Hello and Goodbye

Author: xyellowroset

Rating: PG

Summary: Third person overview of the literal ins and outs of Josh and Donna's relationship.

Disclaimer: Sorkin created them; Wells destroyed them. I'm earning nothing from my apocryphal exploits.

Notes: Something that occurred to me, and I wrote it down. It's very introspective, but I hope it doesn't drag too much.

~~~~~~~

Their relationship was marked by entrances and departures.

When she'd shown up the first time, she was delightfully quirky, enjoying the first taste of freedom after having left her boyfriend, her parents, her home state, and set out on her own.

There was something about her – her naivety, her sincerity – that led him, in spite of his better instincts, to give her a chance.

When she'd left the first time, he was actually glad. He was able to revel in the fact that he'd been right about her – whatever "right" meant – and he enjoyed a bout of cynical celebratory drunkenness, wishing all sorts of ills both on her and on the boyfriend to whom she'd returned.

He told himself he wasn't jealous; they deserved each other. He was happy for them both, and he'd never make the mistake again.

When she'd reentered his life a few months later, hobbling around on crutches, he was more than a little surprised. Something about her – a world-weariness that replaced her earlier shining-faced earnestness – told him not to ask too many questions, and made him willing to give her a second chance though he was not one used to giving people second chances.

He told himself it had nothing to do with the fact that a blonde-haired, blue-eyed face had begun to haunt his dreams. It was simply the right thing to do.

She stayed with him – putting up with more bullshit than anyone in her position should rightly have to, and met him thrust for parry, until he had to admit that she could do his job almost as well as he – if not better.

There were times when he was certain he would lose her, and every time she had what appeared to be a serious boyfriend, he would die a little inside. Then, he would do whatever it was he could to sabotage the relationships.

She stayed, and he grew used to seeing her there every day, grew used to having her there, but he could tell, in the way her eyes would cloud over or her lips would purse, that she was growing restless.

So in order to avoid losing her forever, he sent her away – and in so doing nearly lost her forever.

Gaza. He went to her, when she was unable to come to him, and he sat by her bedside, praying, wishing, dreaming, bargaining, not daring to take his eyes from her, lest he lose her again, either to the god-forsaken land of God, or to the charming and well-dressed photojournalist who made his living documenting it.

She ultimately returned, and continued to work for him. Somehow, though, it wasn't her. She'd changed. She was battered, broken, her spirit was shredded. He

And then, one day she was gone. He'd spent nights kicking himself – wishing he'd paid just a little more attention to her, wishing he could go back and do it over again, wishing he'd maybe gone for broke and invited her up to his bedroom, and thus making it a lot harder for her to say "goodbye".

When she'd taken a job in the opposing campaign it had been the ultimate slap in the face. Seeing his tactics, his style, applied with no less skill, and lacking only in the polish that comes from experience he felt a little ill. Somehow he'd always thought they'd share campaigns together – going on the trail every four years until they were both too old and decrepit to keep up the pace anymore.

And then she was gone. She was working for someone else, and thrusting verbal barbs in his candidate's – and thus his - direction. He knew the reason Russell lost had very little to do with her skill or his – and a lot more to do with that Santos was simply the better candidate.

When she returned the third time, it was with fueled more by desperation than by hope. Though she still smiled, it was tinged by something darker – embarrassment, humiliation, fear. She looked tired – pale, wan, and a little bit ill.

He wanted to take her in his arms and promise to make everything better if only she would never leave him again.

Seeing her there – stoic, resolute – he, too, was nearly moved to tears. He'd been steering a rudderless ship for far too long, and here she was offering to be his first mate. But he couldn't take her up on it. Just as he'd had been moved to protect her by hiring her in the first place, he was now protecting himself.

The woman he'd nearly lost in Gaza was back, and he couldn't risk losing her again – so he sent her away. He watched her depart – eying the gentle sway of her hips and the way her skirt cupped her rear – and every fiber of his being wanted to call her back.

Instead, he waited until she was out of sight, and shut the door.

=====//=====

Her face was splotched, and her eyes red-rimmed when she opened the door, and he again found himself wishing there were a way he could take back the afternoon.

"Hi," he offered by way of greeting, and stared at the floor.

She didn't say anything, but stood aside, holding the door open, and tacitly allowing him back into her life.

He stepped over the threshold, but didn't go any further. "Donna," he started.

"I knew it was you." Her voice was husky, and he looked up to meet her eyes. "It's like you," she answered his unspoken question, "be an ass and then do something really sweet to try to make up for it."

Though he knew it was true, he inwardly cringed at her description of him as an ass.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I wish . . . "

"Don't," she took his arm by the wrist, "it was unrealistic of me to think . . . you already took me back once."

"If it were up to me, I'd take you back again." He never took his eyes off hers. "I meant it when I said I missed you, Donna."

She flushed slightly under his scrutiny, and let go of his arm. "Why are you here?"

He shifted his weight awkwardly, and studied his cuticles, unsure of what to do now that he was the one on the spot. Part of him wanted to lash out, to proclaim that he had just as much right to be here as she'd had to show up at the office. Part of him wanted to run, to say, 'nevermind,' and pray that she would be out of his life after that, though he knew that for all the torment, such a life would be less rich. He chose, instead, the truth, "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You're always checking up on me."

"You seem to always need checking up on." He reached up to cup her chin, running a thumb lightly over her cheek, not realizing what he'd done until they both blushed, and just as quickly he pulled his hand away.

"I'm okay, Josh," she said, though to both their ears it sounded unconvincing. "I'm not a fragile thing that falls apart whenever you're not there to protect me."

"I never said you were." He swallowed hard. There was a lump in his throat, and he couldn't figure out where it'd come from.

"Why are you here, Josh?" she repeated the question and took a step closer, determination flashing in her eyes.

"I need you – I can't offer you a job, but I can't have you out of my life." It came out in a rush of breath and only after he got it out, did he dare to look at her.

He saw tears threatening to spill over the edges of her eyes. "Josh, don't . . ."

He looked down, unable to deal with the wellspring of emotion that was bubbling to the surface. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Why are you doing this now?" She asked and took a deep, shaking breath. "Why now?"

"I miss you," he sighed. "I miss you so much." He paused, his eyes darting around her tiny apartment, and finally on her face. "I don't want to have to wake up and think I might never see you again . . . I just . . . can we give it a try?"

"Try what?" she looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and incredulity.

"You. Me." He gestured between them. "Us."

"Us," she repeated slowly, seeming to consider the word and all of its implications.

"Us," he confirmed.

"Yeah," she nodded, "I'm willing to give it a try."

He smiled, quirking the corners of his mouth and then spreading to his eyes. "Good."

That confirmed, the awkwardness seemed to increase, and shifted his weight again cramming his hands into his pockets. "Hi –" he said and chuckled.

"Hi," she answered, smiling genuinely for the first time.

"Hi," he repeated, and brushed a stray hair back from her face.

"Hi," she breathed as his face drew closer to hers.

"Hi –" he echoed, his words being cut off as his mouth met hers.

The End

If you are so inclined, please send feed back!