Chapter Text
Chapter 1: where’s the fire, what’s the hurry about?
It’s a completely normal day at the White House. At least, as normal as any day can get when you’re the Deputy Deputy Chief of Staff. Her little joke. It probably stopped being funny a long time ago, if she’s honest, but it always gets a smile out of Josh, so she keeps saying it. They rescue a pilot from Iraq (she’s not involved with this at all, and really neither is Josh), Toby’s brother is stuck on a space shuttle, the President is giving a town hall meeting on national television later, and she’s getting Josh’s desk chair fixed. This task is primarily what her day has become about. It doesn’t seem worth mentioning that she’s been asked to put together a few folders on different bills coming up to committee soon – and that that’s not strictly in her job description as senior assistant – because Josh knows that she can get it all done. The chair is not fixed by the time he leaves with the rest of the senior staff and the press, but it arrives not too long after he’s gone. The friend she’s farmed it off to tries to tell her it will cost $20 (an outrageous price) but she knocks him down to $10. It’s still an absurd cost, but Donna figures she had floated him the work in the first place because he was struggling, and the government can afford it. She fills out the invoice and files it appropriately, happy with a day’s hard work.
She wheels the chair behind his desk, and unable to resist, digs a bow out of the recesses of her filing cabinet - something she’s had lying around since last Christmas. Donna crosses her arms across her chest with a sense of victory, and nods proudly as she exits her boss’s office. He’s going to be at the town hall meeting for a couple of hours, and she’s finished her research and compiling for the day. She’s left messages for the different people on the hill she knows will be a problem with some of the upcoming policies and scheduled them for meetings with Josh over the next few days. She even had time to color-code Josh’s schedule for the following day. He won’t understand it, but she’ll be there to explain. The thought strikes her that he might need her when he gets back to the White House, in which case he’ll page, but she feels like going home and relaxing while she can.
Josh Lyman, the Bulldog of the Bartlet administration, keeps odd hours, which means so does she. Donna doesn’t mind – she likes the work, and she likes her boss. She’s even getting close to admitting that she likes the stale taste of the office coffee. But the idea of going home, even for a few hours, and enjoying some time to herself is too nice a plan to pass up. She bundles herself up in her coat, Josh’s scarf - he leaves it behind for her, even if he won’t admit to it- and grabs her bag before heading down the hall. She waves at a few of the assistants staying behind and makes nice conversation with the security guards as she exits the building and hails a cab, heading home.
As soon as she passes the threshold of her apartment, a cat is snuggling up around her ankles and meowing, begging for attention. She rolls her eyes but acquiesces and scratches the cat’s back and ears, meowing back gently. She’s so glad Josh isn’t here to witness this. He would tease her mercilessly about meowing. Every time he comes over, he acts like her roommate’s cats are the most intolerable thing in the world and ignores them. He’s just not an animal person. She doesn’t mind them. Donna throws her hair back in a ponytail, deciding to treat herself to takeout and a movie. Maybe even a bath. She uses the landline to call her favorite Thai place and has thirty minutes to kill before food arrives. Deciding a bath does sound nice, she maneuvers herself through the living room and around another cat, reaching her closed bedroom door. Being able to afford her own apartment is a nice fantasy, but for now she can deal with three cats and a roommate.
She shares a bathroom with her roommate, who is out tonight, Donna knows. She’s got a new beau and has been spending a lot of time out of the apartment. Donna feels bad for the cats. Picking a pair of old sweats and Josh’s oversized Harvard sweatshirt out of her dresser, she crosses back into the hall and further to the bathroom, tossing her clean clothes on the countertop. She turns the water on, adjusting until the temperature is just right and lets the tub fill while she goes to grab herself a glass of wine. She might as well get as much relaxing done tonight as possible, she reasons, because Josh isn’t going to give her a night off for the next 2-6 years. Even that’s a kind estimate because there’s every chance, he finds another candidate to run and gets himself right back in the White House for another four-year stretch. God…is she really thinking about staying an assistant for the foreseeable future?
She swirls the wine in her glass, takes a sip and lets the heady taste of the red hit her tongue and coat her mouth. The tub appropriately full, she peels off her sweaty clothes and sinks down into the warm water, letting it lap around her and then still, lets the heat soak the tension away. She loses track of time in the bath, sipping on wine with her eyes closed, imagining a different life. Not too different, though. Instead of long, sleepless nights, coming home exhausted from work to get three hours of sleep and starting all over again, she imagines coming home on time. To a different apartment across the city from hers. She starts dinner, because he’s still at work. She has to call him to remind him when to leave if he wants a hot meal. He’s still late. She forgives him. They fall into a comfortable routine of conversation, washing up dinner, and getting ready for bed. They watch a movie, or CNN. Probably CNN. They fall asleep on the couch and groggily make their way to bed, where their limbs will tangle, and they sleep soundly knowing the other is right there. It’s a nice dream. It’s taking a turn for the steamier, and Donna’s lips curl up in a smile as her imagination starts to play out behind her closed eyes. Limbs tangling in other delectable ways, and she’s deciding on what tonight’s fantasy will be when -
The buzzing of the door breaks her from her daydream, and she jerks, sloshing water over the side of the tub. She chugs back the rest of the wine and hurries out of the tub, throwing her robe around her still wet frame. Donna hurries to unlock the building and let the delivery driver up before she remembers she’s wet, and naked and in a thin terrycloth robe. Panicking, she casts her gaze around and grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and throws it around her shoulders. Great, now the blanket is wet, she thinks miserably. At least she’s about to have Thai food, and she can pour herself another glass of wine. Maybe later she can even finish what she’d started in the bath, if she doesn’t get called back into work. Donna grabs her wallet, pays the delivery driver as soon as he arrives at her door, and quickly closes the door after she has her food in hand.
With a large sigh, she throws the blanket in the direction of the laundry and sets the food down on her kitchen counter. She returns to the bathroom to properly dry herself off and puts on her comfortable pajamas, inhaling a little bit when the sweatshirt settles over her frame. It stopped smelling like Josh a long time ago, but that doesn’t stop her from sniffing it every time she puts it on. Returning to the kitchen for dinner, she grabs silverware and makes her way to the couch to settle in for the night. She wants a break from politics, so she flips through a few channels before settling on a station playing Casablanca. It’s only a few minutes in, so she hasn’t missed much; Donna tucks her legs underneath her on the couch and stretches out, settling in for her well-earned dinner and a movie.
She nods off at some point and when she wakes up with a jerk, she’s thankful to see that she had the presence of mind to put the takeout container on the coffee table before falling asleep. Her pager is going off, and Humphrey Bogart is confronting Ingrid Bergman, urging her on with her life. She rubs an eye with the heel of her hand as she walks to where she tossed her bag earlier, the TV in the background playing on.
“You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it.”
Donna squints at the number on her screen; she isn’t immediately recognizing it but a moment later realizes its Cathy’s number. Her personal number. Donna looks up at the clock on her wall – it’s only 9:54 p.m. The President and Josh should be back at the White House by now, maybe not quite yet, if President Bartlet decided to work the rope line after all. He usually does, and Donna doubts a girls softball game is going to get in the way of that. Why is Cathy paging her? She grabs her phone to call, tapping her foot impatiently while the line rings.
“Donna?” Cathy sounds breathless, frantic.
“Cathy? What’s going on?” Donna’s calm is harsh against the jagged sounds she hears Cathy making from the other end of the line.
“Turn on the news!”
“Which one?” Donna asks, hurrying towards her TV. Cathy’s tone is causing her heart rate to pick up, the nerves beginning to fray. Something serious must be going on, shattering the quiet evening she was just enjoying.
“Donna! Any news, just hurry!” she sounds panicky, on the verge of tears.
Donna listens. She turns off the movie and flips to the local news. There’s a special bulletin and Donna’s blood turns to ice in her veins, her head straightens, and she nearly drops the phone…she can still hear Cathy yelling through it, from where it’s now pressed against her chest, but she doesn’t process any of the words.
“Again, we have no news other than the President was in Rosslyn this evening for a speaking engagement. As he was leaving the event, just minutes ago, shots were fired into the crowd, and the President was rushed from the scene. We’re unclear just who the shooters were and…” the anchor pauses and touches his ear, someone in the earpiece he’s wearing probably speaking to him. Donna waits with bated breath, not daring to tempt fate. “We’re hearing the President is being rushed to George Washington hospital, we cannot confirm or deny if he’s been shot or what condition he might be in, but I repeat, the President of the United States is being rushed to George Washington hospital by the Secret Service.”
The anchor continues in the background, but Donna is already a whirlwind of action. She shucks off her clothes and races to her bedroom, pulls on the first pair of jeans and a shirt that she can see. Her bag and phone are in hand, she hastily tugs on sneakers, and is flying out the door, barely remembering her jacket in her haste. She forgets Josh’s scarf on the peg where she hung it up.
It’s not until she’s in the cab on the way to the hospital that she realizes she hung up on Cathy at some point. Her only thought is that she must get there: she has to make sure the President is okay. She needs to see them with her own eyes to catalogue their well-being. C.J., Toby, Sam, Leo, Charlie…Josh. Once she’s able to hold Josh again it will all be okay. Not that she’s ever held him. But the moment calls for sentimentality and she’s panicking in the backseat of a cab trying to calm down her racing heart as she plays out every worst scenario at once. She knows she shouldn’t think like this…they’re all going to be okay, just breathe in and out…slow down and breathe…Josh is okay, she tells herself. The President is the one in potential danger and she should be more concerned with his health. But she can’t help it when her thoughts turn back to her boss. He’s her boss and she’s his assistant. But they’re so much more, even if neither of them will ever say it.
The President has for all she knows been shot; her friends are going through the emotional wringer at best…at worst they’re also hurt. They need her. He needs her. She needs to be there for them. She isn’t sure what she can do to make the situation better, but she can at least be there in the room. A little while later, on the radio, she hears it. She hears the news and then all she hears is her heart thump thump thumping in her ears and she asks if there’s any way the cabbie can drive faster because she needs to get to the hospital. He shrugs, puts on a little speed, and Donna knows he doesn’t understand. This man is her boss, true, but he’s also like a second father. Someone who shares her love of inane trivia, who always has a smile and a “Hello Donatella, how are you?” just for her. A man who never judged her for joining his campaign even though she’s a college dropout. Someone who loves Josh just as much as she does.
“We’re getting word now that we can officially confirm: President Bartlet has been shot and is being rushed into surgery at GW. More to come as we know it.”