how long it takes. No matter how much he tries to push her away this time.
.
This isn’t the first Christmas Eve Donna has spent in the emergency room.
When she was six years old, her brothers had convinced her to scale the Christmas tree. They’d needed the angel for some stupid game they had made up on the spot and she’d been desperate enough to join in that she hadn’t even questioned the idea of balancing on one foot on their rickety coffee table as she had reached for the top of the tree.
Of course, the table fell apart and she went with it, knocking down a handful of tree decorations as she went. One decoration in particular, a glass bauble commemorating her parents ten year wedding anniversary, had been one of the casualties, Donna watching on in horror as it smashed into a thousand pieces, desperately trying to scoop the shards up in her hands before her parents found out.
Naturally, when her parents had found out what had transpired, Donna had received hugs and sympathy and lots of ice cream, grinning smugly at her disgruntled brothers who had been grounded for the foreseeable future.
(She had also received a trip to the emergency room and multiple stitches but, weirdly, that’s not the part of that memory that sticks out most.)
Now, Donna absentmindedly rubs the faint scar on the palm of her hand with her thumb as she watches the doctor stitch up Josh’s hand, Josh wincing with every movement, his free hand clasped between both of hers. She briefly wonders if this means they’re going to have matching scars.
“Sorry,” he mutters after a while, when the stitches are done and the doctor has wrapped up his hand. It’s the first thing he’s said since they left the White House.
Donna glances at him, expression a mixture of confusion and concern. Hesitates ever so briefly, before throwing all caution to the wind, and wrapping her arm around his waist as they begin their walk to her car.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“Still.” He shrugs one shoulder, almost leaning into her touch. “I ruined your Christmas.”
“No, you didn’t,” she tells him gently, sincerely. “Besides, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Josh doesn’t seem convinced, his expression a mixture of skepticism and consternation as he wordlessly pulls away from her, a heavy silence once more filling the space between them.
So Donna just sighs softly and reaches out for him to help him into the car, something inside her shattering at the way he flinches at her touch, the way he curls in on himself as soon as he’s in her passenger seat, entire body all but vibrating with tension the whole drive home.
.
They end up in his bed.
He doesn’t ask her to stay and she doesn’t offer, but through some kind of unspoken agreement, the moment he unlocks his front door, they’re both removing coats and scarves and shoes before heading straight to his bedroom.
The boarded up window gives Donna pause, her stomach churning until she thinks she might be sick. But she doesn’t linger, looking away almost immediately so she can keep pace with Josh.
They get ready for bed in silence, a silence that continues long after Donna has climbed into bed beside him, wearing the over-sized pyjamas C.J. bought him what feels like forever ago now.
It’s a suffocating silence, one that causes her chest to tighten in pain, her breath to catch in her throat, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she turns on her side to look at Josh. Not that she’s able to make out much more than the furrow of his brow, the slope of his nose, the faint streetlights coming in through the window reflected in his eyes.
Donna sighs softly, blindly reaching for his hand in the space between them. She takes his injured hand in hers, brings it up in front of her face so she can gently trace the lines of the bandage, ignores the flush of her cheeks as she places a tender kiss to his bandaged palm.
“Did I ever tell you the story of how I got my scar?” she asks him quietly, a hint of apprehension in her voice as she keeps her gaze fixed on their joined hands.
Josh doesn’t respond beyond a near imperceptible shake of his head, but his fingers flex in her hand and she can feel his eyes on her.
So she tells him the whole story, her voice a quiet murmur in the darkness of the night, finishes by presenting her hand to him palm up, can just about make out the ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he gently traces the faint line of her scar with his finger.
“We’ll be matching,” he whispers hoarsely, an unbearable sadness in his voice.
“Yeah,” Donna breathes with a watery laugh. “So we will.”
And that’s when the dam breaks, when Donna suddenly finds Josh clinging to her like his life depends on it, one arm wrapped tightly around her torso as he buries his face into the crook of her neck. She can feel his tears against her skin, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and it’s enough to cause the tears she’s been holding back all night to spill out, too.
“You’re okay,” she murmurs into his ear, holding him firmly against her, one hand rubbing comforting circles on his back, the other combing through his hair. “It’s okay, Josh.”
He falls asleep like that and, despite the pins and needles starting in her arm, Donna doesn’t have the heart to wake him, just manoeuvres them slightly to shift some of his weight off of her.
There’s something reassuring about the steady thud of his heartbeat under her hand, his deep, even breaths warm against her skin, and it’s not long before Donna dozes off too, lulled to sleep but the comfort of his presence and the knowledge that she’s doing all that she can.
She’s woken an hour later by Josh’s frantic movements, his panicked mumbles, his hand coming up to clutch at his chest even in his sleep.
It’s been a long time since Donna’s had to talk him down from a nightmare, but the steps have been painstakingly engrained into her mind after one night too many of being woken by Josh screaming in the night, finding him soaked in sweat and gasping for breath, his frantic eyes following her every movement as she’d desperately tried to remind him where he was, that he was safe, that she was going to take care of him.
It’s not something she thinks she’ll ever forget.
But it is something she’s more than grateful for now, as she pushes herself up onto her elbows, one hand gently rubbing his chest as she coaxes him awake with her touch and her voice. It works in record time; Josh startling awake with a choked gasp, wide eyes darting around the room before landing on her.
“Donna?” He blindly reaches for her hand, holding it in his tightly against his chest. She can feel the pounding of his heart, the heaving of his chest, and it makes her ache for him. “You’re still here?”
“Yeah. I’m still here.” She squeezes his hand before pressing her body flush against his, one leg thrown over his hip, her head resting solidly on his chest. Definitely crossing more than a few professional boundaries here but this, she learnt in the months following Rosslyn, lying tangled together and impossibly close, is one of the quickest ways to soothe him after a nightmare.
“Go back to sleep,” Donna whispers, can already feel his heart rate start to slow, his breathing evening out. She turns her head into his chest, placing a soft kiss right where she knows his scar to be, promises: “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
too young to know it gets better
i’ll be summer sun for you forever