Aftermath
Completed: 9/26/05
Rated: PG ish
Summary: Donna’s day
after the interview. Post ep for “The Ticket”
Author's Notes: This
is for a challenge made by withofnovember to write a
one-time fic based on the amazing, wonderful,
spectacular line “If you think I don’t miss you everyday…” I originally planned
on forgoing a post-ep for this because, although some
of you disagree, I think last night’s scene was absolutely amazing and is why
some of us write fic and others write for television.
However, the challenge got the better of me and so here it is.
She’s not sure how
she manages to walk through the office to leave. Her legs are shaking, she can
barely breathe, can barely see through the tears welling up in her eyes, and
her heart… well, it’s in pieces on the floor of Josh’s office.
As she waits for a
cab to go back to the Vice-President’s office, thank goodness she didn’t quit,
she doesn’t look back, not once, and for that she’s … grateful.
He’s not going to follow her out, she knows that. There was a time he would’ve.
A time he would’ve dropped everything and followed her,
putting an arm around her and looking at her in that way that only he could.
That way that made her believe everything was going to be ok. But she hasn’t
seen that look in so long, too long, and she knows she won’t be seeing it
today. But still, she wonders if he wanted to follow her, even just a little,
and that makes it harder to hold in the tears.
She finds that if she
looks up towards the sky, it’s easier to keep them at bay, and she has to do
that, she absolutely has to, just until she gets into the cab, then she can let
go. She’s furious with herself for the way her voice broke there at the end,
when she thanked him for his time. He knows her too well, so she’s sure he knew
she was barely hanging on, but she’ll be damned if she’ll let anyone on his
precious untrustworthy staff see her break down on P street.
A cab pulls up and
she climbs clumsily inside, lacking the strength in her legs to climb in
gracefully. The first tears begin spilling down her cheeks even before the
door’s closed all the way, and she begins searching her purse for tissues as
she mumbles, “The OEOB.” The driver couldn’t care less that she’s crying, he
simply pulls out of the spot and drives, and she finds that comforting. She’d
hate that a stranger cared when he didn’t.
She wants nothing
more in the world than to go home and climb into bed where she can hug the
teddy bear her mom brought to
She doesn’t think she
has the ability to call Will. Her voice won’t hold out long enough for the
call, so she pulls out her cell and text messages him. “Doctor’s
appt taking longer than expected. Probably won’t be back today.” Once
she hits send, she looks out the window and continues crying silently.
When the cab finally
pulls up in front of her building, she pays the driver with a twenty and
doesn’t wait for her change before climbing out and steadying herself for a few
seconds. When she finds the strength, she climbs the six steps that lead to her
building. Her hands shake as she pulls her keys from her purse, unlocking the
door, and for every second she stands there, she thinks a hundred more tears
fall from her eyes. Finally, she hears a click and pulls the door open, where
the stairs in front of her might as well be a mountain. She takes off running
up them at full speed, the confines of her apartment calling her and telling
her she’ll be safe in there. When she reaches her door, she fumbles with the
lock, finally pushing it open. She turns and closes it, sliding immediately to
the floor, tears turning to sobs, breathing turning to choking, silence turning
to wailing.
The meeting starts
replaying itself over and over in her mind, distorted a little differently each
time. His soft tone turns to screaming, his offer to make calls turns to
laughing, his eyes from gentle to red and angry. She finds that even as she
sits on the floor in her foyer crying about it that she can’t really believe it
happened. That he said no. She didn’t expect it to be easy, but she never in a
million years thought he’d say no. Not him. Not to her.
She tries to get up,
but can’t quite make herself move off the floor, and part of her wonders how
long she’s been sitting there. Her cell phone’s rung at least twice, but she
doesn’t move to answer it or check her voicemail, she just keeps crying. She
wishes she could calm down, concentrate more on what was said and how he said
it, and she hates herself just a little bit for caring if he was or wasn’t
being an ass as he said no. He said no, and that should be enough, but it’s
not.
She doesn’t know how
much time lapses before she passes the point of tears, but eventually they stop
and she becomes almost numb. It’s probably better, but she doesn’t have the
strength to think about it. But finally, she’s able to stand up and walk
unsteady into her bedroom. She feels like she’s going through the motions as she
unzips her skirt and lets it fall to the floor. She steps out of her shoes
while taking off her jacket, which lands close to the skirt, her blouse near
that. She never leaves clothes on the floor, but today she walks away from the
pile to her bathroom without a second thought.
She looks at herself
in the mirror and flinches. Her face moves closer until she’s leaning against
the mirror awkwardly over the sink. The glass feels cool against her skin and
she stays that way for several seconds. The ringing of her home phone brings
her back to reality and she bends over, rinsing her face off with cool water.
It’s the best she’s felt all day, and she pulls the water up with her hands to
her face over and over and over as if she can wash away the humiliation and pain
coursing through her.
When she stands up,
her hair’s wet on the edges. She looks at herself in the mirror again; she
suddenly hates her haircut and pulls it back it into a sloppy ponytail. She turns from the mirror as she unhooks her
bra so she doesn’t have to look at the scar on her chest, and walks back into
her bedroom where she slips off her pantyhose and sits on her bed. There’s a
picture of Josh and her in a frame on her dresser and as she stares at it, she
finds herself thinking of the folder he pulled conveniently from his top desk
drawer. A new tear slips down her cheeks as she decides he must’ve known she’d
be coming. He must’ve been looking for reasons to tell her no so he wouldn’t
have to look her in the eye and say he didn’t want to work with her anymore.
The tank top she wore
to bed last night is shoved under her pillow and after several minutes, she
pulls it on and crawls under her down comforter and closes her eyes. It’s still
daylight, but she’s suddenly exhausted.
She wakes up sometime
after dark. She thought she’d feel better, but she doesn’t. She stares at the
ceiling as the last bit of their conversation plays through her mind again and
she’s not sure if it’s the correct version or one of the distorted versions
she’d been imagining all day but she continues staring at the ceiling as it
plays in her mind over and over. “If you think I don’t miss you every day…”
She’d told herself
the meeting was purely professional, so when he’d said that, she’d looked away,
shocked and frightened and not ready to hear a statement so deep from him. But
personal and professional are interweaved between them, and lying there now,
she wishes he’d finished the thought, because part of her can’t help thinking
it would’ve ended something like “…you’re right,” or “…you’re wrong. I need you out there.”
But then she closes
her eyes and thinks of his voice when he said it, the way he made eye contact
with her as he said the word ‘you,’ the silence afterwards as if he was waiting
for her to tell him she’d missed him too, and she knows it was personal. That
it was the closest he’d ever come, either of them had ever come, to those three
unspoken words. He must’ve been crushed that she looked away.
She rolls to her
side, curls herself up into a ball and cries again. She doesn’t think she has
the strength to go another round of will they/won’t they, and she thinks there
must be someone else out there in this huge world with whom she could be happy.
She knows she’ll always love him, but thinks there must be a way to make room
in her heart for someone else as well. But there’s not; she knows because she’s
tried.
She’s not sure how
long she cries this time, but eventually she breaks out of her reverie and goes
to the restroom to wash her face again before shuffling into the kitchen. She
glances at the microwave. It’s almost nine and she hasn’t eaten since
breakfast, but as she opens the fridge to look for something, her stomach
churns and she closes it heads into the foyer to pick her purse up off the
floor.
She sees that she’s
missed three calls on her cell; one from Will, one from her mom, and one from a
DC number she’s unfamiliar with. She has voicemail, so she walks to her couch
and plops unceremoniously down into the inviting cushions and calls it. The
first is from Will telling her not to bother coming back into the office. She
figured he wouldn’t care. They’ve got nothing to do there anyway, it’s like
they’re biding time till they can all leave. The second is from her mom, “just
calling to check in.”
She hits seven,
erasing the message and the third one starts. Her breath catches in her throat
when she hears Josh’s voice. “Hi… I just wanted… I called your office and they
said you wouldn’t be in the rest of the day and I just … God Donna, I never
meant to…” His voice catches there and there’s a long pause before he finishes
in almost a whisper. “I just wanted to make sure you’re ok.” His voice sounds
broken and her tears start falling again.
She knows she
should’ve known he couldn’t hire her. Wouldn’t hire her, whatever, she doesn’t
have the strength to re-hash it anymore. But she’d heard Will countless times
over the last few months say Josh was going too far to be able to hire him
after they beat
The message clicks
off and she hangs up, still holding the phone in her hand. She gets up and
walks to the desk in the corner looking at her answering machine. There are no
messages, but she’s missed two calls, one from her mom who always tries her home
number first, and one from the same number on her cell phone. She figures it’s
his new office number and saves it on the caller i.d.
She’s exhausted
again, but she doubts she’ll be able to sleep. Still, she locks the doors and
turns off the lights, then pads back into her bedroom and climbs underneath the
covers. She turns on her side and notices she’s still holding her cell phone.
It’s takes a half hour to get up the nerve, and even then she calls his house
knowing very well he’s still at the office. But she has to tell him. She has to
make sure he knows, so when his answering machine beeps she takes a deep breath
and finds a way to leave the message. “I miss you too.”