Title: The Greatest Gifts
Author: juxtaposed ([email protected])
Rating: PG-15 (shut up. it works) – some language and some K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Category: Romance, Angst
Pairing: Josh/Donna
Disclaimer: All characters are property of Aaron Sorkin, NBC and The West Wing, and are used without permission, without intent to profit. Song lyrics are by Ben Folds (“The Luckiest”).
Archiving: Yes, just let me know. You can find this and my other works online at www.geocities.com/juxtaposed666
Notes: My first J/D fic - somehow fluffy and angsty at the same time. I’m just that good. Special thanks to Susan for being a super-beta, and Mala for kicking me in the butt.
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The Greatest Gifts
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I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here...
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I pull my coat tighter around me, tucking my chin into the collar as I looked for some place to grab a beer. It's too early to go home, and I don't want to be in my empty apartment alone anyway. A flashing neon sign up the block catches my eye, and I decide this place is as good as the next.
I shoulder open the door, not wanting to remove my hands from the warmth of my pockets, and look around the nearly empty bar. This place is the epitome of 'dive', but it sells beer. Good enough.
As I move towards the bar, I notice a tall, blonde woman alone at a small table. She looks up from her beer and in my surprise I almost fall over my own feet.
"Donna? What are you doing here?" I take her appearance in slowly as she eyes me warily over the rim of her pint glass. Killer red dress, long legs and slim feet incased in strappy red shoes. Date clothes. Donna's on a date. Shit. What was his name? Todd? Tim? The one I called her 'Gomer-of-the-Month' yesterday before she left the office.
She sighs. "Great. Of all the gin joints in this town, you had to walk into mine. What can I do for you, Josh? Need some filing done, or did Sam ditch you for some brunette? Need me to help you with your newest secret plan?" She tosses back the last of her beer and stands up, turning her back to me as she steps over to the bar. The 'back' of the dress comes just up to her waist, leaving what seems like miles of skin bare to my eyes. I swallow and focus on her words, leaning on the bar beside her.
"Oh, yeah, well, Sam and I were at this thing around the corner, and the place got crowded, and he met some woman, and I had to get out of there…" I trail off, realizing that I'm babbling, when I see her staring at me. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a date with Tim tonight?"
"Tom. And yes, I did. It's over now."
"Over? It's only what, 10:30?"
"Josh, it's barely ten. Didn't you get a new watch yet? And yes, my date is over. So I'm having a few drinks. Bug off." She flips her hair over her shoulder, I get the distinct impression she wishes I was anywhere but this bar.
The bartender puts a new glass in her hand. Obviously, she's been here long enough for him to know her drink without her even ordering it. She turns back to her table, giving me another glimpse of her back. My fingers itch to touch her.
"You want a drink?" The bartender's voice makes me snap my head around.
"Um, yeah. Bud Light." I wait, wondering why Donna was in this shitty bar in a sexy dress, without her date, at ten on a Saturday night. Yet another disastrous date. I glance over, and she's back on her stool, one heel hooked over the rung, the other leg crossed over her knee and swinging absently as she sips. I can't help but notice that nearly half the beer was gone already.
I hear a clink, and my own drink arrives in my hand. I head back to the table, never taking my eyes off Donna and slide onto the stool across from her.
She continues staring at a space above my head, and for a moment, I don't even think she knows I'm there. Then I hear her voice, barely above a whisper.
"Joshua, I know seeing women cry freaks you out, so you really need to finish your beer and get out of here."
I tense at the desperation in her words, her obvious need to be strong in front of me. In the space of a moment, I tried to appraise her mood and give her what she needed. Dumped by another gomer, this one barely lasting two weeks. Does she need a friend, a flirt, some teasing to get her pissed? I make a quick decision.
"What's the matter, Donna? Dumped again? When are you gonna listen to me?" I ask jovially, twirling my beer into a tornado and waiting for her reaction.
"Is that what you want to hear, Josh, that you were right?" she asks tiredly, proving that I'd completely misjudged her mood. She rakes her hair back from her face with one hand. "Fine, you were right. Now beat it. This was the dankest, most out-of-the-way bar I could find. I intend to stay here until I am good and drunk, cry, and then go home and sleep until you call me sometime around noon tomorrow because you can't find your stapler. At which time I will get out of bed, come into the office, pull the aforementioned stapler out of your desk drawer, hand it to you, and then get sucked into doing whatever project it is you've dreamed up for me. I will go on working and being capable little Donna until the next asshole comes along. Now, you really need to leave because I've just about finished the 'getting drunk' portion of the evening, and crying is next on the agenda."
She lays her head down on the table for a moment while I gape at her. My first thought, strangely, is that she's awfully articulate for a woman claiming to be drunk; my next is that I have to help her get her confidence back, and making fun of her choice of men obviously isn't going to do it. I've seen Donna angry, I've seen her scared, sad and depressed. But I'd never seen her look as downtrodden and helpless as she looks at this moment.
"Donnatella, what happened?" I ask softly, leaning an elbow on the tiny table and reaching out to stroke the hair that is spread over her bare shoulder.
She turns her face to the side, her cheek resting along one arm, not quite facing me. I catch the hair that had fallen over her face and tuck it behind her ear, waiting.
"Tom got tired of me, I guess." She sits up abruptly, leaning back on her high stool, out of reach of my hand. I drop it down to rest on the table between us. "Actually, he got tired of waiting for me to 'put out,' as he so delightfully phrased it." She laughed bitterly, and sipped the last of her beer.
"He dumped you because you wouldn't sleep with him?" I ask incredulously. Is the guy stupid?
"Can you please stop saying 'dumped'? I really hate that word. And yes, he said he had no idea blondes were frigid. Four dates, and I'm frigid. Just because I don't sleep with every guy who offers..." she breaks off abruptly, as if suddenly noticing that I was listening. "If you're not going to leave, then at least go get me another beer. If you can manage it without tripping over your own feet." She rests her elbow on the table, her cheek resting in her hand, and begins idly playing with the empty glasses that litter the space between us.
"Donna, is more beer really what you need right now?" I ask carefully, not wanting to hurt her or make her angry.
She looks up at me, and her eyes are unreadable. "Josh, I can't have what I need right now, so beer is just going to have to do," she answers cryptically as I slide off my stool and head to the bar.
I don't even try to ponder her answer as I lean an elbow on the bar. I'm so unused to seeing Donna bitter and choking back self-loathing that I'm not even able to formulate a plan. Of course, the many things that I'd like to do, including kissing her, getting down on one knee and declaring my undying love, or just carrying her out the door and back to my apartment are all impractical, no matter how out-of-the-way this bar is. Toby would hold me down as CJ beat me to death with a baseball bat and, if CJ were to kill me I wouldn't get to see Donna everyday, so I needed to not be dead.
I look around the practically empty bar. My watch shows it to be after eleven, which means it's actually closer to 10:30. Out of the way, indeed. I wonder if Donna always comes here after a guy has dump…er, broken up with her. Maybe that's why the barman is looking at me with unconcealed disdain as he sets two more beers in front of me.
I glance back at Donna, whose head is now back down on the table, her shoulders hitching slightly, indicating that the crying portion of the evening had indeed begun. I feel helpless, wanting to take her pain away, but afraid of revealing myself at the same time. I doubt telling her I love her would make her feel better, so I'll settled for getting drunk with her and keeping an eye on her instead.
I take the beers back to the table, noting that Donna had finished mine while I was gone. I push several glasses out of the way with my elbow as I set the new pints on the table. At the noise, Donna looks up, her eyes red-rimmed.
"How many have you had, Donnatella?" I ask softly, my heart wrenching at the look on her face. I am determined not to overload her by dumping my feelings on her as well, but all I really want is to take her in my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay. I instead settle for scooting my stool around the table, moving closer to her, and propping one foot up on the rung of her stool. I push the glass into her hand, then down half my beer in one gulp, instantly regretting it. I had two beers at the thing with Sam, and as Donna always reminds me, I have a 'delicate system'.
She smiles softly. "More than you, probably. But I can handle my booze. You can't."
"Can too," I smile, throwing an arm around her shoulders and realizing she was completely right once again as the edges of my vision went slightly fuzzy.
"I'm sorry what I said yesterday about Tim. I didn't want to be right." I realize that I am completely throwing my plan out the window, but I suddenly don't care. I'm here, Donna's here, and under my hand her skin feels amazing as I swirl little circles on the cap of her shoulder and play with the strap of her dress.
"Tom," she corrects absently. "Don't be sorry. You were right. I guess I do have shitty taste in men." She leans her head on my shoulder as I continued to draw patterns on the skin of her arm.
We sit in silence for a while, and my fingers move upward to stroke the silk of her hair. Absently I push her hair over one shoulder, baring her neck to my fingers as I continue to rub little circles on her skin.
She sighs softly, a combination of the neck rub and the beer causing her to relax against my side.
I continue, wanting to do anything to make her feel better, enjoying the feeling of her skin and the warmth of her pressed against my body. My hand slips downward, over her shoulder blades, my fingers sliding under the spaghetti strap of her dress as I continue my lazy trek down her back, feeling her perfection, wishing for things I know I can never have.
I hear her breath hitch, and I turn to look at her, seeing the tears welling in her eyes.
My heart turns over in my chest. "He's not worth crying over," I whisper, brushing the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs.
She steps away from me, nearly tripping over her stool in her haste. "I wasn't crying over him. I...I was just crying for me, I guess."
I'm startled by her sudden need for distance from me. "Oh." I'm not sure what to say to that, so I sit back down, taking my glass in both hands, letting her decide where she wants to be.
She stands behind her stool for a moment, her arms crossed, taking deep breaths, and studying me.
Finally, she sits back down, crossing those long legs under the table and picking up her beer again.
"Joshua, why are you still here?" she asks suddenly.
'Because I love you, and seeing you sad makes me want to do anything I can to make you smile.' Comes the answer in my head. I wait a beat, take a breath and answer, "Because my friend is upset, and I want to cheer her up."
She takes another breath. "Good, because I don't need a pity fuck, especially from you."
At that, I nearly spit my beer across the table. "Is that what you think of me? That I'm hanging around waiting for you to get drunk enough to want to fuck me? And what do you mean, 'Especially from me'?"
"Josh, maybe you haven't noticed, but I am a reasonably attractive woman. I get hit on a lot. And I know a seduction number when it's thrown at me."
I drop my glass on the table and lean in towards her, whispering harshly in her ear. "Jesus Christ, you think I haven't noticed, Donna? I notice every goddamn day. I notice the way you constantly take care of me. I notice the way the sight of you in an evening gown can blind me to everything around me. I notice how good you smell in the mornings when you lean across me to steal the last cup of coffee. I notice how your eyes light up when we're working on something that really matters to you. And I notice how you keep going out with men who will never, ever be worthy of you, and how I have to sit back and take it because I can never have you. But if I could ever have you, you would never be a 'pity fuck.’"
I lean back against the edge of my stool, my legs spread slightly for balance, and close my eyes. I curse alcohol and my loose tongue and I wait for the inevitable, the accusations of sexual harassment, a slap, something. When she doesn't say anything, I open my eyes. She's staring directly at me, her eyes wide.
We sit in silence for what feels like a lifetime, staring at each other. I'm still waiting for the bombshell to drop when she slides off her stool, standing between my splayed legs. She stares at me for a moment longer, then suddenly reaches out and slips both her forefingers into the belt loops of my jeans, dragging me towards her, her mouth coming up to meet mine, and all rational thought flees.
It's a hot, drugging kiss, tongues swirling and battling. My hands slip around her waist, gliding across her lower back, my fingers dipping slightly into the back of her dress as her mouth assaults mine. Her fingers stay in my belt loops, her thumbs lightly massaging my ribs as I tighten my hands on her back, pulling her more snugly against me, turning my head to kiss her deeper as our mouths became more urgent and desperate. Every nerve ending in my body tingles. I hear her moan softly as one of her hands slide up my chest and around my neck, her fingers twirling in my hair, and still the kiss goes on.
Finally, I pull back, leaning my forehead against hers as I struggle to catch my breath. Her other hand is still at my waist, fingers sliding along the waistband of my jeans.
I lean back and smile slightly. "Hi Donnatella," I whisper.
"Hi, yourself," she whispers back. I suddenly feel like a teenager at prom.
A movement catches my eye and I turn to see the bartender staring at us.
"Um, Donna, as much as I'd like to continue this, I think we..."
"...need to not give CJ a reason to kill us?" Donna finishes, dropping her hand from my waist and stepping back. She looks up at me, her eyes hooded, her lips slightly swollen. I want nothing in the world so much as I want to kiss her again. "Can we go somewhere and talk?"
"Absolutely." I pull her jacket from the back of her chair and help her into it, dropping a light kiss on the back of her neck as I lift her hair out from under the collar. She smiles at me over her shoulder as she gathers up her purse.
I shrug into my coat and head to the bar to pay our tab. The bartender, shrewd guy that he is, has it ready for me. As I pull cash out of my wallet, I notice we are the last ones left in the bar. "Do you know who I am?" I ask the bartender.
"Don't know, don't care." The guy replies, and as I turn away, I hope that's true. CJ can be scary when she's pissed.
I turn, and find Donna standing behind me, a shy smile on her face. I hold out my hand, and she entwines her fingers in mine as we head out the door.
"Your place or mine?" I ask as a cab halts at the curb.
"Um, yours, I guess. My roommate is probably at my apartment," she trails off towards the end, and when I look down at her, I see her bite her lip, her eyes downcast.
"Hey." I put a finger under her chin, tipping her face up to mine. "I know what you're thinking, and don't think it. I'm not one of your gomers."
She smiles slightly, and I lift our joined hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as I open the cab door.
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