my little corner of the world

PSA Announcement

Mon, 04 May 2009 23:02:08 GMT

Because I said it elsewhere and several people went, "bwa... huh?" and because yahoo sucks at announcing things (seriously, they can't email all the accompanying emails?), I thought I'd mention it here, c&p'd from geocities itself:

Important Announcement

After careful consideration, Yahoo! has decided to close GeoCities later this year.

You can continue enjoying your GeoCities service until then — we just wanted you to let you know about the closure as soon as possible. We'll share more details this summer. For now, please visit the help center for more information.

And while there is nothing up yet, eventually I hope to be moving all of my fic to wordpress.

Fri, 27 Mar 2009 00:25:32 GMT

This was supposed to be a measly 100 word drabble as part of the timestamp meme. The thing is, nnaylime actually managed to pic one theme I have lots of unwritten fic for floating around in my head. So she gets a whole darned fic. Unbeta'd, sadly, so feel free to concrit.

~~~

"Daddy? Will you extend my curfew til 10 tonight so I can go to the movies?"

Josh barely looked up from the report he was working on. "Who are you going with and what are you going to see?"

"Andrew," Isobel said, barely pausing before rushing to add, "The new Pixar thing."

Josh's head snapped up. "Did you just say… Andrew?"

She nodded. "Senator Walton's son."

"So is this like… a date?"

"He's a senator's son," she misdirected, smiling innocently at him. "And a democrat."

"He's also a boy and this sounds suspiciously like a date."

She made a face at him. "No, not really."

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Two friends going to a movie together."

"One of whom is a girl - my girl – and the other who is a boy," he clarified. "Which sounds suspiciously like a date."

"Well, duh, Dad. That's kind of the definition of a date – a boy and a girl going out together."

He frowned at her. "You're not exactly helping your case there."

Realizing her error, she tried switching tactics. "Mommy said I could go."

"She did?" he asked incredulously.

Isobel nodded. "She said I just needed to get approval from you on the time."

"Yeah, well, she miscalculated with that one," he said.

"Two of my other friends are going, too."

"Which ones?" he asked suspiciously.

"Daddy! Don't you trust me?"

"Sure I do. It's this Andrew boy I don't trust."

"Fine. Britt and Meghan."

"Fine. Be home by nine."

"But Daddy-"

"Nine," he repeated firmly.

"That's so not fair! Meghan's parents let her stay out later!"

"Well maybe Meghan's parents don't know that she's going out on dates."

"You just don't want me to grow up and do stuff normal girls my age do!"

"Damned straight!"

"It's not fair!"

Josh nodded, unrepentant. "Nope."

"Just so you know, Andrew thinks you’re a nut. And his dad doesn't even like you. He just keeps you on as a consultant because he knows you'll get him re-elected," she said as she flounced out of the room.

"Yeah, well I don't like them either!" Josh shouted after her, ending with a muttered, "I just happen to like the Senator's policies."

"What was all that about?" Donna asked glancing down the hall after their daughter and then back at Josh, who had slumped dejectedly over his desk.

Josh sat up straighter at the sound of her voice and scowled at her. "You're letting her go on a date?"

"It's not a date date," Donna said, shrugging and reaching over to the edge of his desk where a barely touched blueberry muffin sat. "It's a group date."

Josh grabbed the muffin away from her. "It's a date!"

"It's not going to be just her and Andrew. Britt and Meghan are going, too, and so is Andrew's friend Mark," Donna told him.

"It's still a date," he repeated.

"Funny," she said, aiming a crooked smile at him. "You keep repeating that like it's suddenly going to not be true."

"I wish it were not true," he grumbled, continuing to glare at her. "How can you let her go on a date?"

"Josh, she's fourteen! She's going to go on a real date eventually. Isn't it better that we let her go on a fake one a few times first to test it out?"

"No! There should be no dates of any kind. No group dates, not test dates, no –"

"Date dates?" Donna asked, smirking.

"Exactly." He slumped back in his chair and picked at the crumpled muffin in his hands. "It was a lot easier when all she needed to make her happy was a rendition of the Itsy Bitsy Spider," he said mournfully.

"I know," Donna synmpathized, coming around to his side of the desk and settling herself in his lap. Grabbing the mutilated muffin from him, she placed it back on the desk and wrapped her arms around his neck. "There are some perks to this, though, you know. If Izzie's out on this fake date, that means we have the house all to ourselves tonight."

He perked up a little. "Yeah?"

She kissed the corner of his mouth. "Yeah."

"There may be a good side to this fake date stuff after all."

~End~

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 00:57:04 GMT

Stolen from nnaylime just because I like it THAT much -

Give me one of my stories and a timestamp sometime in the future after the end of the story, or sometime in the past before the story started, and I'll write you at least a hundred words of what happened then, whether it's five minutes before the story started or ten years in the future.

Go for it! I've been working hard on an ongoing story and think it might be fun to go back and look at old ones. :)

Sat, 24 Jan 2009 02:05:57 GMT

Title: All That Matters
Author: Christine
Fandom/Pair: The West Wing, Josh/Donna
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: everything
Disclaimer: So very much not mine. I believe John Wells last had custody and Aaron Sorkin had it before him.

Notes: I love that Bex and Zinke actually don't mind betaing something as annoyingly hard to beta as my ramble!fics. Thanks, ladies! VERY much appreciated.

~~~

He's kissing you and his lips are warm, his mouth moist, and you wonder how you managed to go so long without tasting his kisses, without feeling his skin against yours, without experiencing this. Then his lips leave yours, and you whimper in protest, until you realize that he's not really going anywhere; his lips are merely exploring more of you, trailing a line of kisses down your neck, making you feel things that are just as delicious and wonderful as when his lips were on yours.

And then he stops, his lips pausing right there at that sensitive spot just above your collarbone and you wonder... how did he know? Then he slides even lower, his mouth blazing a path from your neck to your breasts to your stomach, his tongue dipping into your belly button before continuing on to the apex of your thighs and you forget all about how he knows just where and how to touch you.

His mouth is warm against you and his tongue is doing such delightful things that you cry out, and then you don't, because it's all so overwhelming and you can barely breathe as you comes apart beneath him.

You've barely recovered when you look down to see him grinning up at you, a smug smile on his face and a very knowing look in his eyes.

You ok there, Wild Thing? he quips and you laugh breathlessly, delighted to be exactly where you are, in this huge, private hotel room with only him - no phones or pagers or emails to distract you.

So you smile and reply that you're fine but you could be better, knowing that he'll accept the challenge. You aren’t wrong, and when he lifts a brow and looks at you in such a… well, such a Josh-like way, you start to laugh and you don't stop until he climbs up your body and slides into you, making you gasp. Because even though he's just brought you to a fantastic orgasm with his mouth, now he's making you feel all sort of other things with his body.

Afterwards, as you lay panting beneath him, you wonder… how long has it been since the sex was this good?

Colin, you think hazily, but even then it was merely good, not great, because as wonderful as Colin was, he didn't know you; you were barely acquaintances when you went to bed together. But Josh? Josh *knows* you, knows everything about you, from the fact that you dye your roots to how you like your coffee in the mornings. And after only a handful of times together, he’s already figured out all the places to touch you, to kiss you. He doesn’t need instruction – he just knows. Because you both have made a career out of studying one another and what makes you think making love would be any different than the careful, precise dance you did in the White House all those years?

And what had been breathless laughter moments ago quickly turns into sobs because it all just overwhelms you. It's ridiculous really, because it's incredibly hard to sob with a one hundred and sixty pound man lying on top of you, but you do, because you can't help it and you just keep thinking... how could you have wasted all those years? How could you not have made this happen sooner?

And Josh rolls off of you, and his hand hovers over your stomach, almost touching you but not really. That just makes you sob harder, because what you need now more than ever is to have that connection, to have him touching you. So when his hand withdraws completely, not even hovering anymore, you fumble between your bodies until your fingers brush against his and you clutch his hand in yours as if your life depends on it.

And maybe it does, you think as you look into his eyes, and encounter a look you've seen more times that you want to admit. And you wonder, how did you miss understanding what that look has meant all these years?

Because this look... this look he's giving you isn't a new one. It's one you've seen a million times, in a million different ways and there's always been such love in it but until this very moment you never realized...

So you take his hand, the one that you've been holding so tightly, and you bring it to your lips. Some of the fear leaves his eyes, but not all of it, and certainly not any of the worry, and you want to make them go away but you don't know how. And maybe it's not even in your power to do so.

But then he pulls you into his arms and cradles you against his warm solid body and you think maybe it's ok that you can't take those away from him. Because that's what this is... this fragile relationship you share. It's worrying and caring and - dare you say? - loving each other and you try to tell him this, but he shushes you, tells you it's all right, that you don't need to speak. But you do, so you kiss him, hard, ending his soft murmurs. Then you roll over him until you’re planted firmly atop of his body, your slight frame holding him still as you cup his face in your hands and whisper, I love you.

His body, which was still to begin with, gets even stiller and you wonder for a split second if it isn't too soon or if it’s not soon enough, if it’s far too late for you to tell him this. Until you realize yet again that this is Josh and the only thing this declaration is… is long over due.

Then suddenly, he isn't still at all beneath you and he's rolling you under him and squeezing you in the tightest hug you've ever been in and miraculously, you realize that everything is ok. Then you hear him whisper, Ditto, and that makes you laugh, because was there ever anything more ridiculous than that part of the movie when Patrick Swayze said Ditto instead of I love you, too? And Josh knows you've always thought that, and so he says it, because he knows it will make you laugh and besides, when have you and Josh ever been conventional? Then, just as your giggles begin to subside, he lifts his head and looks at you, just looks, and the look leaves you breathless. And then he says them, the words that you think you may have been waiting a lifetime to hear. I love you, too.

And suddenly, you realize nothing that's happened before matters; all that matters is what's to come. And when the two of you are together, all is right with the world.

~End~

Mon, 15 Dec 2008 04:22:39 GMT

Title: Running Mates (and Other Considerations)
Author: Christine
Fandom/Pairing: The West Wing, Josh/Donna
Spoilers: Series
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way.

Notes: This was a scene that was going to be part of the Coming Back To You alt-universe and then never made it into the fic because it never quite fit right. So I've expanded it a bit, changed it a bit, and left it all on its own here.

Much thanks to Leli and Zinke for looking this over first and pointing out all my inconsistencies amid dealing with the AUishness of it all. :)

~~~

Josh looked out over the pile of folders strewn across the bed and frowned. They'd been at this for hours – first at the office, and now here at home – and they were getting nowhere. They couldn't come up with a single viable candidate for Vice President.

"Treebler?" he suggested in desperation, handing a folder over to Donna. "He's been in congress for the better part of seven years and he's well liked in his state."

Donna took the folder and tossed it onto the 'No' pile without even bothering to open it. "He opposed the gun lobby bill five times and there have been rumors about the nanny."

He raised a brow at her. "That's the twelfth one you've said no to."

"That's the twelfth one you've proposed who would make a significantly less than ideal candidate," she said, arching a brow right back at him in a manner that he generally found endearing. Right now, though, it was more annoying than anything else.

"Fine," he said, pulling another from the pile. "What about Strunk?"

"He's a possibility," she said hesitantly, taking the file and reading his bio.

"But?" he prompted.

She closed the file and looked over at him. "But I'm not sure he'd bring enough to the ticket to give us an edge over Vinick. He certainly wouldn't hurt us but…"

"He doesn't help either." Josh pushed the entire pile away from him in frustration. "Dammit! Treebler, Strunck, George. Isn't there anyone in the Democratic party who could do this job?"

"There has to be," she said, frowning at the pile littered across the comforter.

"Yeah? Who?"

Looking from the scattered files to Josh and back again, Donna nibbled at a cuticle. "I hesitate to mention it, but… what about Rickie Rafferty?"

He stared at her, sure he'd misheard. "What?"

"Rickie Rafferty," she repeated a little more firmly. "Admittedly, I know very little about her personal life, but her record is impeccable and if Toby was willing to back her –"

"Toby was willing to back anyone who wasn't Matt Santos."

"When are you going to stop blaming Toby?" she asked.

If anyone could manage to look imposing while wearing a man's pajama top and not a lick of makeup, it was Donna. And she was doing a remarkably good job of it right now. Still, Josh refused to be cowed.

"When is he going to stop being an egotistical jackass who thinks he knows better just because he's –"

"Josh."

The warning tone of her voice let him know that he'd gone too far. He pushed down his anger and focused on the matter at hand. "Fine. Talk to me about Rickie Rafferty."

"She's got an outstanding voting record. She supports a woman's right to choose, she's been a huge advocate for gun control, she's not afraid to speak her mind -even if it goes against popular thinking - and she also happens to agree with Santos about education and healthcare."

All excellent points, he conceded. And if it weren't for the fact that Toby had suggested her first… It was irrational - and he knew it - but he couldn't seem to let it go.

"She's not visible enough," he complained.

"She's been on national television more than a dozen times and she's a favorite of the pundits."

"She's a woman."

Donna glared at him. "Excuse me?"

He gulped, wondering how far he'd have to backtrack to get Donna to stop glaring at him without backing down so much that it looked like he was agreeing on Rafferty. "You know what I mean. The public isn't ready for a woman in office. They'd never -"

"I understand," she interrupted, causing him to frown. She'd given in far too easily. Josh eyed her warily until she rolled her eyes at him and offered him a wry smile.

"I said that I understood," she continued. "But I don't think the women in this country – who just happen to make up 56% of the voting population," she reminded him pointedly, "would. Women are the majority, Josh. We’ve had voting rights since 1920, we hold important positions in business and industry. It's time that we had a woman in a position of power in the White House."

"And CJ isn't in a position of power?" he snarked.

"Honestly, Josh, how many people actually know the name of the White House's Chief of Staff during any given year?"

He glanced away. "A few."

"A very few," she said.

"Fine. You've made… Toby's point," he sulked. "What else?"

"She's from New York and we need New York."

It was true. They did need New York. In fact, it was currently one of the key battleground states. But was it enough to make Rafferty the one?

"Rafferty…" He repeated the name, thinking it over. She wasn't actually a bad choice. In fact, she was a pretty damned good choice – she had all the qualifications they were looking for and then some. If he could just get over the fact Toby was the one who had picked her first…

"I think she'd do well," Donna said quietly. "I think she'd help make a difference."

It was the softness of her tone and the sincerity in her voice that finally got to him. While the past year had given Donna a political edge she hadn't had before, she still had a way of getting to the heart of things and putting them in perspective for him.

Swallowing his pride, he reached over to grab a post-it and scribbled Rafferty's name on it. "OK, we'll put her on the short list."

She rewarded him with a wide smile.

"There are no guarantees she'll get it," he warned. "If Santos doesn't approve, we may have to go through this process all over again tomorrow."

"I just want us to have the strongest Vice Presidential candidate possible," she told him.

"So do I," he agreed, "But don't get your hopes up about Rafferty."

"I won't," she promised, even as the slight frown forming on her face belied her words.

He sighed. "Yeah, I'd believe that if I didn't know you so well. Seriously, Donna… Stop with the hamster face."

"I'm not –"

"You are. We'll take it to the Congressman and see what he says. Meanwhile…" He eyed her oversized pajama top, which was sliding precariously low on her shoulder, "maybe we should forget about candidates for the rest of the night."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," she agreed, smiling impishly. "Right after you tell me a little bit more about your views on women."

"Right now, my view is very limited," he said, leaning closer to her. "All I can see is a beautiful blonde who –"

"Amazes you with her political prowess?"

"Well, yes…"

"And is stunningly brilliant?"

He eyed her warily. "Yeah."

"And?"

He should have known she wouldn't let the comment about women go so easily. "And who is absolutely right about women candidates and women voters," he said, sighing. "You're never going to forgive me for that comment, are you?"

"Nope. But maybe I'll let it slide for another hour or two," she conceded, popping open first one button and then the next on her top. "if you can wow me with something other than your outstanding oral skills."

"But Donna… I thought you loved my oral skills," he said, smirking.

"I do."

"Excellent," he said grinning and catching her lips in a kiss. "Then let me show you what else I can do."

~End~

Sun, 16 Nov 2008 18:02:45 GMT

Title: Musings of a Middle-aged Spinster
Author: Christine
Fandom/Pairing: West Wing, CJ/Danny, with a smidge of Josh/Donna
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through Requiem
Disclaimer: So very not much mine. I am simply borrowing from both Sorkin and Wells.

Notes: Much thanks to Zinke and Bex for giving me the feedback to make this better (and for helping me make it make sense. ;))

"You know when I came over Wednesday night and it was late and we didn't really talk we just—"
"I have a vague recollection."
"Did that make you feel bad?
"Bad in a— In a what?"
"You know— used."
"For my body?"
"Something like that."
"I'll work through it."
"You sure?"
"It happens. Women want me."
"It's just. I know we have a lot to talk about and I don't want to leapfrog any of it but it was kind of wonderful to just—"
"Not talk."
"Not even a little."
"You want to do it again tonight, don't you."
"I really do."
"I'll leave the door open."

~~~

CJ rolled over in the bed for what must have been the hundredth time and kicked off the blankets, only to pull them back up and then throw them off again in a matter of minutes.

This was ridiculous, she thought, as she gave up and just lay there, staring mindlessly up at the ceiling. She'd been tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, all because she'd insisted on clinging to some misbegotten notion that she shouldn't leave her houseguest alone for the night. So instead of being curled up next to a warm, soft body, she was here, cold and alone in her own bed, missing the sound of Danny's snoring.

What sane woman missed listening to the sound of a man's snoring?

Apparently, she did. And she could be with him right now, too, if she really wanted to be, but, no, not her. Instead, she'd come up with a flimsy excuse so she could continue to keep Danny at arms' length

She'd be the first to admit it – she sucked at this sort of thing. She always had. Whatever had made her think she was qualified to lecture Donna about Josh… But that was all water under the bridge, forgiven and hopefully forgotten, lost within all the events of the past year.

Besides, Josh and Donna were happy - or at least getting there, if the things Donna had hinted at were any indication. Although the looks Josh had been shooting Donna all night seemed to tell a different story. The man could do disgruntled and annoyed better than anyone she knew. And considering some of the heads of state she'd dealt with lately, that was saying a lot.

Still… most of what she'd heard and seen seemed to indicate that they were on the right path.

Which was a lot more than she could say for herself.

Well, ok, that wasn't true. She's wasn't on the wrong path. After all, she wasn't miserable and she wasn't completely alone. She had Danny. That was something. What kind of something, she wasn't sure. It was more than a booty call, less than a relationship. It was… nice. Comforting. Comfortable. And, ok, yes, it was hot - the sex was incredible. But what was it?

She was embarrassed to admit it, but she didn't know. That first night together, she hadn't really given much thought to what their relationship could – or would – be. He'd simply been there and - given that little spark of attraction they'd always had – being with him had just felt right. A kiss here, a kiss there… what harm could it do? And then things had just sort of snowballed from there.

She certainly hadn't planned on sleeping with him. But there had been that moment when she'd just known – if she didn't do something about her attraction to him now, she never would.

She wasn't sorry it had happened – that night or any of the nights since. She just wished she knew what it was that they were doing. She was a woman used to dealing with facts – solid, definitive facts. This… thing… this ritualistic courtship dance they were participating in was something new for her.

New, and just the slightest bit scary.

Oh, who was she kidding? It was a whole lot of scary. She was forty-two years old and hadn't had a serious or long-lasting relationship since grad school. Hadn't even wanted one really.

But somewhere along the way, she'd let her desire to remain footloose and fancy-free affect her ability to even become emotionally attached and now she was starting to feel the results. Forty-two years old, single, and married to her career. There was a cliché in there, one that she didn't really want to explore, one that she was somewhat horrified to realize she'd let herself fall into.

Still… cliché or not, there had to be a way out of the situation. Hell, if Joshua Lyman, political whiz without an ounce of interpersonal skills and an ego the size of Alaska, had managed to finally do something about his feelings for Donna, there had to be hope for her, didn't there?

She hoped so, because any more nights like this, and she wouldn't make it through the next few months of transition.

Tired of looking at the ceiling, and knowing there was no way sleep would ever claim her, she finally gave up and got out of bed. Maybe she was too paranoid to head across town to Danny's tonight, but lying in bed contemplating all the whys and wherefores wasn't getting her anywhere, either, and there was a pile of memos in her briefcase just waiting for her attention.

She'd make a pot of coffee and then settle on the couch with all the information on the current situation overseas. And maybe, just maybe, if she read long enough, she'd manage to quiet all the voices in her head telling her that there was more to life than work.

~End~

Fri, 07 Nov 2008 04:04:35 GMT

Title: Lessons in Social Studies
Author: Christine
Fandom/Pair: The West Wing, J/D
Spoilers: All of series, esp. S7
Rating: G
Disclaimer: They belong to Sorkin, Wells, etc, but certainly not me.

Notes: Much thanks to Bex and Leli for the much needed input.

~~~

"Hey, you're still here," Josh said.

Donna looked up from where she was curled up on his office couch, reading. "Margaret said they were finishing up soon."

He grimaced. "They were. But now there's another thing and – I'm not gonna be able to get out of here for at least another two hours." He grabbed a folder from his desk. "I just came back to get this." He glanced over at the book she was reading. "What's that?"

Marking her place with a finger, she flipped the book closed and showed him the cover.

"My old eighth grade social studies book?" he asked, his lips tilting up in the beginnings of a smile.

She nodded. "It's good at the basics."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking at her. "Aren't you past the basics by this point? Because I've gotta say –"

"Not for me," Donna interrupted with a snort. "For the First Lady."

Josh sighed, looking from the door to Donna then back again. "Donna… This is the first time the President's had to deal with an international crisis and I need to be there –"

Of course. She should have known - Josh wanted to fix this for her.

Even after all this time, he still wanted to fix things for her, never realizing that years ago he had given her all the tools she needed to fix things for herself. He'd taught her all the things she'd needed to know about politics– now it was the time for her to pass that knowledge on to others, without his help, no matter how tempting it was.

Meeting his eyes with a steady gaze, she told him, "I'm not asking you to fix this."

He wasn't very successful in hiding his surprise. "You’re not?"

She offered him a wry smile. "No."

"Because I would, if you needed me to," he offered, sounding almost disappointed.

Shaking her head, she smiled softly at him. "I know – and you're a great teacher - but I can fix this on my own."

"Okay." He started for the door, but stopped before he'd gone more than three steps. "You have to find something she can take on as a pet project," he said as he turned back to face her.

"I know."

"Something she feels passionately about," he continued, warming to the subject. "Something that the public will relate to –"

"I know."

"Something important but still small enough so that she feels –"

"Josh!"

He stopped short, startled by her outbusrt. "What?"

She lowered her voice. "I know."

"Okay." He shot another anxious glance at the door, but instead of heading towards it, he walked over to where she sat and picked up her stockinged feet to sit on the couch next to her.

"You have to push her, Donna," he instructed, as he picked up one foot and started absently massaging it. "She's not used to this place. You're the one who's going to have to guide her, show her what she can do with the power that comes with the title of First Lady."

"I know," Donna repeated, holding up the old text book. "That's why I thought maybe I'd start with this. She's so reluctant to take control of any issues that come her way. I was thinking if I could talk her through the basics, maybe…"

"Maybe?" he prompted.

"Maybe she'd start to feel more comfortable with the idea of picking an issue."

"Are you?" he asked, concern evident in his voice as he slid his hand across her foot and pressed a thumb against her arch.

She frowned at him, confused. "Am I what?"

"Comfortable with her picking an issue?" he asked seriously.

"Yes," she said, her voice steady and certain. She was ready for this, had been since the day she'd had the courage to walk away from her job at the White House to embark on a political journey of her own making. She had Josh to thank for that, too, though she knew he didn't see it quite that way.

He raised a brow at her, looking an endearing mixture of worried and proud. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she repeated. "I want her to be good at this. I want us to be good at this. I want people to remember her the way they remember Eleanor Roosevelt. Or how they'll remember Dr. Bartlet. As a First Lady who was willing to fight for the rights of others on issues that effect everyone - children's welfare, family healthcare, assistance to the poor and indigent…"

Josh nodded, satisfied with her answer. "Then find a way to make it happen."

"I will. It's just… it's going to take some time."

"There's still another forty-six - or god willing, ninety-four - months to go," Josh said, rubbing her instep. "You'll think of something."

There was a brief knock on the door connecting to the outer office and then Margaret poked her head in. "They're ready in the Sit Room for you, Josh," she said.

"I'll be there in a minute," Josh told her. She nodded, acknowledging his answer, and then closed the door behind her as she retreated back to her own office.

Josh glanced back at Donna. "You going to be okay?"

"Yeah." She looked towards the door. "Go. They're waiting for you."

He reluctantly set her foot back down on the couch and got up. "You're sure?"

She nodded and he shot her one last assessing look before leaving the room.

Was she going to be ok? Absolutely. After all, she'd had the best teacher possible and now she was ready to pass on all that she had learned, one small lesson at a time.

~End~

Wed, 29 Oct 2008 16:25:38 GMT

Quick question:

Does anyone even bother with personal fic sites or archives anymore? Or should I just say fuck it and stop updating mine with new or missed fic, thus saving myself time, hassle and whatever else?

Mon, 13 Oct 2008 00:44:29 GMT

Title: Heavenly Focus
Author: Christine
Spoilers: The Benign Prerogative through Warfare of Ghengis Khan (so… mid-S5)
Disclaimer: Still not mine, even after all these years

Notes: I've got at least 3 partial fics based on The Benign Prerogative, all set at other times, but still harkening back to that final exchange. And yet… none of them are done and I still started this. I should win points for that.

Much thanks to Bex, Zinke and Eman. You are a blessing to know, ladies!

~*~*~

...including "Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The Ground" by twenties bluesman Blind Willie Johnson, whose stepmother blinded him at seven by throwing lye in his eyes after his father beat her for being with another man. He died, penniless, of pneumonia after sleeping bundled in wet newspapers in the ruins of his house that burned down, but his music just left the solar system.

~*~*~

It took six rings for her to answer the phone. Six agonizing rings during which Josh paced impatiently next to the small, low-tech telescope on the grass beside him. Six rings during which he wondered if he was making a huge mistake in asking her out here. Six rings during which he practiced his invitation, six rings-

"Donna Moss."

Thank god.

"Come meet me," he ordered without preamble.

"Josh?"

Damn. He knew that tone. It was not a happy tone. It was a 'why the hell are you waking me up at this hour, you damn well better have a good reason' tone. Best to just get this over with and forget trying out any snappy quips. "Yeah."

"It's eleven o'clock at night. What's wrong?"

He looked at the ground and then up at the sky, hoping for inspiration. None came. "Nothing," he finally said.

"Then why on earth are you calling so late?"

"I want to show you something."

"You want to show me something?" she asked, and he knew that if he could see her right now she'd be rolling her eyes and giving him one of those exasperated looks that she was so fond of giving him.

"Kind of."

"You called me at eleven o'clock at night and woke me up from the first real sleep I've had in days to show me something?"

Ok, this was not going well, not at all. But he needed her to come out here and see the things he had seen last night. He needed her to understand. "Yes."

"What, you want me to come over to see your etchings?"

Oh great, now she was bringing the sarcasm. "Funny. You're a regular one woman show. Just come meet me. I'm out on the Mall."

That got her attention. "The Mall?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing –"

"Just come meet me," he entreated, wedging the phone against his ear with his shoulder so he could fiddle with the telescope while he talked.

"Fine," she grumped, and he could hear her shuffling around, finding shoes and a jacket. Good. She was going to need to be bundled. "Where on the Mall?"

"Near… " He stopped fiddling with the telescope and looked at his surroundings. "At the western end. Near the Hirschorn."

"I'll be there in about twenty minutes," she told him. "But this better be good."

He hung up without another word and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Squinting in the dim light coming from the street, he consulted the pamphlet he'd brought with him. According to it, at this time of night and at this time of month, if he pointed the telescope that way and tilted it at this angle, he should -

There! Right there. He looked through the viewfinder and saw it. Mars. Just like it had been the night before.

He stared at it, mesmerized. Maybe not today, or even this decade, but someday… someday there would be a man on Mars. And he was going to help make that happen. But first…

He heard her before he saw her, the sound of her shoes on the frosty grass making a slight crunching noise. He lifted his head from the viewfinder and gave her a small half-smile. "Hey."

"What on earth? Where did you get that?" she asked, mouth wide with shock as she took in the sight of him in jeans and sneakers, standing next to the telescope.

"A little birdie left it on my doorstep."

"A little brunette birdie from NASA?" she asked, her mouth turning down in a disapproving frown.

He shrugged. "Probably."

"Probably? Someone gave you a gift – a very expensive gift that you're going to have to report on the disclosure statements, by the way– and you don't know who it's from?"

"It was left on my doorstep." At her continued look of disapproval, his smile faded. "Seriously, Donna. It didn't come with a gift tag. My doorbell rang, I answered it and this was sitting there. I honestly don't know who left it or why."

"It was Dr. Moreau. And this," she said, pointing to the expensive scope, "is her way of trying to get you to fund her mission to Mars. Or to get you into her bed," she muttered darkly. "Looks like it's working too."

"She didn't… it's not about that. Either of those things," Josh said. He took a step away from the scope and gestured for to Donna to come closer. "Take a look."

She made small face at him, her mouth turning down in a frown. "You want me to look at the stars?"

"Yeah."

"Through this expensive new telescope your girlfriend bought you?"

"She's not -" He blew out a frustrated breath. "That really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"That I find her attractive."

"No!" she said, shaking her head. "No, of course not. Why should it?"

"It shouldn't," he said quietly.

"It doesn't."

"So, forget about where it came from and just look," he said, gesturing towards the instrument.

For a moment it seemed as if she was about to protest, but then she gave in and bent her head towards the viewfinder. It took a moment for her to see what he'd taken such pains to find, but he knew the instant she did. Her entire body went still and there was an audible intake of breath.

"Is that… is that Mars?" she asked in awe.

"Yes. The best view anyone's had of it in 60,000 years."

"Was that something she told you?" she asked, and this time, there wasn't any sarcasm or scorn in her voice, only a mild curiosity.

He nodded. "One of the things."

"Did she also tell you about the polar ice caps? They grow and recede with the seasons, just like ours. Well, not exactly like ours, since a Mars year is roughly twice an Earth year and-" When she realized he wasn't responding or even teasing her for her knowledge about Mars, she stopped and lifted her head to focus on him. "Josh?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "She didn't tell me about the polar ice caps." He paused and sucked in a steadying breath, knowing that what he wanted to say next was likely to upset her, but not knowing any other way around it. "Look, do you remember a couple of weeks ago?"

"I remember a lot of things. I remember that you were all about blowing these people off and then –"

"Before that." God, this was so much harder than he'd thought it would be. "Do you remember the thing? The thing with Donovan... and Mr. and Mrs. Kaehler. The pardons?"

Her face fell. "Josh…"

Fast and quick, like removing a Band-Aid, he plowed on ahead. "You said you wanted to stop being you, you wanted to learn to keep things at arms' length."

"You remember that?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah."

"I didn't mean– "

"You did. And I – " He blew out another breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't ever want you to be… to stop…" He looked from her to the heavens and then started again. "I want to look into this thing with Mars because of you," he said quietly.

"Me and the brainy brunette."

He shook his head. No joking, not this time. "No."

"Josh, you don't have to pretend – "

"That's just it!" he exclaimed, his frustration finally getting the better of him. "I'm trying to tell you… It's not because of anything Alex said!" At her doubting look, he added, "Ok, so maybe a little bit of it is, but mostly, it's because of you."

She looked surprised. "Me?"

"Yeah. You. You see things differently. You remind me of why we do the things we do."

"I don't-"

"You do, Donna. Whether you realize it or not. Donovan Morrissey was a person to you, not just a name on a list. Toby's assistant - Rosa? Rita?"

"Reena."

"Reena. She was more than a means to an end to you. You see people, Donna, and you recognize that what we do every single day is for them and because of them and -"

"Josh..."

Oh no, she was getting that face, the mushy, 'you are so sweet when you're not being so dumb' face. It was his downfall. "Donna, no... don't. Don't get that face - you know I can't handle that face."

"It's my face Josh."

"Yeah, but it's also-"

He was cut off by her stepping forward and embracing him in a brief hug. "Don't ruin a good moment," she whispered into his ear as she let him go.

"Ah-kay."

She gestured towards the scope again. "That's really Mars?"

He nodded. "That's really Mars."

"Can we see anything else?" she asked eagerly.

He shrugged, trying to recall what else Alex had shown him. "Orion Nebula. The moons of Jupiter."

Donna's eyes lit up and she looked back into the viewfinder. "Can you really find the moons of Jupiter?"

"Probably. I mean, I'm just using this star chart I picked up on the way home, but… probably."

She stepped away from the scope again. "Thank you."

He stared at her, confused. "For dragging you out late at night?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "For that thing you said. Before. That was really sweet."

"I meant it, you know."

She smiled and nodded slightly. "I know."

"So do you want to see if we can find the moons?"

"Yeah."

He handed her the star chart. "Ok, you read off the thing at the bottom there while I make the adjustments to this and –" He paused when she didn’t say anything. "Donna?"

"Look," she said, pointing to the sky. "A shooting star. Do you know how rare those are?"

His eyes never left her face. "Yeah, I do," he said softly.

~End~

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 01:25:37 GMT

::squirt squirt::
::rub rub::
::squints at dust-free spot::
::feels space is sufficiently clean to plunk down pen and paper::

Yeah, chances of me remembering to update here with any regularity are... nil. But I've been trying to write this crazy crossover fic and I think I've lost the banter. And it's been a little slow at work. So I thought I'd try to jumpstart my imagination. So... to anyone who still wanders past here on occasion:

Give me a pairing (romantic or not)
Give me a prompt (a line of a song, an object, a place, a situation...)
I'll try to drabble something
(Try being the operative word)

Ready... Set... Go!

West Wing Fic!

Wed, 27 Aug 2008 02:34:46 GMT

Title: Between Fathers
Author: Christine
Characters: J/D, Santos
Spoilers: Set post-S7
Warning: It's fluffy babyfic even though the baby doesn't actually make an appearance.
Disclaimer: Alas, it's been several years and yet they are STILL not mine.
FB and Archive: Yes and yes. But please let me know where.

Notes: Leli deserves credit for the end, and pretty much should be listed as co-author. And Bex, as always, is good at making me think outside my own little box. Thanks to you both.

~@~@~@~@~@~

"Anything else?" Santos asked as he finished his signature with a flourish and then handed the memo to Josh.

Josh took the sheet and tucked it inside his binder. "Just a review of Sam's progress with Glidden, but that can wait until tomorrow."

"Excellent." Santos rose and stretched, easing the tension in his tight muscles. "That's all for today then."

"Thank you, Mr. President." Josh headed toward the door to his office but stopped mid-stride when Santos spoke again.

"Actually, Josh… there is one more thing before you go."

Josh turned and looked at him expectantly. "Sir?"

"How's Donna doing?" he asked.

Josh grinned at him. "Good. Ready to go ten rounds with the doctor for putting her on bed rest, but good."

Santos smiled. "That definitely sounds like Donna."

Josh's grin widened. "Yeah. I keep telling her she's should appreciate the time away from the office, but all she does is scowl at me when I say that. I think she might be plotting an overthrow of the government from our bedroom."

Santos shook his head in mock disgust. "Women. They can’t appreciate how well they have it sometimes." He paused, thinking back to his own wife's pregnancy. "I remember when Helen was pregnant with Miranda. She absolutely refused to sit down and rest. Even at the end of the day, when she was practically asleep on her feet, she would insist on trying to cook me a full meal."

"With soup, salad and a dessert course?" Josh asked.

"Something like that," Santos replied as he came around his desk to take a seat on the sofa.

"Yeah, Donna went through a phase like that. Right up until her cooking sent Ainsley to the hospital with food poisoning."

Santos laughed aloud at that. "So that's what happened to our Chief Counsel last month. I'd wondered about that."

"Among other things, half of which aren't fit to repeat in the Oval office," Josh quipped.

Santos nodded, understanding. "Well, I'm glad everything's mostly all right with Donna. Thanks for the update," he said, expecting that to be the end of the conversation

However, after several long moments, the other man still hadn't said anything else or made a move to leave the office. Santos looked up at him expectantly. "Josh? Was there something else?"

He hesitated. "No… well, yes. Sir, can I ask you something personal?"

"Shoot," he said, gesturing to the sofa across from him. Josh sat down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"How… Do you ever feel… " Josh stopped and looked down at his shoes, then back up at Santos. "I mean… How do you do it?"

"'It'?" Matt asked, amused. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific, Josh. How do I run the country, how do I deal with my wife's cooking – which, incidentally, is none of your business – how do I corral my over-eager Chief of Staff -"

"Hey, I was right about China!"

"Yes, you were. But I'm pretty sure that's not the 'it' you were asking about."

"No." Josh's indignant look faded and he blew out a breath.

"So what 'it' did you want to know about?" Matt asked.

"Kids," Josh finally blurted as he slumped back on the sofa and ran a hand through his hair. "How do you do it? How do you not, you know, mess up?"

Hiding a smile, Santos shook his head. "You don't."

Josh's eyebrows shot up. "You don't?"

"Nope. I mess up all the time. You'll mess up all the time." At Josh's incredulous expression, he added, "It doesn't matter, Josh."

"I have the potential to screw my kid up forever and you're telling me it doesn't matter?"

Santos nodded. "The kid won't remember most of the stuff you do wrong. He-"

"She," Josh interrupted with a slight smile. "We're still working on a name, but the kid is definitely a she."

"Ok," Santos said, grinning broadly. "She. The thing is… she'll just remember the time you brought home that new bike or the weekend you took her fishing."

Josh's eyebrows rose at that and Santos laughed. "Well, maybe not fishing – that doesn't seem like your style - but trust me, the kid won't remember much of the awkward or embarrassing stuff."

"It's the 'much' part that keep tripping me up."

Santos chuckled. "Eventually, the kid'll even get over that."

Josh sighed. "That's what Donna keeps saying."

"Well, she's a smart lady."

"Yeah."

"Definitely smarter than your sorry ass."

"Come on! Two insults in two minutes? I don't get a break for being a nervous new father?"

"Nope." Santos was unrepentant. "Stop worrying. Go home to your wife, Josh. Give her a foot massage and don't fight over the ice cream container. Do something nice for her."

Josh's mouth quirked into a small smile. "Is that an order, Sir?"

"Does it need to be?"

"Not really."

"Then, no. But I reserve the right, should you ever become neglectful in your duties as husband or father," Santos told him, grinning.

Josh grinned back. "Understood."

"Now get outta here!" Santos commanded. "I've got my own wife and kids waiting at home."

"Sir, I should mention you already are home."

"Trying explaining that to the First Lady."

Josh laughed. "Not a chance, sir. Goodnight." He paused a moment and then added, "And thank you."

Santos smiled back. "You're welcome."

He watched his Chief of Staff leave, then walked over to the door connecting him to the Oval's outer office.

"Ronna?"

She popped up from her chair, instantly alert. "Sir?"

"I'm headed back to the residence now, but if you could do one small thing for me…"

"Yes, sir?"

"The next time you get a free moment, if you could do some research on lakes and streams near Camp David, I'd appreciate it."

“Absolutely," she said, nodding. "Is this time-sensitive, because I’d be happy to stay and –“

“No, no. There's no rush. In fact, I probably won't be needing the information for another few years yet, but I like to be prepared."

She tilted her head to the side, confused. "Sir?"

He waved away her confusion. "Never mind. Just… whenever you get a chance on that request. There's no rush at all."

“If you say so, Mr. President."

He cracked a smile. "I say so. And Ronna?"

"Yes?"

"If we could keep this just between the two of us, without mentioning it to Josh?"

She nodded. "Of course. However, if it pertains to the new proposal on safe drinking water, he might be interested–"

"It doesn't," Santos assured her. "It's nothing at all related to environmental legislation. I just need to teach someone the fine art of fishing."

"Fishing?"

"Fishing," he confirmed, smiling as he anticipated Josh's reaction. "The fine art of fishing and relaxing with your kid."

~End~

20 Hours in America

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 01:27:41 GMT

The other day, instead of buying regular marinade at the supermarket, I bought dry rub. The husband promptly whipped out his cell phone, exclaimed, "I LOVE DRY RUB!" and then clicked his phone shut. I died laughing. *g*

So I've kind of had a yen to watch it, you know?

And oh, I forgot how good this episode was! I forgot all the wonderful moments. Not only the dry rub bit, but Admiral Sissypants, the streets of heaven too crowded with angels, the banging of the guard rail with the stick, Josh wanting to win and Toby wanting to beat Ritchie, Sam asking if Debbie was funny, CJ trying to find Anthony a Big Brother and Charlie giving the beat down, Donna being the heart, Josh and Toby talking to the father of the college girl in the bar...

Just... Everything.

I've been watching the S1 and the S2 eps with WW Ren, but you know what? There are so many other gems in here and god, it's pathetic because its just a tv show and I have lots of shows I watch and lots I love (Who, TW, BSG, HIMYM, Psych...) but I'll never stop missing them the most.

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 23:36:36 GMT

Title: Comes Pouring Down
Author: Christine
Pair: Josh/Donna
Spoilers: Throughout series
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Sorkin, Wells, whoever else. Definitely not me.
Feedback: Including concrit, always welcome

Notes: Thanks to Caz for the initial look over, Yana for the proper beta, and Clr for the general cheerleading.

~~~

"Josh, wait! You forgot your flight information!" she calls as she comes flying out of the hotel after him.

Instinctively he reaches out and takes the paper from her, slides it inside his empty jacket pocket, too numb to even bother looking at what it says.

"Thanks," he mumbles.

"Your flight should land in Connecticut just before 2am." She leans forward and brushes her lips against his cheek. "I'm sorry, Josh. So sorry."

He feels a bit of wetness on his cheek and wonders when it started to rain.

*

Her hair is damp and curling slightly despite the umbrella she holds above her head, but she's grinning.

He's wet and dripping, far more soaked than she is, but he doesn't even feel it. He's too excited; so excited that he's shouting to her as he pushes his way through the crowd.

"Donna! Were you there? Did you see? Four more years!"

Before he knows it, he's standing before her, his hands on her cheeks and his lips against hers in an unexpected and jubilant kiss.

Then Sam is there and he's just as jubilant, shouting at both of them, and Josh turns away, claps him on the back.

He doesn't even notice as the smile on Donna's face falls just the slightest bit and she whispers, "Four more years."

*

As they walk alongside the Bartlets' cow pasture, she rattles off some story about a cow. He's not really listening - and he's pretty sure she knows it - but she doesn't seem to mind and keeps on talking.

"So then they erected a monument to Snow Countess –"

He has no clue if she's talking about a cow or a person or what at this point, but he's enjoying the sound of her voice too much to ask for an explanation or to make her stop.

He's pretty sure she knows that too.

Sometime during their walk, their hands meet and he enjoys the feel of her long, warm fingers twined with his so much that he forgets to worry about election strategies.

When thunder rumbles in the distance and the rain starts to fall, they dash into the barn for shelter and he's so enraptured by her that he even forgets that there are snakes inside.

*

The wind is picking up, signaling an oncoming storm as he walks back to where Donna sits on the hard wooden bench.

"Josh."

Her voice is low and apologetic and he's terrified she's going to say she's sorry again. He doesn't know if he can handle that, especially when the people he's most angry with aren't even here in this little park. They're safe in their beds, feeling smug and superior, not at all disturbed about the careers and lives they may be ruining.

"I need to get back to the office," he says, thrusting the diary into her hands and turning without another word.

*

A lone snowman sits beside the podium, listing sideways as it melts.

Josh sits in the front row facing it, considers building an army of snow reporters for his frozen press secretary, decides against it.

This endeavor was never meant to be accomplished by one man, and as Josh listens to the steady drip, drip, drip of the cold water droplets hitting the floor, he realizes that, much like his cold companion, he is all alone.

*

The plane shimmies just the slightest bit and the flight attendant reassures an elderly woman who sits a few rows in front of him.

"It's nothing," the attendant says. "Just a little turbulence caused by a storm that's off to the south. There's nothing to worry about."

He wishes he could be reassured as easily, but there's a woman lying in a hospital bed in Germany and it's all because of him; he won't stop worrying until he knows she'll be okay.

*

The temp leaves promptly at six o'clock – not a minute later – and he fumbles through the rest of the evening on his own. Somewhere close to midnight, when his eyes itch with the need for sleep and his head aches from looking at row upon row of data, he gives up and wearily heads for home.

It's drizzling outside and he thinks that Donna would have warned him about the rain, would have been huddled beneath the portico right beside him, would have handed him an umbrella.

But Donna isn't here anymore, he reminds himself as he steps out into the cold, wet night.

He needs to learn to take care of himself.

*

He watches her walk away from him for the second time that day, looking nervous and, dare he say… hopeful? Then Edie snatches the key from the table, returning it to her, and he sees the hope in her eyes fade.

The twinkle of the patio lights looks like rain falling all around her, the droplets close but never quite touching her skin.

He knows exactly how that feels.

*

She's brought him out to the National Mall on one of the worst days of the month, when the wind and rain send the last of the soft pink cherry blossoms fluttering to the ground.

"You know the time to see these was last month, right? And that it’s raining right now?" he asks.

"Yes, but I don't care," she answers as she continues to drag him down the path with her.

"You're nuts," he proclaims, but he's more amused than annoyed and if it isn't apparent by the tone of his voice, it's certainly apparent by the way he's smiling indulgently at her. "Is this how you're going to be when we start having kids?"

She turns a radiant smile his way. "Yes."

He stops, pauses, repeats the words in his mind, realizes their implication. "Yes as in, yes, that's how you're going to be with the kids, or yes, as in…?"

"Yes."

~*~End~*~

Wed, 16 Apr 2008 14:37:07 GMT

Oh, this should be FUN! *g*

nnaylime's already done a preliminary 'test' of her theory, but this is the big , all comprehensive, no-character-left-behind survey that will prove it once and for all. (Prove what? Well, I'll leave that up to Eman to tell you. ;))

But if you like West Wing and you like BSG, please go participate in her poll.

I need to get my butt in gear and post a fic that bex beta'd ages ago and also fix up another one yana looked at recently. If its more than a week gone by and I still haven't done so, someone poke me, ok?

Thu, 10 Apr 2008 13:28:13 GMT

I've had nothing to do at work lately. So I started cleaning out all my computer files. (Yes, I've been *that* bored!) Amongst all the fics that need to be finished, worked on a bit, or just abandoned completely, I found an ABC picspam that I'd started well over a year ago. (At Em's prompting, when she was trying to get everyone to do it for all their fandoms.)

Part of me is thinking I should wait until May or some other important Josh/Donna date to post it, but you know what? I'm doing it now. It's April. That's an anniversary of sorts, right? *g*

Apologies if any of the pics are dark. I tried to lighten some, but my work computer (Shhhhh! Don't tell my boss!) and my home computer have vastly different opinions on what's too dark and what's not.

A is for April Anniversaries

B is for Beer (Sharing and otherwise)

C is for Christmas

D is for Discussing the Relationship

E is for Evening Wear

F is for Food (Sharing or otherwise)

G is for Going With You Was All Me

H is for Hate Crimes

I is for If We Can't Get it Together…

J is for Just Waking Up

K is for Kissing

L is for Lying

M is for Miss You Every Day

N is for Nothing Without You

O is for Other People

P is for Pajamas ( and physics and psychics and ~~porch~~ stoop sitting)

Q is for Quirky Celebratory Dances

R is for References (or lack thereof)

S is for Silence

T is for Tying of Bowties

U is for Underwear

V is for Vigil

W is for Who Said Anything About Talking?

X is for eXchange of keys gone horribly awry

Y is for You Look Amazing

Z is for (Time) Zone Traveling

* Most caps from either screenmusings.net or leavemethewhite.com . Some came from elsewhere and to those archivers, I thank you.

** Do you know how hard it is to find a cap of Josh or Donna in eveningwear *by themselves*, preferably in the same ep? Plenty of Sam or CJ alone, but usually Josh is standing right next to someone else and Donna is blurry, making a face, turned around, etc. Gah! For all the times they’re dressed up, you'd think it'd be easier. Or maybe I'm just dumb.

Fri, 14 Mar 2008 16:45:25 GMT

Think Jim and Pam are a lot kinkier at home then they even hint at at the office?

Ever wonder what Ben and Juliet get up to on the island?

Or what interesting twists a Hero's power lends in the bedroom?

Or heck, do you just like kinky, taboo smut?

Then dooooooom is for you!

Go sign up now. Kinky smut. Fun. All for you. Doooooo it!

A rare foray into non-West Wing fic...

Sat, 01 Mar 2008 15:11:26 GMT

Title: Sparks
Author: Christine
Fandom and Pair: Heroes, Elle/Peter
Rating: Adult
Written for: larah33
Prompts: snorkel/loofah
Spoilers: Vague, but all of S2
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Archiving: Definitely for the Bubble archive. Others? Just drop me a line and let me know where it's going.

Notes: I tried to figure a way to get the prompts in there. I really did. But writing this pair was challenging enough, so I'm very sorry I didn't manage. :(

Thanks to Caz and Quaggy for the beta.

~~~

Elle sat back against the rim of the tub and pouted at the smugly smiling man sitting across from her.

This had been Peter's plan all along – to get her in water so she couldn't shock him.

On one hand, she was impressed by his ingenuity. Clearly, he'd figured out that for her, at least, half the fun in their relationship lay in being able to zap him whenever she wanted - and even a few times when she didn't - without permanently harming him in any way.

On the other hand, after all the late night trysts they'd been sharing lately, surely he'd have also figured out that she liked the element of unpredictability her power added to their sex life. Sex without a small zap or two was certainly arousing enough, but it was missing that extra something that took their encounters from merely good to absolutely exhilarating.

He must have figured that out by now.

Or maybe not, since she was currently sitting in a tub of water, unable to send even the smallest shockwave his way. Although that wasn't - strictly speaking - true, because she could still do it. In fact, she'd tried earlier, sending a zap so small that it was almost invisible, barely enough to give him the slightest pinch on his leg, but even that tiny spark had been enough to make her wince in pain.

And to make him laugh at her discomfort.

She'd have to teach him a lesson for that. But first, she had to get out of this damned water.

Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward and ran her hand temptingly down his bicep, squeezing the taut muscle. "Don't you think we've spent enough time in here?" she asked seductively. "We could dry off, go into the bedroom…"

He lifted her hand off his arm and put it back in the water. "Uh-uh, princess. We're staying right here for the duration."

Clearly, he had her number. She'd have to come up with something better if she had any hopes of getting out of this tub. Maybe if she used some of her feminine wiles. Pouting at him, she declared, "You're no fun."

"No fun, huh?" Peter stroked his hand along the silky skin of her thigh until he reached the juncture of her legs, his fingers stroking briefly at her sensitized flesh. "This isn't fun?"

Gasping, she widened her legs just the slightest bit, encouraging him to stroke deeper. Even without the use of her power, she felt a zip of electricity as he slid his finger against her again. But not as much as she wanted to feel, as she knew she could feel, if only he'd let her dry off.

"Some. But not as much fun as we could be having," she said finally, raising her hand and mimicking sending another zap in his direction.

He immediately pulled his hand from between her thighs and she frowned. Obviously, that wasn't the way to win his trust. She should have known better, but she was so used to getting her own way that his stubbornness was driving her to stupidity.

She reached out to him in a conciliatory gesture, but he grabbed her hand before she could touch him, kissing her palm before thrusting her hand into the water once more.

"Trust me, sweetheart, that was just a prelude to all the fun we’re going to have," he said, adding, "Without any of your zapping tricks."

She was skeptical. "Oh really?"

"Really." He leaned forward and circled her waist, pulling her towards him. "C'mere."

This was better. Still not exactly what she craved, but at least they were skin to skin now, electric sparks of another sort shooting between them. Smiling, she slid her legs to either side of his, straddling his hips, enjoying the feel of his burgeoning erection against her sex. "You’re going to show me some real fun now?"

"You'd better believe it," he said, cupping her neck and pulling her forward for a deep kiss, his tongue stroking her damp lips, parting them, and invading her mouth. He licked inside her, tasting and teasing, making her moan and touch her own tongue to his.

Finally, breathless and weak from wanting, she pulled back. Reluctantly, he let her go, but not before taking her lower lip between his teeth and tugging gently.

"That was fun," she admitted. "But it could be more fun," she added wickedly, leaning forward again to give into instinct, biting at his lip sharply enough to draw blood.

He yanked his head away. "Ow! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Nothing, she wanted to say, except that he didn’t want to play and she wanted – no, needed – that element of surprise and pain to make this good for her. She didn’t think he'd like that answer, though, so she shrugged instead. "You'll heal."

Swiping the back of his hand against his bloody lip, he glared at her. "That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"I was trying to make love to you, princess," he said, grasping her wrists and holding her away from him. "I was trying to show you that pain doesn't have to be part of the equation in this thing we have going."

She glared at him. He wasn’t cooperating with her the way she wanted. "Only because you won't let it be."

"Damned straight! I've had enough of your debilitating shock waves to last me a lifetime."

She smirked at him. "Then it’s a good thing you have more lifetimes than your average cat."

It was his turn to glare at her. Pushing her back against the other side of the tub, he stood, water sluicing off his muscular body. "That's it. I'm done. This isn't working," he said, stepping out of the water.

She frowned. She'd meant to goad him into agreeing to her form of play, not chase him away. "Peter."

He shook his head, not even looking at her, sitting there in the tub. "No. This is it, Elle. No more. Not with me. Go find someone else who's willing to play your games."

She reached out and grasped his hand. Surely she could play by his rules just this once if it would get him to agree to stay. She looked up at him beseechingly, the glitter of false tears shining in her eyes as she promised, "I won't play the games with you anymore. I won't. Just please don't go."

"I wish I could believe you," he said, looking down at her. "But you've promised things like this too often for me to ever believe you again." He pulled his hand away and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on over his damp legs.

She gasped. Not because he dared to tell her no – if she was honest, that was one of the things she liked most about Peter – but because… he really didn't want her? He was willing to walk away?

She smiled slightly, trying one last time to win him over with charm. "You can't possibly be leaving. Not just because –"

"I really can," he interrupted, shrugging on his shirt and sitting on the closed toilet seat to tug on his shoes. "Goodbye, Elle. It was fun while it lasted."

Then he stepped through the doorway and she was left alone in the steamy bathroom, her initial despair at his departure quickly turning to fury.

Good. She was glad he was gone. If he wasn't willing to play her games, then he didn't deserve her. She was better off without out a man who was so weak.

She didn’t need him. She didn’t need any man. She didn't – ZAP!

She scorched a hole through the loofah hanging on the back of the door, mere inches from where Peter's head had been moments ago.

She didn't need him, she repeated to herself morosely. She didn't.

It would have been more convincing if the pain in her heart hadn't lasted far longer than the sizzle of smoke in the air.

~End~

Wed, 27 Feb 2008 20:36:44 GMT

Stolen from... zinke? maybe?

Sadly, this is me. And yes, I do mean sadly. Say what you like, but I am tired of being the optimist and the 'nice one.' For once I'd like to be the outspoken bitch. I'm not sure I have it in me though. Sigh.

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 21:34:50 GMT

I am bored beyond belief, so I'm stealing from Bex, who stole from Priya:

Ideas: Where the hell do they come from? Can you make those little fuckers show up?
Mostly if I see an episode of something and it just niggles like hell at me. Then I'll feel the need to explain/figure out what it is that seems off. Also? I dream a lot of my ideas. Don't ask.

Wild horse-bunnies: When a story just gets pulled right out of you. Do you get them?
Yes, oddly. See the aforementioned dreams. Of course, there's also the tortuous ideas that take eons to get right on paper too.

Writer's block: Have you been scourged?
Yes.

Clean up duty: Do you like editing?
Oddly, yes, I do. I like editing for others, and I like fixing what is pointed out as inconsistent or incomplete in mine. I'm insane and I know it. *g*

The ending: Is it hard for you to find the ending?
Always. If I am lucky, my beta suggest a way to end things cleanly instead of schlock-ily like I tend to.

The title: Where do you get yours? Do you have yours when you start the story?
HAHAHAHA. I'm even worse at titles than endings. I beg my friends to help me and then usually settle for something trite and boring if they can't come up with something. Although for the handful of Andy fics I have, I've used bits from Bird York songs. *g*

Plot: If you plot out your stories first, raise your hand.
::hand stays firmly against the keyboard::

POV: How do you choose your POV for a scene? For a story?
I just start writing and whatever comes out naturally is the one I use. I also have a tendency to switch occasionally mid-story. In those cases, I either chop the story into semi-chapters so I can use multiple POVs or restructure the parts that use the less dominant POV to match the most dominant one.

Challenge: Do you like them? Do they inspire you?
Sometimes. This years bubblefic one is kicking my ass, though. I think I need to take the nanowrimo approach to it and just write without editing and cobble the 'good' bits together when I am done.

Sex: Do you like writing sex?
Sometimes? Sometimes it comes out sounding awful and I cringe. Sometimes it flows sweetly and I am happy with what I created.

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 17:37:20 GMT

Title: Every Moment of Every Day, Part II
Author: Christine
Character: Josh
Rating: PG
Spoilers: The Ticket
Notes: Emo!Josh just couldn't let Donna have all the glory. *g* Concrit welcome and appreciated.

~~~

Thank you for your time.

You stare after her as she walks out of your office, out of headquarters, out of you life - again - and every single thing you've never said to her is choking you until you feel like you can't breathe.

You put your heart on the line, as much as you've ever been able to around her, and still.. she walked away.

You want to stop her, to tell her everything, but you're paralyzed by fear, the same fear that stops you every time.

Your staff is looking at you curiously, wondering about this woman who was put on your schedule without your approval, who managed to make you speechless, who left your office looking far less confident than she did when she walked in.

And who left you looking so stricken.

You don't give them the satisfaction of an explanation. You simply walk back into your office – alone – and slam the door shut behind you, your mind replaying every missed opportunity.

There are so many things you could have told her, at so many different times.

You could have told her how much her unique interview style impressed you on the day you first met.

You could have told her how much she inspired you, how she was the one that kept you focused and grounded. You could have told her that you always strived to be a better man because of her.

You could have told her thank you.

You could have told her that as mean-spirited and interfering as you were, you really only ever wanted her happiness.

You could have danced with her at Inaugural balls and made her understand that not only did she look amazing, she was amazing, in every possible way, and that you couldn't live without her.

You could have told her that you brought her roses once - red ones - or that you cried at her bedside.

You could have told her that getting on that plane back to the States was the hardest thing you'd ever done... Until the moment she walked out of your bullpen and you realized that working at the White House would be impossible without her.

But you never told her any of those things. You kept them locked inside, safely hidden away.

And now she's walking away from you for the last time and there's not a single thing you can do about it. Because you never told her any of it.

~End~

Tue, 15 Jan 2008 21:31:57 GMT

Title: Every Moment of Every Day
Author: Christine
Character: Donna
Rating: PG
Spoilers: The Ticket
Notes: Emo!Donna took a hold of me and wouldn't let go. Concrit welcome and appreciated.

~~~

It takes every ounce of will power you possess to leave his office with your head held high and your back straight. You feel as if everyone is staring, as if they know – how hard this was for you, how much it hurt, how much you cared… Everything.

Of course, they don't know, not really. You're that girl from Russell's campaign. The chicken fighter. The one who rallied in support of the opposition.

They don't know anything about you - or your history. They don't know about Wisconsin. They don't know about the job you had before you worked for Russell. They don't know that for seven long years you saw yourself as Josh's girl Friday, the one he counted on the most, the one he cared about above all others.

They don't know how much it hurt when the truth of your situation was made clear to you.

They don't know about Gaza or Germany or how it felt when you came home.

They don't know the agony you went through when you finally had the nerve to leave.

They don't know that every night you go to bed missing a man that was never truly yours to miss.

They don't know anything about you.

All they really know is that they were told to put you on the schedule. Probably by Leo. Possibly by someone in the White House. Definitely by someone with more authority and power than them.

You're just a name on a schedule, a face from the news.

They probably don't even know you used to work for him.

And still… even knowing all that, you can't help but imagine their stares as you walk away with tears in your eyes. You can't help but imagine that they can see the hole in your heart, the pain in your soul, the emptiness inside you… Everything.

Including how much you're clinging to those final words –

I miss you every day…

~End~

Fri, 21 Dec 2007 21:33:18 GMT

This is it… I'm off for a week and a half for the holidays. But I thought I'd leave you with this one last gift – yet another J/D fic.

Title: Paradise Lost, Paradise Found
Author: Christine
Pair/Rating: Josh/Donna, PG
Spoilers: Transition
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine.
Feedback: better than the beach at ck_hoch@yahoo.com

Notes: I've been re-watching my S7 DVDs and something kept niggling at me about Donna. It niggled so much that my brain wouldn't let it go until I could explain it.

Thanks to Tori and Yana for the beta (especially Tori, who let me babble on and on and on while I watched S7.)

~~~

The evening was a romantic dream come true. They were eating wonderful food, in a beautiful restaurant, at a fantastic resort.

It should have been perfect.

It wasn't.

For one thing, they weren’t talking much, and it wasn't a comfortable silence surrounding them, but an awkward, self-conscious one.

For another, Josh was picking at his food, and he had that pinched look on his face, the one she'd seen numerous times throughout the trip. The same one he'd been trying to hide from her.

She knew that look. He was worried about something - really worried. Her first guess would have been that he was concerned about the transition, but he'd been checking in with Sam regularly, and while she knew he was itching to get back to work, she also knew that everything in Washington was running smoothly.

So if it wasn't work, it must be her.

She thought back over the last few weeks, since this new relationship between them had begun. There'd been Election Day, then Leo's funeral, followed by that discussion about keys and his trip to California and –

She stopped eating when she realized exactly what his pinched look was about.

He'd said he thought they should talk. Granted, he sounded like he'd been about to throw up the entire contents of his stomach at the time, but he'd said it.

Later, when she'd shown up at his apartment, he'd said it again. He'd said he knew they had to talk but that he was simply too exhausted to get into it then and there.

She hadn't given him the opportunity. She'd simply plowed ahead, first telling him that his timing was inconvenient, then seducing him and giving him an ultimatum without letting him utter a word.

And he'd taken it. Even in the lobby of the West Wing, when she explained that she couldn't work for him, he'd taken it. He hadn't said, "No, Donna, I don't want to have this conversation." He'd simply said that the timing was bad. And there she'd been, issuing her ultimatum again.

Even here, in this paradise, she'd blocked every meager attempt he'd made at having a conversation, preempting him much the way he'd preempted her after Gaza.

He wasn't worried about work. He was worried about them.

And why shouldn't he be? She hadn’t exactly given him the impression that this was important to her, not with the things she'd said.

If we can't get it together in that time to figure out what we want from each other, then clearly, it's not worth the trouble.

Had she really said that?

He wasn't causing the downfall of this fledgling relationship — she was. Everything she'd said and done to this point had simply been her running scared, trying to avoid being devastated if he didn't want the relationship as much as she did.

She dropped her fork with a loud clatter, and Josh's head jerked up at the sound.

"I'm sorry," she blurted.

His brows knitted together. "What?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"For what?"

"For this. For issuing that stupid four-week ultimatum, for… not trusting you."

"I don't…" He looked at her, confusion clear in his expression. "Donna –"

Raising her hand, she silently begged him to be quiet so she could say what she needed to say. "You tried to talk to me," she said. "That morning in Texas and then again, later that same day... And I wasn't ready to listen because there was so much going on – interviews and getting the numbers and Leo and…" She took a deep breath. "You've done everything right and I've just been so scared that I haven’t been listening, and now we're on this wonderful vacation, but I've seen you getting this pinched look every time you think I'm not looking and it isn't because you're worried Sam won't keep the transition offices running smoothly but because you think I'm going to bolt." She stopped, gathering her courage together before finishing. "And I don't blame you."

"I don’t think you're going to bolt," he said.

"Yes, you do! I bolted after Gaza, I bolted in Texas. I bolted that morning in your apartment. I never stick around to let you say what you want to say. If I were you, I'd be terrified that I was going to bolt, too. You did all of this – " She gestured to the restaurant and to the beach beyond "- not because Sam urged you to, but because you thought you'd lose me."

"Well, to be fair, it was because of Sam," he inserted dryly. "He made me take a vacation. But without you to share it with, I would have just stayed home for the week, watching CNN fanatically and twisting myself into knots about staffing and the transition."

"Instead, you're here, tying yourself into knots, wondering how long it will be until I realize that I don't want to be with you." His face got that pinched look again, and she reached out to grasp his hand. "I'm not going to leave you."

"You don't need to –"

"I do," she insisted, squeezing his hand a little tighter. "I'm not going to leave you. Not now, not in four weeks."

"Three weeks, two days," he said, his lips twisting into a grim line.

"Not then either," she assured him. "It was dumb. It was stupid. I was scared."

"Donna…"

She smiled sadly at him. "I want a relationship with you, one that's not dependent on our jobs, one that we're both willing to be committed to. I think you want that too."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Then I take back my ultimatum. Three weeks, four weeks, six months… we'll have the talk. It doesn't matter how long it takes. As long as we both know we're committed to this." He squinted at her, and she wondered how badly she'd botched this, if he even believed her after all the dumb moves she'd made in the last couple of weeks. She dropped her eyes, looking at the tablecloth instead of him. With a small humorless laugh, she added, "Unless I was wrong, in which case, we never have the talk and we part ways after this vacation, knowing we're better friends then lovers."

He squeezed her hand and she darted a glance up at him. He was smiling. "I think we should have the talk. In fact, I'm pretty sure we just had it."

"Josh…"

"No. No more self-recriminations… We've both screwed up and it's time we stopped. Right now." He let go of her hand to signal the waiter and then leaned in across the table. "We'll go back to the room, take advantage of that big whirl pool tub, and start fresh."

She looked at him. "That easy?"

"Hell no. You know the last time I indulged in a bath?"

"Never?"

He smirked. "Well, I'm sure there was a time when I was five or so, but recently? No."

He reached across the table, clasping her hand again. "Seriously, Donna, we’ll work it out."

She searched his eyes, looking for that pinched expression again, waiting for some sign that he couldn't possibly mean what he said. There was nothing there, just a soft, affectionate look she'd seen more times than she could count.

She smiled brightly at him. "Okay."

~The End~

Merriest of Christmases to everyone and a Happy New Year!

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 19:55:07 GMT

It's that time of year... lalalalalala...

Wait, no! Not that time. Well, yes, but its also BUBBLEFICATHON TIME!!!

Go! Go now and sign up! You know you want to!

(And hey, if you love the bubbles? Make things easier on poor em_meredith this year and find some flisters who like more than just Josh/Donna to sign up too! Personally, I'd like to see some BSG or Chuck fics happen. Although J/D is always appreciated. :))

Sun, 16 Dec 2007 03:07:43 GMT

Title: Coffee and a Chat
Author: Christine
Characters: Josh and Donna
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Sorkin's and Well's, not mine.

Notes: Because I watched He Shall, From Time to Time with skywaterblue today and felt the need to write some fluff instead of the emo-y Christmas stuff I've been doing. Mid-ep ficlet.

~~~

"Wait, where are you going?" Donna asked, grabbing her coat and hurrying after Josh as he strode through the bullpen, overcoat flapping behind him.

"Coffee," he answered, slowing his pace just the slightest bit to allow her to catch up with him.

"You have the meeting with Bruno soon," she reminded him.

"I'll be back by then." He stopped and looked at the coat she was carrying. "Are you coming with me?"

"Are you paying?" she asked, shrugging the coat on and winding her scarf around her neck

He chuckled. "Do I have a choice?"

She shrugged her shoulders innocently and pulled on her gloves. "A girl has to watch her budget, Josh."

"So you keep telling me," he said, taking her elbow and ushering her out the door before him.

"It's true."

"Uh-huh." He pushed open the White House gate and gestured for her to precede him. "So what am I buying you today? A nonfat, extra-skinny caramel-flavored latte?"

She shook her head. "No."

"No? Then what?" he asked, smiling over at her. "A peppermint flavored mocha?"

She shook her head again. "A frozen yogurt"

His eyebrows crinkled together. "It's January."

"So?"

"So it's like ten degrees out here!" he exclaimed.

"Thirty-seven," she corrected. "What difference does that make?"

"Who eats frozen things when it's this cold out?"

"I do."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because I do."

"Fine. A frozen yogurt."

She beamed at him. "Thank you."

"Anything else, Snow Queen?" he asked as they reached the take-out place.

"Yes," she replied, pulling open the door. "Explain the thing about the guy again."

"As soon as I get my coffee," he promised.

"Deal."

~End~

Fri, 07 Dec 2007 13:46:13 GMT

Title: Weakness Is No Stranger
Author: Christine
Pair: Josh/Donna
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Holy Night
Disclaimer: Not mine. Aaron's, John's, etc.

Notes: Bex really is one of the best. Even if she critiqued my html tag placements. ;)
(MWAH! You know I love you. Thank you!)

*****

"Hey, it's me. Leo went home a few minutes ago. We didn't quite manage peace in the Middle East, but we tried damned hard and we got a truce of sorts and the start of a roof raising team and… It's really quiet here. And I know you're not picking up for a reason. I know you're having a romantic holiday in a quaint little inn far away from work and Washington and me, but…" He paused, not quite sure what else to say. "I didn't get to give you your gift. And it's sitting here on my desk and I was thinking about you and…"

He almost said it -- that he missed her, that he was mad at her for leaving without saying goodbye, that it was too quiet and it was Christmas and it was their holiday but since she'd left he had no one to celebrate with and he really wished she were here with him instead of there with Jack. But he didn't say any of it. Instead, he took a deep breath and simply added, "Merry Christmas, Donna. I'll see you in a few days."

He hung up before he lost his resolve and blurted out all kinds of things he knew he shouldn't say, knew he couldn't say.

Grabbing his bag from under his desk, he hefted it over his shoulder and headed out the door, stopping in the lobby when he noticed the tree and all the other Christmas decorations.

Donna loved this time of year, loved the glitter and the glamour and the shine, loved the joyful pomp of the Marine bands and the sweet innocence of the children's choirs. She always made sure that he appreciated them, too, even when he was being his most stubborn. Especially then. She never let him forget that Christmas wasn't just about baby Jesus or modern commercialism, but about friends and love and sharing, about being with those you hold most dear and letting them know how much they meant.

She'd made sure he remembered those things this year, too, but he didn't think he'd fully appreciated them until now.

The tree really was beautiful, he noted, as he looked up at the huge evergreen bursting with color. The small lights hidden amongst the branches caught each shiny glass ornament in just the right way to make the entire tree seem as if it were aglow. And if that weren't enough, there were great swags of holly and ribbon draped over every doorway and arch in the room, making it seem as if you were stepping into a magical wonderland each time you crossed the threshold.

Donna always pointed that out, too, in those same exact words. It was both frustrating and heartening that he remembered them now, when she was enjoying a magical wonderland with someone else.

Not that he blamed her, he thought, as he wound his scarf tight around his neck and shuffled out into the still-falling snow. She'd taken care of him for far too many Christmases, had let his needs dictate hers for far too long. It was time that she enjoyed the holidays instead of taking care of him.

Maybe he should call and leave another message, let her know that he hadn't – what? Wanted to make her feel guilty for leaving him alone, for not saying goodbye, for not even sparing a thought for him before hopping on that news helicopter? He had wanted to make her feel that way, to some extent at least. And maybe he hadn't said any of those things in his message earlier, but she knew him. She knew how he thought and how he behaved and she'd know that's what he'd meant. Wasn't it better just to let it go, to let her enjoy the rest of her weekend, without any additional interference from him?

It would be, he knew, but he couldn't seem to help himself as he walked the final few blocks to his apartment. He found himself fishing his phone from his pocket and awkwardly dialing it with a gloved finger.

He never expected her to pick up, never thought for one moment that she'd still have her phone turned on or would bother to answer when she saw his number flash across the screen. But she did, and when he heard her voice, rough with sleep, he nearly dropped his phone in the snow.

"Josh?"

He cursed himself for calling her a second time. He shouldn't have done it. He should have just left things as they were. But he'd wanted – no, needed – to talk to her, to let her know that despite his pathetic message from earlier, he hadn't wanted to interrupt her holiday.

"Donna?!" His voice squeaked and he cleared his throat, trying valiantly to get himself under control before saying anything else.

"Yeah." He heard a masculine voice, then Donna's muffled one, followed by the creak of bedsprings. "It's the middle of the night, Josh. What's wrong?"

"I, uh… listen, I didn't mean to - Hey, tell Jack I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" she asked, and he wasn't sure who was more panicked – Donna, because he was calling so late and surely something had happened or he wouldn't have called, or himself because he hadn't expected her to pick up at all, and now he was faced with what was surely going to be an incredibly uncomfortable conversation.

He swallowed. "For… for calling. I really didn't mean to interrupt. Or intrude. Or… you know what? Forget I even called. It was… nothing. I just…"

"What? What's happened?" she demanded, and her tone made him flinch, because no matter what excuse he conjured for calling her now, he was sure it wouldn't nearly be enough for scaring her into thinking that something was really and truly wrong.

"I just wanted to say… I missed you. And I was thinking about how much you liked Christmas and –"

"That's all? You called to tell me you missed me?" The concern and the worry were gone now, replaced by a hint of annoyance and he cringed as he stopped next to his snow covered stoop and stared up at his dark apartment windows.

"Yeah," he whispered and the silence stretched so long that he was startled when he heard her voice again, tired and weary and full of sadness. "No, Josh. You don't get to be like this. Not now. Not after - you don't get to be like this."

He pulled his gaze from the windows and squinted up at the darkened sky, hoping to see just a glimmer of starlight but seeing none. "Like this?"

She sighed and he regretted, not for the first time this evening or even the first time this month, all the things he hadn't and couldn't tell her. "You're not my husband or my boyfriend, Josh. You're my boss. You can't sabotage –"

His brows shot together and he glared at the empty street. "I'm not!"

"You are."

"How?" he asked stubbornly, and he immediately regretted it. He knew how he was acting, and he knew, too, that she was simply verbalizing what they both understood.

"Josh…"

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, meaning it with his whole heart, and not just in the obvious ways she was sure to interpret, but in so many ways that he couldn't even vocalize. "Tell Jack I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to - I'll talk to you when you get back."

She didn't reply, simply disconnected the call, a sharp reminder of how she had left him in his office, alone and pathetic, wanting a connection he couldn't have.

Shoulders slumped, he made his way up the stairs and into the building, knowing that tonight, at least, his only companion would be the Ghost of Christmas Past.

*End*