There’s a seat free next to me. Now, how about that for a coincidence? I don’t know who saved the seat. Was it me? Oh. I think it was me. It’s the champagne. We’ll blame the champagne.
I really saved a seat for Josh? Like we’re a couple or something? Like sitting next to him at a wedding is the most natural thing in the world? Which of course it is. It is, isn’t it? Me and him. Him and me.
Okay, we’ll definitely blame the champagne. Get a g r i p, girl.
Still, it’s very fortunate that there is a free seat next to me. It’s fortunate too that he sees it, that he slides in next to me, just in time to watch the entrance of the bride.
I squeeze his hand. I want him to know, I’m here Josh, I love you, I don’t know what’s going on with this electoral math, I don’t know what it means for you personally on a professional level (do you have another level?), but I’m here. Drink some champagne with me. Let’s forget about the election, just for one night. That’s a song, isn’t it – we could be heroes, forever and ever, we could be heroes, just for one day... Well, that part is kind of a bit about the election. So let’s not use that song.
He squeezes my hand back. He’s registered. Registered that I’m here for him. Registered, let us hope, that I am an attractive woman in need of entertainment.
But no. No, that’s not what this is about. (I mean, maybe it is a little bit. Maybe it was the boredom that drove me to sampling perhaps a little too much of that delicious champagne. Did I mention the champagne?) But I’m not going to make demands on him right now. I’m going to be here for him, because he needs me.
I’m always going to be here for him. He knows that, right? That’s what the hand squeezing really means. I’m here for you now because I’ll always be here for you.
But after this election is over, there had better be some entertainment.
He’s still holding my hand.
He’s not looking at me, though. It’s as if he can’t allow himself to admit to feeling what he’s feeling, he can’t deal with it right now (will he deal with it ever?). But right now he doesn’t have the energy to fight this.
Doesn’t have the energy to fight his need of me.
Too much champagne. Definitely too much champagne.
But I’m damned if I’m letting go of this hand. I’ll never let go, says Rose in Titanic... I’m the king of the world, they say together earlier. That’s how we’ll feel together when we win, right? Him and me at the helm of a ship with hopefully a happier fate than that one... You’re the king of my world, Josh...
He’s looking at me now, though. Looking at me in the same tone that he would use to say “Donna?” when he thought I was about to unspool. I didn’t say any of that out loud, did I? Please tell me I didn’t. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. I mean, a lot later. Like after the election. Maybe. I’m hoping. A girl can always hope. Is it hot in here? Why is the room spinning?
Why are we standing up? Oh, the vows. Josh is holding me up. Josh is holding me up! I should be holding him up. I’m meant to be looking after him. That’s what the hand squeezing was about. The hand holding. That is what it was about, isn’t it? Oh, I’m so confused.
But he’s holding me up and his eyes are locked on me again and above the humming in my ears I can hear “in sickness and in health...” and then he’s whispering in my ear “and even when you’re drunk...”. What? I’m not drunk. What are you implying?
Wait up, though. Are you saying that you want to add that to our wedding vows?
No. I don’t think that’s what he’s saying.
Is that what he’s saying?
He has such beautiful eyes. Usually I’m too distracted by his dimples. But he has beautiful eyes. I want to dive into them. I want to -
We’re sitting down again. We missed our moment. That was our moment right there. Why is CJ looking at me funny? Maybe I should take my head off his shoulder. But it fits so nicely there...
“Donna.” This time he is actually speaking, incredibly softly, and it’s not just in my head. At least I don’t think so. I should mind a lot more that he’s ruining my hair by running his hand through it. I really should. (It took me so long to put it up just right.) I don’t though. Not one bit.
“It’s not like I’m not enjoying this. But...” I love the way his whispering tickles my ear.
“But what?” I’m doing the big wide innocent eyes thing. I do that well.
“People will... talk.”
Serioulsy –that whole Bambi thing. I’m brilliant. “About what?”
“You know... Us,” He can't quite meet my gaze for that one syllable.
“So let ‘em.”
“Yeah.” Is it submission? Is he humoring me? In any case I love the way that he at least tries make eye contact when he says it.
It’s worked. My secwet plan to fight electowal math. He’s not thinking about that now. He’s thinking about me and what people might be thinking about him and me. I can tell, because a smile twitches on his lips from time to time as the service continues.
“If I promise to dance with you,” he whispers, still holding me up, as the wedding party files out, “do you promise to drink a lot of water very quickly?”
“For you, Josh, anything.”
Oh no. I really, really did say that out loud. Oh ground swallow me up. N o w. Please?
He raises an eyebrow. “Anything?”
I squeeze his hand in return. If only he knew.
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Wakeful in Washington...
I’m slowly and blissfully sinking into much-needed, well-deserved sleep, with Josh’s arms around my waist, as became our custom years ago. The nearness of him never gets old, not even now that we’ve been together longer than we were, well, not.
“Daddy.”
Her first word ever. And since then, ever her first word.
“Daddy.”
Maybe her devotion to him is something she picked up from me, in which case there definitely shouldn’t be that slight pinching feeling around my heart when she always calls for him first. But...
She’s louder, more insistent this time. “Daddy. I can’t sleep.”
Josh untangles himself from me, running his hand down my arm to underline his reluctance at leaving me. That doesn’t get old either. Even in half-asleep states such as this one, I know awide grin is creeping across my face. I smile a lot these days. There’s worry, of course, arguments sometimes, there are sleepless nights not always for the right reasons, and there’s more time apart than I would choose, but there is a lot of smiling.
“Hey, Pumpkin.”
He scoops her up in his arms, and she wraps her arms around him, blonde curls not so much framing her bleary-eyed face as messily crowding around it, as if in her toddlerhood she had missed the edges when coloring herself in.
“You tried naming the States like I taught you?” He’s carrying her to her bedroom, putting her back in bed I guess, sliding her hair behind her ear as he loves to do with both of us.
I can imagine her earnest nodding, her wide blue eyes looking up at the only man who matters to her. (Long may that last.) “But I forgot Wisconsin and I had to look it up on that list you made for me.”
She forgot Wisconsin? How can she forget the place she spends every other Christmas and countless other holidays? I bet she didn’t forget Connecticut.
“So then I did it again and I even remembered all the M states and the New States and even Ohio and stuff, ‘cause that’s where Aunt CJ comes from even though I always forget, and Washington that’s a state even though Washington DC isn’t...”
This little girl will go far.
Or maybe not so far from here. The White House is in her blood. Her father would have the head of any boss who had her there till 1 am, no matter how charming. I shudder to think what he would do to one who bought her flowers and sabotaged her dates. He will have to be kept firmly under control. Still, I have a good few years to think of a workable strategy.
“So then I did them all and I still wasn’t asleep.”
“Did you try listing the Presidents?”
“Yeah. But it only works when we do it together.”
His dimples will be telling her that he loves being the centre of her world. So easily sweet-talked by his darling daughter. There’s a reason we called her Abigail – “father’s joy”. When he held her for the first time, he was transfixed. Imagine that – Josh Lyman, speechless. I recognised the tenderness and the wonder I saw in his eyes in a hospital on a much less happy day, years ago, miles away, when he couldn’t say “I love you”. This time he could, and he did, to both of us.
“How did we make something so beautiful?” He still often asks me that. I smile and remind him it was actually me who did most of the work.
“So I guess it’s kind of fair that she looks so much like you,” he’ll usually conclude, but every time I’m sure I detect just the slightest hint of envy in his tone.
“Not that I mind,” he’ll add, and kiss me. So it’s a conversation I really don’t mind having over and over. Another thing that never gets old. Unlike our daughter, sadly.... I want to keep her at seven forever. She’s her mother’s joy too. I hope that will not change with age.
I imagine he’s lying on her bed next to her now, as he often does, transfixed again by her loveliness and her bright mind as though discovering her for the first time, taking her little hand in his, counting off on her fingers, as they go through their routine. “George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson...”
Safely wrapped up in her daddy, Abi’s voice is drifting to the happy place of sweet dreams and turning to a whisper. She does make it to the end, though. “Uncle Jed, Uncle Matt, Uncle Sam, and you.”
Even when she’s only half-awake, she’s a pretty stubborn and determined little girl (guess it’s what you could call a dominant gene) and there is no point arguing with her.
But Josh, probably kneeling now and leaning over to brush the hair from her forehead and kiss her goodnight, does always add, “Someone’s gotta be the guy those guys count on. That’s my role.” This may be his way of letting her down gently, but I think perhaps it’s a little subtle for a seven-year-old. Still, at least she won’t be able to claim in later life he didn’t warn her.
“Good night, Princess.”
“Good night, daddy.”
He walks away, probably backwards – yes, definitely backwards, I hear a muffled “ouch” as he bumped into the wall behind him – so he can steal as much of a glance of her as possible. I wonder, did he ever do that with me?
“Daddy?” Her sleepy voice calls him back.
“You’re my favorite President.”
Out, I assume, come the dimples as his smile, his whole self, expand with pride. This isn't part of the routine. This is straight from the heart.
“Hey.” He climbs back into bed, strokes my leg with his foot, treasuring the closeness that never gets old to him either.
“Hey,” I say, as tenderly as I can because there’s something I want to clear up and I don’t want it to sound like a rebuke when I do. “You’re not going to become President just because your daughter asked you to, are you?” I’m hoping my voice doesn’t betray my increased heart rate. This question has actually been wandering around my subconscious for quite a long time now, and not only my subconscious: Helen and I have a lunch planned. You know, just... in case. I want to be ready. You never know, do you?
“There are worse reasons,” he whispers softly in my ear, then nuzzles into my neck, kissing me gently.
I love it when he does this. He knows it, too. “Josh.”
"Mmmm?"
“You’ll always be my favorite President, too.”
That discussion can wait. Come to think of it, so can sleep.
“Daddy.”
Her first word ever. And since then, ever her first word.
“Daddy.”
Maybe her devotion to him is something she picked up from me, in which case there definitely shouldn’t be that slight pinching feeling around my heart when she always calls for him first. But...
She’s louder, more insistent this time. “Daddy. I can’t sleep.”
Josh untangles himself from me, running his hand down my arm to underline his reluctance at leaving me. That doesn’t get old either. Even in half-asleep states such as this one, I know awide grin is creeping across my face. I smile a lot these days. There’s worry, of course, arguments sometimes, there are sleepless nights not always for the right reasons, and there’s more time apart than I would choose, but there is a lot of smiling.
“Hey, Pumpkin.”
He scoops her up in his arms, and she wraps her arms around him, blonde curls not so much framing her bleary-eyed face as messily crowding around it, as if in her toddlerhood she had missed the edges when coloring herself in.
“You tried naming the States like I taught you?” He’s carrying her to her bedroom, putting her back in bed I guess, sliding her hair behind her ear as he loves to do with both of us.
I can imagine her earnest nodding, her wide blue eyes looking up at the only man who matters to her. (Long may that last.) “But I forgot Wisconsin and I had to look it up on that list you made for me.”
She forgot Wisconsin? How can she forget the place she spends every other Christmas and countless other holidays? I bet she didn’t forget Connecticut.
“So then I did it again and I even remembered all the M states and the New States and even Ohio and stuff, ‘cause that’s where Aunt CJ comes from even though I always forget, and Washington that’s a state even though Washington DC isn’t...”
This little girl will go far.
Or maybe not so far from here. The White House is in her blood. Her father would have the head of any boss who had her there till 1 am, no matter how charming. I shudder to think what he would do to one who bought her flowers and sabotaged her dates. He will have to be kept firmly under control. Still, I have a good few years to think of a workable strategy.
“So then I did them all and I still wasn’t asleep.”
“Did you try listing the Presidents?”
“Yeah. But it only works when we do it together.”
His dimples will be telling her that he loves being the centre of her world. So easily sweet-talked by his darling daughter. There’s a reason we called her Abigail – “father’s joy”. When he held her for the first time, he was transfixed. Imagine that – Josh Lyman, speechless. I recognised the tenderness and the wonder I saw in his eyes in a hospital on a much less happy day, years ago, miles away, when he couldn’t say “I love you”. This time he could, and he did, to both of us.
“How did we make something so beautiful?” He still often asks me that. I smile and remind him it was actually me who did most of the work.
“So I guess it’s kind of fair that she looks so much like you,” he’ll usually conclude, but every time I’m sure I detect just the slightest hint of envy in his tone.
“Not that I mind,” he’ll add, and kiss me. So it’s a conversation I really don’t mind having over and over. Another thing that never gets old. Unlike our daughter, sadly.... I want to keep her at seven forever. She’s her mother’s joy too. I hope that will not change with age.
I imagine he’s lying on her bed next to her now, as he often does, transfixed again by her loveliness and her bright mind as though discovering her for the first time, taking her little hand in his, counting off on her fingers, as they go through their routine. “George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson...”
Safely wrapped up in her daddy, Abi’s voice is drifting to the happy place of sweet dreams and turning to a whisper. She does make it to the end, though. “Uncle Jed, Uncle Matt, Uncle Sam, and you.”
Even when she’s only half-awake, she’s a pretty stubborn and determined little girl (guess it’s what you could call a dominant gene) and there is no point arguing with her.
But Josh, probably kneeling now and leaning over to brush the hair from her forehead and kiss her goodnight, does always add, “Someone’s gotta be the guy those guys count on. That’s my role.” This may be his way of letting her down gently, but I think perhaps it’s a little subtle for a seven-year-old. Still, at least she won’t be able to claim in later life he didn’t warn her.
“Good night, Princess.”
“Good night, daddy.”
He walks away, probably backwards – yes, definitely backwards, I hear a muffled “ouch” as he bumped into the wall behind him – so he can steal as much of a glance of her as possible. I wonder, did he ever do that with me?
“Daddy?” Her sleepy voice calls him back.
“You’re my favorite President.”
Out, I assume, come the dimples as his smile, his whole self, expand with pride. This isn't part of the routine. This is straight from the heart.
“Hey.” He climbs back into bed, strokes my leg with his foot, treasuring the closeness that never gets old to him either.
“Hey,” I say, as tenderly as I can because there’s something I want to clear up and I don’t want it to sound like a rebuke when I do. “You’re not going to become President just because your daughter asked you to, are you?” I’m hoping my voice doesn’t betray my increased heart rate. This question has actually been wandering around my subconscious for quite a long time now, and not only my subconscious: Helen and I have a lunch planned. You know, just... in case. I want to be ready. You never know, do you?
“There are worse reasons,” he whispers softly in my ear, then nuzzles into my neck, kissing me gently.
I love it when he does this. He knows it, too. “Josh.”
"Mmmm?"
“You’ll always be my favorite President, too.”
That discussion can wait. Come to think of it, so can sleep.
Sunday, 29 November 2009
A tale of two Christmases, part 1 (post ep to Holy Night)
Donna, having dropped her bag and coat back at her bullpen, stands in Josh's doorway.
DONNA:So, did you get the roof fixed?
JOSH: (looking up, plesantly suprised) Hey. Aren’t you meant to be at the Inn?
DONNA: The helicopter went without me.
JOSH: No room at the Inn for you then.
DONNA: I guess not. Did you get the roof fixed?
JOSH: Getting there. Wanna give it another hour, and then we’ll head to the Hawk and Dove?
DONNA: Sounds good. (pause) Once you’ve had enough mulled wine will you tell me what you meant?
JOSH: Huh?
DONNA: “It’s not what it looks like.” What did you mean?
JOSH: I just didn’t – it doesn’t matter, Donna. Forget about it.
DONNA: Okay.
A little later (after we've seen shots of them working together on the roof thing, with Norah Jones' "what am I to you?"in the background)
JOSH: Right. Time to go.
DONNA: We’re giving up?
JOSH: Not giving up as such, no. I don’t give up. Just, you know, taking an extended break.
DONNA: Okay.
JOSH: You know, looking on the bright side of you having missed that helicopter...
DONNA: I didn’t.
JOSH: ... you get your present this way. What do you mean, you didn’t?
DONNA: Did you say present?
JOSH: Don’t I always get you a present?
DONNA: Yes.
JOSH (opens his desk drawer, pulls out a small, neatly wrapped box) Happy Christmas, Donnatella.
DONNA: Thank you. (she opens it; it’s a beautiful necklace with a tiny solitaire diamond) Wow.
JOSH: You like it?
DONNA: It’s lovely. It must have –
JOSH: Don’t worry about that. It’s really my pleasure. It’s the only time I get to properly thank you for everything you do. For... holding me together.
DONNA: Thank you, Josh. (She kisses him on the cheek.)
JOSH: You’re not going to put it on?
DONNA: It wouldn’t go with this sweater.
JOSH: I don’t get to see it on you?
DONNA: If you insist.
JOSH: I really do.
DONNA: Hang on... (She takes her sweater off and underneath has a turquoise, v-necked top. She fiddles with the necklace, struggles to do it up.)
JOSH: You want a hand with that?
DONNA: Maybe, yes.
JOSH (stands behind her, doing up her necklace, but taking longer about it than he should. He traces the outline of her neck with his finger. Then whispers into her ear, still from behind) Beautiful.
DONNA (looking down at the necklace) It is.
JOSH: I didn’t mean the necklace.
DONNA (looks deep into his eyes. For a good few moments, they are close enough to kiss.) Thank you.
Josh takes a few steps away from Donna, to look at her with the necklace on.
JOSH: You didn’t miss the helicopter?
DONNA: No.
JOSH: That doesn’t make any sense.
DONNA: I know. (pause) Neither does you keeping me here on purpose.
JOSH: I know that too.
DONNA: Josh –
JOSH: C’mon, get your coat. Let’s go get us some mulled wine and start this holiday in style.
DONNA: (moving towards the door) Okay.
JOSH: Donna? (Donna turns round and looks at him) It looks fantastic on you. And some day someone will buy you the earrings to match.
DONNA: Someone?
JOSH: The right guy. Someone who deserves you.
DONNA: (smiling) I’ll get my coat.
DONNA:So, did you get the roof fixed?
JOSH: (looking up, plesantly suprised) Hey. Aren’t you meant to be at the Inn?
DONNA: The helicopter went without me.
JOSH: No room at the Inn for you then.
DONNA: I guess not. Did you get the roof fixed?
JOSH: Getting there. Wanna give it another hour, and then we’ll head to the Hawk and Dove?
DONNA: Sounds good. (pause) Once you’ve had enough mulled wine will you tell me what you meant?
JOSH: Huh?
DONNA: “It’s not what it looks like.” What did you mean?
JOSH: I just didn’t – it doesn’t matter, Donna. Forget about it.
DONNA: Okay.
A little later (after we've seen shots of them working together on the roof thing, with Norah Jones' "what am I to you?"in the background)
JOSH: Right. Time to go.
DONNA: We’re giving up?
JOSH: Not giving up as such, no. I don’t give up. Just, you know, taking an extended break.
DONNA: Okay.
JOSH: You know, looking on the bright side of you having missed that helicopter...
DONNA: I didn’t.
JOSH: ... you get your present this way. What do you mean, you didn’t?
DONNA: Did you say present?
JOSH: Don’t I always get you a present?
DONNA: Yes.
JOSH (opens his desk drawer, pulls out a small, neatly wrapped box) Happy Christmas, Donnatella.
DONNA: Thank you. (she opens it; it’s a beautiful necklace with a tiny solitaire diamond) Wow.
JOSH: You like it?
DONNA: It’s lovely. It must have –
JOSH: Don’t worry about that. It’s really my pleasure. It’s the only time I get to properly thank you for everything you do. For... holding me together.
DONNA: Thank you, Josh. (She kisses him on the cheek.)
JOSH: You’re not going to put it on?
DONNA: It wouldn’t go with this sweater.
JOSH: I don’t get to see it on you?
DONNA: If you insist.
JOSH: I really do.
DONNA: Hang on... (She takes her sweater off and underneath has a turquoise, v-necked top. She fiddles with the necklace, struggles to do it up.)
JOSH: You want a hand with that?
DONNA: Maybe, yes.
JOSH (stands behind her, doing up her necklace, but taking longer about it than he should. He traces the outline of her neck with his finger. Then whispers into her ear, still from behind) Beautiful.
DONNA (looking down at the necklace) It is.
JOSH: I didn’t mean the necklace.
DONNA (looks deep into his eyes. For a good few moments, they are close enough to kiss.) Thank you.
Josh takes a few steps away from Donna, to look at her with the necklace on.
JOSH: You didn’t miss the helicopter?
DONNA: No.
JOSH: That doesn’t make any sense.
DONNA: I know. (pause) Neither does you keeping me here on purpose.
JOSH: I know that too.
DONNA: Josh –
JOSH: C’mon, get your coat. Let’s go get us some mulled wine and start this holiday in style.
DONNA: (moving towards the door) Okay.
JOSH: Donna? (Donna turns round and looks at him) It looks fantastic on you. And some day someone will buy you the earrings to match.
DONNA: Someone?
JOSH: The right guy. Someone who deserves you.
DONNA: (smiling) I’ll get my coat.
Sunday, 22 November 2009
In the cupboard...
Pure fluff. I'm sorry, it's late Sunday night and I've been thoroughly depressed by the mid series 6 Josh/Donna angst, after it was all so promising right at the beginning of the series. Thank goodness it's my second time through.
Donna drags Josh into a cupboard to tell him something about Senator Rafferty and the water thing I struggled to fully get a grip on. Her excuse is that she needs to tell him something where there are no people.
JOSH: Is our relationship about to change?
DONNA: (turning the light on) Have you seen these briefing papers on this water thing?
JOSH: No smile for my cute line?
DONNA: You know I've always ignored those. Our relationship hasn't changed that much.
JOSH: Just wanted to make you smile, that's all. I ... don't seem to be able to do that anymore. Aha! That was a smile. I saw a smile. I'm happy. So this water thing then?
DONNA: You want to talk about our relationship? Let's talk about our relationship.
JOSH: Who said anything about talking?
He leans in to kiss her, and the nation holds it breath. Well, nations plural, really.
Donna's just too sensible, though, or too confused, or too hurt, or something, so it's the briefest of kisses. Sigh. (if you want AU fan fic you need to look elsewhere!)
DONNA: (pulling away) Josh...What's this about?
JOSH: I miss you, Donna. You should be with me.
DONNA: You said that already. But... you've been acting like you hate me. I don't -
JOSH: I hate you for making it hurt so much.
DONNA: Making what hurt?
JOSH: (takes her hand and presses it against his chest, above his heart) Everything. It's all wrong without you. It's no fun. (he locks her fingers with his)
DONNA: It's not been a lot of fun for me either. There'll be time for fun when this is over.
JOSH: Really?
DONNA: Only if you lose that squeaky voice effect.
JOSH: Sorry. That happens sometimes when I ... get excited. (they both laugh quietly, mindful that being discovered in a cupboard together may not do either of their campaigns any huge favours)
DONNA: Just to clarify... by fun, I obviously mean Scrabble and Monopoly.
JOSH: Obviously. Twister, maybe?
DONNA: Don't push your luck.
JOSH: (dimples out in full force) Okay.
DONNA: We still need to talk, though.
JOSH: Okay.
DONNA: And let's not fight anymore.
They hug. We'd hoped for more, but this will soothe some of the angst, at least.
JOSH: Only if you don't fight my chickens anymore.
DONNA: Deal. (pulling away) Now, about this water thing...
Donna drags Josh into a cupboard to tell him something about Senator Rafferty and the water thing I struggled to fully get a grip on. Her excuse is that she needs to tell him something where there are no people.
JOSH: Is our relationship about to change?
DONNA: (turning the light on) Have you seen these briefing papers on this water thing?
JOSH: No smile for my cute line?
DONNA: You know I've always ignored those. Our relationship hasn't changed that much.
JOSH: Just wanted to make you smile, that's all. I ... don't seem to be able to do that anymore. Aha! That was a smile. I saw a smile. I'm happy. So this water thing then?
DONNA: You want to talk about our relationship? Let's talk about our relationship.
JOSH: Who said anything about talking?
He leans in to kiss her, and the nation holds it breath. Well, nations plural, really.
Donna's just too sensible, though, or too confused, or too hurt, or something, so it's the briefest of kisses. Sigh. (if you want AU fan fic you need to look elsewhere!)
DONNA: (pulling away) Josh...What's this about?
JOSH: I miss you, Donna. You should be with me.
DONNA: You said that already. But... you've been acting like you hate me. I don't -
JOSH: I hate you for making it hurt so much.
DONNA: Making what hurt?
JOSH: (takes her hand and presses it against his chest, above his heart) Everything. It's all wrong without you. It's no fun. (he locks her fingers with his)
DONNA: It's not been a lot of fun for me either. There'll be time for fun when this is over.
JOSH: Really?
DONNA: Only if you lose that squeaky voice effect.
JOSH: Sorry. That happens sometimes when I ... get excited. (they both laugh quietly, mindful that being discovered in a cupboard together may not do either of their campaigns any huge favours)
DONNA: Just to clarify... by fun, I obviously mean Scrabble and Monopoly.
JOSH: Obviously. Twister, maybe?
DONNA: Don't push your luck.
JOSH: (dimples out in full force) Okay.
DONNA: We still need to talk, though.
JOSH: Okay.
DONNA: And let's not fight anymore.
They hug. We'd hoped for more, but this will soothe some of the angst, at least.
JOSH: Only if you don't fight my chickens anymore.
DONNA: Deal. (pulling away) Now, about this water thing...
Saturday, 21 November 2009
Iowa: why he didn't knock
Oh, what you wouldn’t give to be the other side of that door. Holding her.
She looked so tired in that elevator. She looked like she needed a hug. You could do with one yourself. This campaign business... you’d forgotten how much it takes it out of you. And you’re not as young as you were eight years ago.
There she was though, as beautiful as ever, as lovely as ever, but there was this thing, this wall, and you don’t know who put it there, you suspect maybe it was you. Or maybe it was her in reaction to you. Either way it would appear that you are somehow to blame in this.
You want to knock, you want to say you’re sorry, you want to hold her, and hold her, and hold her some more.
You don’t trust yourself to just hold her, though.
You both know why this is so difficult, and if you go in there to kiss and make up, and it doesn’t all go horribly wrong, that’s exactly what will happen. And while that would be amazing... while it would be everything you’ve dreamed of for so long, it’s not the time. It’s not the place. She’s tired and she’s vulnerable and you don’t want to take advantage of her.
And, to be honest, you’re scared. You’ve both been so awkward. Both like bulls in China shops. If one of you says the wrong thing (you, probably), if she rejects you again, if that wall goes back up, that might be it, for good.
In Gaza, you thought she knew. You thought she knew how you felt. And while you can’t bear to think about what happened to put the two of you there, in that situation, the memory of those intimate moments is precious beyond words.
You miss her friendship. You miss her hugs. You miss her smile and the banter and you miss knowing that one day, one day when all this is finally over, you will get to be together. You’ve always known that, really. And now you don't know anymore, and it's killing you.
It’s killing you. This distance, this wall. The absence of her.
And the cold.
Oh, the cold.
You can’t bear to have it confirmed, to have it formalised.
You’ve almost certainly lost her for good, but you don’t want to risk it. Just in case.
It’s killing you but you don’t knock.
For Donna's take see http://donnamoss.blogspot.com/2009/11/iowa.html
She looked so tired in that elevator. She looked like she needed a hug. You could do with one yourself. This campaign business... you’d forgotten how much it takes it out of you. And you’re not as young as you were eight years ago.
There she was though, as beautiful as ever, as lovely as ever, but there was this thing, this wall, and you don’t know who put it there, you suspect maybe it was you. Or maybe it was her in reaction to you. Either way it would appear that you are somehow to blame in this.
You want to knock, you want to say you’re sorry, you want to hold her, and hold her, and hold her some more.
You don’t trust yourself to just hold her, though.
You both know why this is so difficult, and if you go in there to kiss and make up, and it doesn’t all go horribly wrong, that’s exactly what will happen. And while that would be amazing... while it would be everything you’ve dreamed of for so long, it’s not the time. It’s not the place. She’s tired and she’s vulnerable and you don’t want to take advantage of her.
And, to be honest, you’re scared. You’ve both been so awkward. Both like bulls in China shops. If one of you says the wrong thing (you, probably), if she rejects you again, if that wall goes back up, that might be it, for good.
In Gaza, you thought she knew. You thought she knew how you felt. And while you can’t bear to think about what happened to put the two of you there, in that situation, the memory of those intimate moments is precious beyond words.
You miss her friendship. You miss her hugs. You miss her smile and the banter and you miss knowing that one day, one day when all this is finally over, you will get to be together. You’ve always known that, really. And now you don't know anymore, and it's killing you.
It’s killing you. This distance, this wall. The absence of her.
And the cold.
Oh, the cold.
You can’t bear to have it confirmed, to have it formalised.
You’ve almost certainly lost her for good, but you don’t want to risk it. Just in case.
It’s killing you but you don’t knock.
For Donna's take see http://donnamoss.blogspot.com/2009/11/iowa.html
Friday, 23 October 2009
Josh and Amy - post ep to "Han", series 5
(Josh and Amy are watching the concert from just outside the room)
JOSH : So listen, umm, Ryan of all people asked me straight out about our
relationship, and I couldn't have avoided the subject more if I had faked
a stroke.
AMY : Cheeky little brat.
JOSH : That's not the point, even if I'd wanted to answer him I wouldn't have known
what to say. It's like what C.J. said today about the economy; by refusing
to put language to it we're trying to pretend it doesn't exist, but it's
something... even if we don't know what to call it. I just think it's time
to start thinking about a language plan for whatever it is we're doing too.
JOSH : So listen, umm, Ryan of all people asked me straight out about our
relationship, and I couldn't have avoided the subject more if I had faked
a stroke.
AMY : Cheeky little brat.
JOSH : That's not the point, even if I'd wanted to answer him I wouldn't have known
what to say. It's like what C.J. said today about the economy; by refusing
to put language to it we're trying to pretend it doesn't exist, but it's
something... even if we don't know what to call it. I just think it's time
to start thinking about a language plan for whatever it is we're doing too.
AMY: Yeah. (pause) A language plan? Not a secret language plan to fight anything though, right?
JOSH: Are you mocking me?
AMY: (smiles) I wouldn’t dare.
JOSH: Especially in my hour of vulnerability, and all...
AMY: (pause) I like not using language. Not talking is a lot of fun, Josh.
JOSH: (smiles) Yeah.
AMY: And you do it better than most.
JOSH: (mock offended) Most?
AMY: Yes, most. Okay, all.
JOSH: There’s a “but” coming though, isn’t there?
AMY: (looks down, then forces herself to look into his eyes.) I walked past when Donna was doing your bow-tie before.
JOSH: Oh?
AMY: Josh... I’m not the love of your life, am I?
JOSH: I... don’t know what you mean.
AMY: I think you do. And I deserve better than that. We both do.
JOSH: What do you... I’m not in love with Donna.
AMY: It’s just a silly phase you’re going through?
JOSH: Was going through. Before you...
AMY: That’s a lovely sentiment, and I wish I could believe it. (Gives him a long, lingering, sexy look, brushes his shoulder, kisses his cheeky and leaves. He looks longingly at her, then Donna comes into view in the background.
Cue:
I'm not in love, no-no
(It's because...)
Ooh, you'll wait a long time for me
Ooh, you'll wait a long time
Ooh, you'll wait a long time for me
Ooh, you'll wait a long time
I'm not in love, so don't forget it...
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Stranger than fiction... (sometime pre-Amy, pre-Inauguration, and definitely pre-Gaza)
Rosemary, this is just for you, and inspired by our earlier conversation on our Facebook group's wall! (http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=119668758613&ref=ts if anyone cares!)
Apologies to everyone else - I think I may have lost it slightly!!
Josh has no idea about such trivial matters as what the date is, particularly given his severe sleep deprivation. He's been working round the clock for days with Toby on a Very Important Bill.
DONNA: (enters Josh's office, looking serious. Closes the door behind her.) Joshua. The time has come.
JOSH: (looking up from his desk, where he's fallen asleep with his head in a file) Huh?
DONNA: I've been doing a bit of reading and...
JOSH: (groaning) Donna. What have I told you about that? And when could you possible have the time to...
DONNA: (wry smile) Sometimes at weekends there's like an hour in between when I get up and when you call me in for work.
JOSH: (sheepish) Yeah. Sorry about that.
DONNA: You're not, though, are you?
JOSH: Sorry?
DONNA: Yeah.
JOSH: No. (in a sudden moment of lucidity) You're not through, are you?
DONNA: No. I discovered something slightly worrying.
JOSH: About Democratic party policy?
DONNA: No, Josh. About us. (Pauses dramatically.) It turns out that we're not real.
JOSH: We're not?
DONNA: No. We're fictional characters in a TV drama.
JOSH: Don't be ridiculous. Who'd watch a TV drama about the White House?
DONNA: That's the ridiculous part?
JOSH: No. The us being fictional is ridiculous. But seriously, who'd watch that?
DONNA: You'd watch it.
JOSH: You know the sad thing is, I would...
DONNA: Geeks, then.
JOSH: Hey!
DONNA: It's okay. Geeks can be attractive. Also, since I'm in it, lots of hot men with crushes on me. Although since those people usually turn out to be Republicans, I guess there are a lot of broken TVs out there...
JOSH: Okay. That's it. You've unspooled. Go home and get some sleep. That's an order. I've got to go and see Toby about the thing. Do you know where the file...
DONNNA: (interrupting him) What do you think the viewers are thinking?
JOSH: Are we still talking about this?
DONNA: Until you answer me, yes.
JOSH: (sighs) I think the viewers find me strangely attractive. Something about the dimples. I dunno. (Shrugs.) It's beyond me.
DONNA: Maybe it's the power thing. (she moves closer to him, straightens his tie, moves away slightly.)
JOSH: (distracted by her closeness) Mmmm.
DONNA: But that's not what I meant. What do you think they are thinking about, you know, us? (she gently brushes imaginary dust off his shoulders)
JOSH: I am way, way past the point of even caring that I long ago stopped understanding what ...
DONNA: Handsome, powerful, slighlty vulnerable boss; beautiful, lovable assistant; lots of chemistry. Not for nothing, but don't you think the viewers would want us to have kissed by now? That's all I'm saying.
JOSH: (trying to cover up his panic and end the conversation as quickly as possible.) Close the door on your way out. And please, oh please, stick to Newsweek from now on.
DONNA: Okay. (She picks up Newsweek from his desk) This today's? (She points at the date: April 1st)
JOSH: (smiles in blissful relief) You're unbelievable.
DONNA: I know. (She smiles, leaves, closes the door behind her.)
Apologies to everyone else - I think I may have lost it slightly!!
Josh has no idea about such trivial matters as what the date is, particularly given his severe sleep deprivation. He's been working round the clock for days with Toby on a Very Important Bill.
DONNA: (enters Josh's office, looking serious. Closes the door behind her.) Joshua. The time has come.
JOSH: (looking up from his desk, where he's fallen asleep with his head in a file) Huh?
DONNA: I've been doing a bit of reading and...
JOSH: (groaning) Donna. What have I told you about that? And when could you possible have the time to...
DONNA: (wry smile) Sometimes at weekends there's like an hour in between when I get up and when you call me in for work.
JOSH: (sheepish) Yeah. Sorry about that.
DONNA: You're not, though, are you?
JOSH: Sorry?
DONNA: Yeah.
JOSH: No. (in a sudden moment of lucidity) You're not through, are you?
DONNA: No. I discovered something slightly worrying.
JOSH: About Democratic party policy?
DONNA: No, Josh. About us. (Pauses dramatically.) It turns out that we're not real.
JOSH: We're not?
DONNA: No. We're fictional characters in a TV drama.
JOSH: Don't be ridiculous. Who'd watch a TV drama about the White House?
DONNA: That's the ridiculous part?
JOSH: No. The us being fictional is ridiculous. But seriously, who'd watch that?
DONNA: You'd watch it.
JOSH: You know the sad thing is, I would...
DONNA: Geeks, then.
JOSH: Hey!
DONNA: It's okay. Geeks can be attractive. Also, since I'm in it, lots of hot men with crushes on me. Although since those people usually turn out to be Republicans, I guess there are a lot of broken TVs out there...
JOSH: Okay. That's it. You've unspooled. Go home and get some sleep. That's an order. I've got to go and see Toby about the thing. Do you know where the file...
DONNNA: (interrupting him) What do you think the viewers are thinking?
JOSH: Are we still talking about this?
DONNA: Until you answer me, yes.
JOSH: (sighs) I think the viewers find me strangely attractive. Something about the dimples. I dunno. (Shrugs.) It's beyond me.
DONNA: Maybe it's the power thing. (she moves closer to him, straightens his tie, moves away slightly.)
JOSH: (distracted by her closeness) Mmmm.
DONNA: But that's not what I meant. What do you think they are thinking about, you know, us? (she gently brushes imaginary dust off his shoulders)
JOSH: I am way, way past the point of even caring that I long ago stopped understanding what ...
DONNA: Handsome, powerful, slighlty vulnerable boss; beautiful, lovable assistant; lots of chemistry. Not for nothing, but don't you think the viewers would want us to have kissed by now? That's all I'm saying.
JOSH: (trying to cover up his panic and end the conversation as quickly as possible.) Close the door on your way out. And please, oh please, stick to Newsweek from now on.
DONNA: Okay. (She picks up Newsweek from his desk) This today's? (She points at the date: April 1st)
JOSH: (smiles in blissful relief) You're unbelievable.
DONNA: I know. (She smiles, leaves, closes the door behind her.)
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