Three years, eleven months, twenty days, fourteen hours, and twelve minutes to go.
But who�s counting?
It didn�t used to be this hard. I managed to go almost five whole years without it being this much of a problem. I don�t know what changed. I don�t know why it�s suddenly become so impossible for me to keep my mind on anything other than this damn ticking clock that has taken up permanent residence in my head.
Well no. That�s a lie. I know exactly what changed.
And I blame Josh completely.
See, I really didn�t expect to go to the Inaugural Balls. I had gotten all ready, the whole time trying to convince myself that I could do this, that I could go in there and face those people and take the crap they would throw at me. But of course I was lying to myself, and I ended up sitting in my apartment, in a ball gown and painful shoes. And then those idiot boys started with the snowballs.
Ok, well, not all of them are idiots. Charlie was drunk, and Will was just tagging along for the ride, and I wouldn�t want to face the wrath of Toby if I called him an idiot, and Danny�s�well, Danny. But Josh. Josh is an idiot.
Normal people call. Normal people ring doorbells. Josh, clearly, is not normal people.
I�m sitting there on my couch, debating whether I should stay there and watch the crap that passes for TV these days, or if I should go change out of that ridiculous dress, put on some comfy pj�s and curl up with Ben and Jerry for the night, and then all of a sudden my window�s rattling under the impact of a barrage of projectiles.
Let me tell you, it�s a little unnerving.
So I haul myself off the couch and head over to the window to fling a few choice vocabulary words at the obnoxious kids from down the street, who are of course the only people immature enough to throw snowballs at windows, and I open it to find four employees of the federal government and one Pulitzer-winning reporter, all with huge grins on their faces, and all winding up to pelt me with another round.
Boys. What more do I need to say?
So there I am, thinking there is no way in hell I�m going down there. Maybe if I ignore them they�ll go away. I try to talk them into quieting down a little, but then I hear Bob Nally across the street start bellowing at them. What could I do? The only way they were gonna shut up was if I went down there. So I did.
That was my first mistake.
See, I was so worried about the neighbors hating me that I kinda forgot most of the essentials. Like a coat, and my purse, and worse�keys. Of course, the keys and purse were the least of my problems at the moment, but the coat�that was another story.
Because Josh is Josh, and as much as I love to use that as an insult to him, there are these rare moments when he stops being the obnoxious version of him that we all see on a daily basis, and he turns into one of the sweetest people I�ve ever met. The funny thing about it is that he doesn�t even really notice that he�s doing it. Like just then, as I came flying down my stairs and out the front door. He took one look at me and before I could even register it, he was at my side, wrapping his coat around my shoulders.
Then he turned back into himself.
I just knew he was going to tear into me about the quote, so I stood there, ready to take it like�well, like a woman. Unfortunately, this was one of those times when I forgot how smart Josh really is. See, this is the problem with working for someone who knows you so well�there�s very little you can hide from them. He started going off on one of his tangents, letting me know just how stupid he thought I was for doing what I did, and normally being at the receiving end of one of his tirades would put me instantly on the defensive, but there was something different about this.
He wasn�t mad at me. He was worried about me.
That shouldn�t have made me so happy, but it did. And there I am, trying desperately to wipe the smirk off my face from that thought, when he suddenly stops dead in his tracks and stares at me like I�ve just sprouted wings and a halo.
�You look amazing.�
Well what the hell do you say to that? I�ll admit that it took a minute or two for the words to even process. And then there was the problem of trying to figure out an appropriate response. Thank you? Too impersonal, too polite. Some witty comeback? Would be nice�but my mind just suddenly melted into mush, and isn�t helping me out in that department at the moment. Fling myself into his arms and kiss him til he can�t breathe?
Hmmm�
No. The guys are here. The guys�that�s right. There are actually people here besides Josh. I guess I should probably acknowledge them. �Hi guys,� I call, tearing my eyes away from Josh�s face. I blather something at them that I hope is coherent, and try to push aside the mental image of what I would be doing right now if they weren�t here.
Josh leans over to me then. �We�re going to a ball,� he tells me.
I like balls.
Heh.
�Balls are fun,� I tell him seriously.
�We�re actually going to eight of them,� he reminds me, in case I�ve forgotten.
�Eight times the fun,� I say, and he offers me his arm as the others start to drift back towards the cab. I stop before we get in to tell him how sorry I am about the whole quote fiasco, which I really probably should have mentioned earlier�but I was a little preoccupied, what with the snowballs, and the lecturing, and the fact that he thought I looked amazing.
And his response? �You�re going to have to sit on someone�s lap.�
Damn those dimples.
It wasn�t a long trip back to the ball, but if you�ve ever been stuffed into a cab with five men and a driver, you know that a trip in that situation seems a lot longer than it normally would. Not that I�m complaining about sitting on Josh�s lap. Trust me, despite all the bickering and the squishing and Will�s bony elbows, I would have loved for that ride to have lasted a lot longer.
I�d never sat on his lap before, and I was a little worried about squishing him. I mean, not that I think I�m fat or anything, but I don�t know if I�d be very comfortable with another person sitting on me, no matter what they weighed. He didn�t seem to mind though. Actually, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. His arms were wrapped around my waist to keep me from sliding around too much, and there was really nowhere convenient for me to keep my left arm, so somehow it ended up curled around his neck. He was warmer than I was, despite the fact that I had commandeered his jacket, and I snuggled close to him to try to steal some of his heat.
We didn�t say much during the ride. It�s not as unusual for us as people seem to think. I guess from what they see of us, they think we�re all about the talking. And I guess most of the time we are. But there have been so many nights that we�ve sat in his office in complete silence, wordlessly working over bottles of beer and cartons of Chinese food, me filling out note cards for him while he catches up on his email. For some reason those seem like the most comfortable times between us, when we don�t need to say anything because everything has already been said, or has been understood without the burden of words.
The others chattered on, oblivious to us. Charlie was engrossed in describing Zoey in vivid detail to Will, while Toby sat scrunched between them, looking like he was in complete agony. Danny would turn around from his seat in the front every so often to interject something, reminding Charlie of some story and sending him off on another tangent.
By the time we got to the ball, we were all a little bruised and rumpled, but I was there, which was more than I had expected at the beginning of the evening. As we all tumbled out of the cab into the cool night air and made our way in to the ball, I felt Josh rest a hand possessively on my back. Toby called after us not to go too far, but Josh was already steering me towards the dance floor with a singular determination.
It wasn�t the first time I had danced with him, of course. There had been other nights, other events. But this night was different. After the whirlwind of getting here, there was a sudden calm to our dancing, a peace to being clasped in Josh�s arms as we twirled around the floor. Neither of us has ever really been an exceptional dancer, but somehow when we do dance together, there�s none of the awkward fumbling and uneasy giggling that seems to happen with other people. We have this rhythm that carries over from our working relationship, from our friendship. It�s the same reason we can bring the banter, the same reason we can have a meeting all through the halls of the west wing without missing a beat. We�re very in tune with each other.
That�s why I could tell there was something different about this night. Normally when we�ll dance at one of these things, we�ll talk. It doesn�t matter what about�usually we�re just carrying right on with the conversation we were having before we started dancing. But this night there are no words. There�s just the heat of his hand on my waist, and the brush of his breath against my neck, and the gentle clasping of our hands.
I felt like I was in the middle of a fairy tale. Snow White and the Five Demented Dwarves, maybe. The thought made me giggle, and Josh pulled back a little to see what I was laughing at. I decided not to tell him the whole truth. �I feel like Cinderella,� I told him instead.
�Would that make me Prince Charming?� he asked, grinning.
I pretended to consider for a moment. �Well, you were instrumental in getting me a coach to the ball�so�I�d say you�re more fairy godmother material.�
He blinked. �Fairy?� The dimples vanished, and he frowned at me severely. �Hey, I went to a lot of trouble to get you that �coach.� I went against the system, you know. I fought the man.�
I giggled. �Oh, you rebel. Should I start calling you Wild Thing?�
You know, if I didn�t know better, I�d say the man blushed. �Yes,� he replied, recovering. �That�s exactly what you should do. For the rest of the night.�
I had a very smart retort ready, but he was saved by Charlie�s untimely appearance. �He�s ready for you,� he told Josh, which seemed to make sense to him at least, because he nodded, stopped dancing, and took my arm, leading me off the dance floor. I turned to him, ready to ask what it was about, but he saved me the trouble. �Toby�s having the President name Will his deputy,� he explained. I tried to protest that it was only supposed to be senior staff, but he laughed at me. �No, trust me, you don�t want to miss this.� He was right, and nobody seemed to think it at all odd that I was there. But then the President announced that it was still a work night, and we all filed out of the room to head back to work.
So we didn�t make it to the other seven balls, but as I hurried back and forth from my desk to Josh�s office and back again, I would pause every so often and remember the feel of his arms around my waist in the cab, or the rhythm of our dancing at the ball, or the intense and utterly unexpected look in his eyes outside my apartment. It made the night go by that much faster.
By the time we got to the point where everything urgent had been taken care of and we could go home for a few hours, it was nearly three. Josh offered to drive me home, and we stopped in Leo�s office on the way out to make sure there was nothing else we should be doing. He waved us out, telling us that the rest could wait til the morning. I considered telling him that it in fact was the morning, but the exhausted look in his eyes made me think better of it.
I think I fell asleep on the way to my apartment. Either that or I just completely spaced out. Because it wasn�t until Josh pulled up at my door that I remembered that I had left my keys inside and Kelly was in Baltimore until late the next night. I decided on the spot that it was all Josh�s fault and decided to yell at him a little. He didn�t seem to mind, and waited patiently until I was done. Then he contritely offered to let me stay with him for the night. I was too tired to argue.
That, by the way, was my second mistake.
I was practically sleeping on my feet by the time we made it up to his apartment. He tried to get me to take the bed, but I assured him that I had become intimately acquainted with his couch during the summer after the shooting, and anyhow I could probably sleep on his kitchen tile right now and not care. He gave up trying to be a gentleman eventually, and went to dig through his closet for the extra set of blankets and pillows. Once they were arranged comfortably on the couch, he retreated into his bedroom, then emerged with a t-shirt and a pair of pj pants for me to sleep in.
He crossed the room to hand the clothes to me, his socks padding across the carpet, and as I reached out to take them, a spark of electricity jumped from his fingers to mine, making me jump. You know how in bad fantasy novels (not that I read them or anything), how there�s always this moment between the firey redhaired heroine and her impossibly muscled lover where the sparks fly? I never thought of it happening in real life. But as that bolt of energy passed between us, we froze, and our eyes locked. I wanted to laugh, to make some witty quip, but my mouth wouldn�t cooperate.
I don�t know who initiated the kiss.
All I know is that one second we�re standing there in this perfectly platonic situation (or as platonic as things get between us anyway), and the next second his arms are wrapped around me, and my hands are tangled up in his hair, and we�re kissing like two people who have waited nearly five years for this moment.
At some point, oxygen became necessary. He let out this adorable little whimper as I pulled back a little to catch my breath, and I couldn�t hold back my smirk. Opening his eyes, he caught the look on my face, and raised his eyebrows. �Are you mocking me?� he demanded, breaking out the dimples. Before I could manage some kind of coherent response, he had swept me up in his arms, moved into the next room, deposited me in a heap on the bed, and started tickling me mercilessly. When I started laughing too hard to breathe, I decided something must be done, so I shut him up the only way I knew how.
I didn�t hear any complaints.
Now I know what you�re thinking, but you�re wrong. Nothing happened. I mean�things happened. But not� There was more kissing. Lots more. And let me say, just once, because I don�t think the Ego That Ate DC could handle more than once, that the man is an amazing kisser. I thought he was a good talker. Now I realize what that tongue of his is really good for.
But we didn�t sleep together. Well, we did�but only in the most literal sense of the term. I woke up the next morning tangled up in a rumpled ball gown, my head nestled on Josh�s chest and his arms folded around me. I lay there without moving for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the steady beating of his heart. Then I felt him kiss the top of my head. �Good morning, Donnatella,� he whispered.
I didn�t want to sit up, but I knew I had to. I also didn�t want to say it, but I knew I had to. �Josh��
�I know,� he said, smiling.
�No, I mean��
�Donna. I know,� he repeated, and for the first time I noticed the hint of sadness in his smile. He tapped his watch. �Four years,� he told me. �Actually, less than four years. Four years from yesterday, noon.�
I blinked. There was no way he had already figured out everything I was going to say to him. Was there? �You mean��
�Look, Donna, I�ll be the first to admit it. I can�t lose you. I�d be a wreck without you, and I don�t just mean professionally. But this�us�it�s not�we can�t. Not now. Not while we�re in office.�
So. He was thinking exactly the same thing I was. I told you we�re in tune with each other. It�s actually kind of creepy sometimes.
I nodded. �Four years?�
�Three years, eleven months, twenty-nine days, four hours, and thirty-five minutes,� he corrected.
It�s going to be the longest four years of my life. It�s been less than a week and a half, and I�m already going utterly nuts. I don�t know if I�m going to make it. Although, if all the days go like this one, I guess we�ll be ok. I don�t think there�s ever been a busier day here when there wasn�t some huge national crisis. I haven�t sat down in nearly six hours. I�ve been running all over the building, and across the street, and in and out of meetings. I never thought I�d be saying it, but I�m almost hoping for more days like this. At least they�ll go by faster that way.
So it�s ten at night, and I�ve finally collapsed into my chair and propped my feet up on my desk. There�s really no one around to care�the bullpen�s practically deserted, and somebody�s already shut off the overhead lights. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, just for a second�
�How long?�
I jerk upright, swing my feet down from the desk, and glare at him. �Did you need something?�
He shakes his head, eyes sparkling. �No,� he replies. �I just came out to let you know you can go home. We�re done.�
�What did you say?� I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
�We�re done,� he repeats, looking a little lost.
�No, before that.�
�Oh.� He grins, retrieving my coat from the rack and holding it up for me to slip into. �I asked how long.�
I blink, then smile a little. Glancing at my watch, I reply, �Three years, eleven months, twenty days, fourteen hours, and twelve minutes.�
He leans in close to my ear and whispers, ��and twenty-four seconds. Don�t think I�m not counting the seconds.�
Then he�s gone, sauntering down the hallway. Alone in the darkened bullpen, I smile to myself.
Three years, eleven months, twenty days, fourteen hours, twelve minutes, and twenty-four seconds.
But who�s counting?
I am.
I�m counting the seconds.