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Donna’s never been a fan of New Years.
She’s more of a passive journaler than someone to mark down a date on the calendar to reflect on the passage of time. Resolutions are often empty promises, and she couldn’t afford a gym membership even if she wanted one right now.
She’s never been a fan of New Years but she loves Christmas, positively loves it. And so she tries to spend the week between the two holidays cramming in as much time with different family members as possible. But it’s hard, she’s got tons of cousins and aunts and uncles and she never quite budgets her vacation days right, often having to come into the office for a day or two which just completely throws off the rhythm of the festivities. New Years then signals the end of the week, and tends to leave her more regretful than not. She should’ve gotten lunch with Aunt Kathy, should’ve stayed up later talking to Cousin Matthew. She should’ve mailed her nephews more toys.
And then everyone just about loses their minds on New Year's Eve scrambling for an invitation to the hottest party, draping themselves in sequins and mini-skirts trying to be the hottest person at the bar to better their chances at getting the hottest midnight kiss. It’s pathetic and completely reductive of the human experience.
Plus, champagne gives her a headache.
She’s not a fan of New Years but she’s thinking this year is the exception. Who cares about saying goodbye to 98 when 99 and its inauguration is knocking at their door?
They’re up in Manchester in a rented hall not far from the Bartlets’ farm. It’s the biggest party the city’s seen in a decade apparently. It’s the nicest Donna’s been to, that’s for sure. Streamers and party lights are crawling across every inch of the ceiling. There’s balloons everywhere, and some of them even have the Governor’s - sorry, President-elect! -face printed on them.
It’s a neat idea but somewhat lacking in execution. Some of the balloons are overfilled, stretching the Gov- President-elect’s forehead to a frighteningly unnatural width. Others are deflated, scrunching and contorting his face beyond recognition. Though the cookies with the campaign logo iced on top make up for it as far as Donna's concerned.
Politicians, campaign donors, celebrities - oh hello, Leo - and pretty much any major Democrat worth knowing is here, or at least that’s what Josh told her as they were all lining up for the staff portrait.
And just isn’t that just everything?
Staff portraits, grand galas, the Presidency. She’s been pinching herself since she joined the campaign, but it’s really starting to set in now. They won, they’re going to run the country. She just signed a lease on a sublet, she sold her car. They’re going to the White House. They won.
The energy in the room is electric. CJ is stunning in her gown, and has been twirling between the arms of every eligible bachelor since the night began. She’s never seen Toby laugh this much, honestly wasn’t even sure he laughed at all. Leo’s even in high spirits, sharing old war stories with Admiral Fitzwallace and some others Donna hasn’t met.
Sam’s the hottest commodity of the evening and he’s clearly disturbed by that as shown by his efforts to quite literally hide behind Leo instead of talking to one of Hoynes' staffers.
She’s a pretty girl and Leo’s a short man. Sam’s plan really needs some reworking, Josh tells her in between drinks.
She’s done her best to limit Josh- it’s not like they can afford another karaoke incident a la his delicate system. She tells him this as she plucks the tumbler from his hand, swallowing it back quickly before he can protest. It’s no use, he’s already drunk, well on his way to weepy, but for now he’s happy and smiley.
She loves it when he’s happy, loves it when he smiles, which definitely has nothing to do with the fact that she’s been cutting Josh off by finishing his drinks for him.
“Donnaaaaa” He sings, pulling her down onto the couch beside him. They’re in the back of the room tucked up safely against the wall with a perfect view of all the action.
“Joshhhhhh” she sings back. He ducks his head giggling - yes, giggling. It takes a moment to compose himself, but he does so by focusing his attention on walking two fingers up her forearm. He’s making a real show out of it, the fingers are now doing the can-can.
“It’s good,” He decides, slumping down and twisting so that he’s leaning heavily on her. He smells like rum and cigars and hotel soap. He runs his fingers up and down her arm, tracing little patterns here and there.
It feels heavenly, but there’s no less than a dozen members of Congress around them. She sits up slightly but doesn't pull away from him completely, not yet. She peers around to see if anyone has noticed Josh’s clinginess.
“What’s good?” She asks once she’s decided the drunken Senator from Arizona’s dance line has drawn away any potential eyes from their couch.
“Us.” Josh smiles, closing his eyes. Her heart leaps in her chest.
That’s not what he means, she knows this. Us could be any number of things: the staff, the party, the Democratic Party, the greater tri-state area. He could be talking about anything.
But he’s drunk, and so is she if she’s being honest, and it’s New Years Eve and they’ve just won the Presidency and he broke up with Mandy four months ago. She can have this, even if it’s just for a moment.
She’s earned it.
“Yeah, us.” She lets her eyes droop shut. Donna's been running on a high since election night, they all have, and she’s just polished off an entire bottle of white and that's before factoring in all of Josh’s liquor. She’s exhausted and it’s cold and Josh is warm and humming some Italian song. She thinks she recognizes it, something her grandmother used to sing in Church. It’s perfect, it’s everything she’s been dreaming of since her first day in the campaign headquarters.
Josh is right, it’s good.
And it’s completely ruined by Sam piledriving into them, knocking Josh to the ground. They’re howling with laughter and rolling around and there’s champagne everywhere. The Gove-President-elect’s wife rounds on them from across the dancefloor with their youngest daughter in tow.
Donna really likes their daughter, but her name is escaping her at the moment. She’s young, still in high school but she’s sweet and has done them all a pretty major favor by categorically not being a pain in the ass politically. Plus, she always compliments Donna’s nails. She really needs to remember her name, Gosh this is embarrassing.
The daughter waves to her shyly, not quite managing to hide her delight at the scene unfolding before them.
Dr. Bartlet is awesome for lots of reasons.
Obviously she’s a doctor, which Donna thinks is just the neatest thing. She thinks if she had the chance to do it over that Donna would have made a good doctor or maybe a nurse or even a social worker. Something where she can help people.
Dr. Bartlet’s also a really good mom- Zoey always says that. Hey! Zoey, that’s the name. Dr. Bartlet always keeps up with the Governor even when he's gone completely off the reservation. And personally, she’s been positively lovely to Donna, and never once asked about where she graduated from.
And perhaps most relevantly, Dr. Bartlet is currently instilling the fear of God in Josh and Sam for messing up the carpet. They’ve both got their hands behind their backs, heads bowed, eyes lowered as if she’s some mythical, all-knowing creature, which actually probably isn’t that far off. Josh mumbles out an apology, only to earn himself a smack on the back of his head.
She loves Dr. Bartlet.
The party goes on as the clock creeps steadily toward midnight. It gets louder and wilder and a little after 11:30 Donna finds herself uncomfortably warm from all the bodies jumping and spinning around her. She’s lost Josh, saw him last on the arm of Toby’s ex-wife which is a can of worms she’s not even going to look at let alone open.
It’s hot. And she’s surrounded by dozens of political figures and she can’t put a single face to the list of names that Josh has been drilling her on since election night. And she’s now beginning to seriously worry that she’s going to sweat through her dress. It’s a very nice dress, Josh insisted on it, but it’s tight and it’s fabric is soft and she’s dreading the moment the YMCA plays.
Nothing says competent new presidential administration quite like an assistant with sweaty pits and dance skills akin to a palm tree, all bendy and flapping strangely and knees at the wrong angles.
She’s a hot mess on wheels, and Josh is nowhere to be seen so she does what any self-respecting young woman does in a moment of social uncertainty and heads for the nearest exit, which coincidentally leads to the balcony.
It’s positively freezing outside but it’s a welcome sight against her clammy skin. She pulls her arms around her stomach, shivering slightly. The view is gorgeous, sprawling over the downtown and the Merrimack River. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and if she strains her eyes she thinks she can make out Jupiter. Or maybe it’s Saturn.
“Venus.” the Govern- gosh! President-elect says, startling her. He’s in a three-piece suit, though he’s missing the jacket so Donna guesses it’s more of a 2 piece. Although he has a tie on, pants, and a shirt so that’s three pieces there. Suspenders too so that makes four! She’ll have to ask Josh later what exactly constitutes a three-piece.
He coughs lightly and at this point, Donna realizes that she is a. much more drunk than previously believed and b. blinking dumbly at her boss who, c. is the next President of the United States.
“R-really?” She asks, shifting to make room for him.
She’s never been this close to him. Sam’s right, he really quite short. What’s up with all the tiny men around here? Now that she thinks about it, Josh barely has a couple of inches on her when she wears her pumps, and she’s pretty average height. Not like CJ, long, tall, beautiful CJ (really so pretty, Donna needs to tell her that later)who sometimes reminds Donna of the Statue of Liberty. Oh that’s it, maybe CJ stole all the height there was to go around. That’s pretty selfish of her, so unlike CJ, so upsetting.
Donna. Drunk. President. Focus.
“Well-” he smirks, “I’ve got a hunch, and you wouldn’t happen to have a telescope hidden on your person would you?”
He really is quite funny. She’s glad she voted for him.
“No, I don’t think so.” Donna smiles.
“Well,” he claps his hands together, “Venus until proven Mars. Court adjourn.”
A harsh gust of wind blows by, and she hunches in on herself more. The G-President-elect leans in the other direction for a brief moment, Donna idly wonders if he’s going to tie his shoelaces, and then she thinks that's a pretty stupid thing to think. He straightens up, this time with a cigarette poised between his lips. He glances at her accusatorially.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” She promises frantically.
He laughs at that, lightly knocking her shoulder with his own. They fall into what Donna hopes to be a somewhat comfortable silence for him. For her, it’s nearly unbearable. She’s still sweating but also cold and really needs to find Josh and she’s mildly nauseous and the fireworks will be going off soon so she really should be moving back inside because fireworks are far too loud and stress her out in the best of circumstances and she is very drunk. Spring break of 1993 drunk, and she’s standing next to the future President of the United States and maybe he needs to tie his shoelaces.
“Donna,” She’s honestly surprised he knows her name, “not that I don’t enjoy the company but isn’t there a party you’d rather be- well, partying at?”
That’s a good point.
“It’s your party and you’re out here.” She volleys back, immediately horrified by her mouth.
“That’s a good point.” He thinks it’s funny, thank God.
“Gover-Sir, why are you out here?” She asks, turning her eyes back to the sky.
“I’ve never been a fan of New Years,” He says, stomping out the cigarette.
He leans to his left and returns with some amber liquid in a glass she hadn’t noticed earlier. Bourbon, she thinks.
“It’s my last holiday as a civilian, figured I’d take a moment to myself.” He looks at her, eyebrows cocked high in amusement.
In the morning, in a moment of horrifyingly sober clarity, Donna will realize he was trying to politely shake her off.
But she’s very drunk right now, and the night sky is beautiful, and there’s birds flying over the river and her toes have gone numb from peeking out of her heels and there’s no place in the world she’d rather be.
Except maybe back on the couch with Josh.
Speaking of, she turns around to look back into the party, which has seemingly doubled in size. It must be close to the end, she thinks. She turns back to the Gov-Pres- him, she turns back to him. He meets her eyes, expecting a question she hasn’t gotten around to coming up with quite yet.
Quick, Donna think. Shoelaces, no. Josh, hell no. Uh. Donna. Okay. Venus! Yes, that’ll work. Venus!
She goes to open her mouth but jumps when a single firework sets off from the ground below them. A test run, her mind supplies, just as she sees the Pres-Gov-the MAN, the man’s glass fall, whiskey splattering across them both on its descent.
“Ah dammit!” The Male jumps back. She also wants to jump back, but her body’s taking a minute to catch up to her brain. “Are you okay?”
She’s great, thanks.
“Donna,” he says, this time more urgently, “you’re bleeding.”
And oh would you look at that? She wiggles her toes around and yep there’s definitely blood there, but it doesn’t hurt. Not yet at least, again with the whole body lagging thing.
“That’s okay!” She says, again looking to the sky. She really did have a question about Mars, she just needs to remember it. Give her a second.
“Donna- I- come inside,” Someone tells her. In a minute, there’s so many stars to look at.
“Well at least someone’s put the open bar to good use,” the voice laughs, “Come inside and let’s get you fixed up.”
“Jupiter is made of gas,” she states.
“Well, done, now come in and at least let me clean this up.”
“But what happens if I stand?” She frowns.
“You can’t walk?” The voice sounds concerned, “Dammit let me just-”
“Would I fall through?”
“Hey, Josh!” The voice isn’t listening to her. She needs to know.
“I can’t stand on gas, can I? I'd just drop right through.”
“What’s going on? Is that blood? Governor you should know I’m really not all that great with-”
“You should see the other guy.”
“Donna, are you okay?”
“She’s on Jupiter last I’ve heard. Get her inside will ya?”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
There’s a hand on her waist now, it’s warm. She’s very cold. The hand pulls her away from the stars, she’s only mildly upset about that. They said she’s on Jupiter, surely in that case there will be more time for stars later.
“God, you’re going for a record here aren’t you?”
She’s inside now, in a hallway. It’s warm and the carpet is green and she can hear people chanting and Josh is kneeling in front of her holding a cloth to her foot.
“Welcome back to Earth” His eyes are smiling. Her cheeks are too.
“I’d take you with me, you know” She says, kicking her other shoe off. She sits upright so that he’s held between her legs.
“You’d take me where?” He asks while coughing into his hand.
In the distance, Donna hears the chanting grow louder. 10... 9... 8...The countdown.
Right, it’s New Year's Eve.
And they’ve won the Presidency. And she’s here, now, with Josh.
“To Jupiter,” She leans forward, “I’d bring you with me.” His eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. He drops the cloth to the floor and braces his arms on either side of her hips. She holds her breath. He swallows.
4...3...2…
“Happy New Years, Donna”