Fifty

Author: Liza C.

Title: Fifty/Fifty

Beta'ed: By Kim

Summary: Donna finally takes her "fifty" of the blame

in a post-ep for Things Fall Apart.

It was bothering her. Gnawing at her, really; she

couldn't put it out of her mind. It certainly was to blame

for why she was sleepless. At least she was lying awake

in her own bed for once. But tonight, that was cold

comfort.

Why had she said it? They had been having a moment.

The nicest moment they'd had in… well… ages. And then

she went and messed it up. Why? Why did she do that?

Defensiveness? Fear? Old patterns? Things get too

intense, they hit too close to home, and one of us has to

say something to blunt the meaning of the words… even

after the fact. That was definitely an old pattern.

Through their years together, many times it had been

him, but this time it had been her and she was filled

with remorse.

If CJ, or someone else who didn't get her and Josh, were

privy to her thoughts, they'd be wondering why Donna

was being so melodramatic over five simple words. "I

was talking about Will." CJ would say, “So what, it was

a joke. You two used to joke all the time… his ego

needs to be kept in check, that's your job.” But Donna

knew things that CJ didn't.

She knew why those five simple words were making her

sleepless tonight. The answer came in flashes as she lay

staring at the ceiling. Tonight was the night that she,

Donna Moss, realized how horrible she'd been to Josh

Lyman. Really, unforgivably horrible. Not because she

made a wisecrack when his ego made an appearance,

but because she'd never said 'thank you.'

And it finally hit her what a truly ungrateful brat she'd

been. She'd been so angry and so self-righteous the

last few months that she hadn't been able to see it. But

now, tonight, lying alone in the dark in her dusty

apartment, it was clear as crystal. She was just as

much to blame for their predicament as he was.

How could she have quit like that? Just announced it in

a hall that she wouldn't be in the next day? Remorse

and something akin to self-loathing flooded her and a

lump started to form at the back of her throat. She

swallowed hard and struggled to keep her breathing

even. She wouldn't cry now. Even alone where no one

would see, she would not cry. That was something the

weak did and she was no longer Donna Moss, unsure

ingénue who wore her emotions on her sleeve.

She was now Donna Moss, smart, savvy, tough-as-nails

political operative. Okay, maybe she wasn't tough as

nails, but she was less emotional. But that can happen

to a girl after she's almost blown up…

Nope, she wasn't going to go there. That wasn't the

issue. No excuses. She was less emotional now and

that was that, the reasons were irrelevant. Although, to

tell the truth, sometimes she missed being heart-on-her-

sleeve Donna. Sure, she'd been less fulfilled

professionally and she'd had an unhealthy attachment to

her boss, but she’d had a lot more fun… and she'd been

happier. That wasn't something she admitted to herself

very often. But now that she was admitting it, it at least

left her feeling a little vindicated for staying so long.

After all, wasn't ‘happier’ the goal?

She knew why she was happier then and the thought

sent a new dizzying wave of regret over her. "To hell

with it," she whispered fiercely into the darkness of her

bedroom and allowed the tears to come.

And when they did, she thought about that last day.

Her last day working for him. It had been hard for her,

but her overriding emotion had been anger. She'd been

just so mad at him for putting her off. "Jerk," she

sniffled at the ceiling, for not the first time. But once

again, she felt instantly repentant.

Nope, she wasn't going to backslide now into blaming

him, not when she'd just admitted that the blame in this

situation was a 50/50 proposition. And until this

moment she hadn't owned up to her share.

While he had been a jerk and had ignored her and put

her off, she had gone about everything exactly the

wrong way. It was as if she'd used a wood ax to cut the

cord, when regular kitchen scissors would have done the

trick. If it had been any other job she would have used

kitchen scissors. She shook her head and chastised

herself for the lie, because she knew it wasn't the job, it

was the boss. If it had been any other boss she would

have neatly typed up a letter of resignation. It would

have been polite and direct; probably containing some

sentiment of thanks and gratitude for the opportunity,

and she would have presented it with no less than two

weeks notice. Much more if possible; she didn't like to

leave people hanging.

Any other boss.

But he wasn't any other boss… and that was both their

faults. But still, she was the one who took out the wood

ax.

So why… why hadn't she done things the right way?

Written a letter? Forced his hand? Been professional?

She'd gotten really good at blaming him, almost turned

it into an art form these last few months, but the truth

was that she knew how he was… and it had been her

responsibility to communicate with him, regardless of

whether or not he blew her off for lunch. SIX TIMES.

She forgave herself for that little dig. Six times is a lot.

Still, she should have typed up that polite, impersonal

letter and shoved it in his face if she had to. That was

her duty, and she had failed miserably.

What had she been afraid of? The answer, of course,

was many, many things. She was afraid of his reaction.

She was afraid of him trying to stop her. She was afraid

of him not trying to stop her. She was afraid he

wouldn't be supportive. But mostly she was afraid of

leaving him. The longer she put it off, the longer it

didn't seem real. Because as much as she knew that it

was time, leaving him was the hardest thing she'd ever

done. And that included getting in a car and driving to

New Hampshire… and it also included physical therapy.

That partially explained her anger. In the back of her

mind, she knew if she was mad at him, it was easier to

leave. She thought back and cringed. Images of her

snapping at him about wine and flowers wafted through

her mind. Looking back, she could see that she'd

started distancing herself from him way back then and

she felt instantly ashamed. It all fit now.

Sure, she'd had some issues with trauma. And

eventually she'd gone to a few therapy sessions. It was

normal to be angry and upset after surviving such a

traumatizing, violent event. But now it was clear, the

reason that she'd taken her anger out on Josh. Out of

all people in her life, she'd directed her rage at the guy

who dropped everything and had flown to her. The guy

who sat by her bedside and was there when she woke

up, the guy who met her at the airport and proudly

wheeled her into work her first day back. Out of all

people, she'd punished him. It was easier that way,

because that way she didn't have to confront any

confusing feelings. And not confronting those confusing

feelings didn't just make it easier to leave, it made it

possible to leave. She cried even harder.

She'd told herself that she wanted to resign to him in

person. And it had to be over lunch and not over

breakfast-- or any one of a thousand other moments

they had while working in such close proximity--

because part of her knew that he would avoid her. And

outside the office, at lunch, he couldn't avoid her. And

also, part of her had wanted him to stop her; she'd

fantasized that they'd have this great lunch. Two grown-

ups carrying on a marvelous adult conversation. If

they'd just had lunch then he could have talked about

her advancement and he would have suggested some

great promotion or job opportunity.

'But he didn't want you to advance or grow!' A little

voice inside her head screamed. She took a deep breath

and told the little voice to shut up. It was the same

thought she'd had for months, but tonight she was

dealing with her fifty of the blame, not his.

As she thought back, another wave of guilt came

crashing around her. Regardless of whether he'd put

her off, how could she have left after eight years,

without saying 'thank you?' Her heart squeezed into a

tight, obstinate ball in her chest and a fresh batch of

tears stung her eyes.

Hadn't she at least owed him some heartfelt gratitude,

no matter what he'd done or what he didn't do? He was

still the guy who gave her a shot, the guy who risked his

career for her, the guy who, with patience, had enjoyed

teaching her everything he knew. But instead she'd

given him a terse, rote comment about honor and

privilege, while he stood gaping at her with disbelief. He

hadn't believed that she would leave, that she was

serious. Well, she showed him. She packed up her

things and never came back. It had been almost a

month before she'd seen him again in New Hampshire.

And in that time she'd cordoned off her heart.

Part of her had expected to see him sitting on her

doorstep, every night after the day she left. The other

part of her wasn't surprised when he didn't show – she

knew his pride-- but all of her feelings were hurt when

he hadn't made even a cursory effort to get her to come

back. Not one phone call. Not one e-mail. It was better

that way, she'd told herself. No temptation. But it still

hurt. A lot.

The truth was, she was grateful. Grateful to him. There

was no way that she would have gained the knowledge

and experience necessary to do her current job without

him. If she'd worked for Toby, CJ or Leo, she wouldn't

have been given the same insights. They wouldn't have

taken the same time with her, taken joy from answering

her questions. Of course, if she'd started working for

one of them back when she started working for Josh,

she would have moved on years ago.

But she hadn't worked for them. And in turn, her job

had been like attending the Josh Lyman School of Public

Affairs. She'd been a sponge, soaking up everything

he'd ever done or said. And the truth was that he had

always given her more responsibility than the other

assistants, she saw that now. The trouble was, he was

never willing to let her completely shed her Girl Friday

role. So they had come to an impasse.

She took a deep cleansing breath. The tears had stopped

with the realization of why those five stupid words were

keeping her up tonight. It had been her opportunity to

let him know, in spite of everything, that she was

grateful for everything she'd learned from him.

Everything he'd done for her.

The way he'd smiled at her right before he'd praised her,

had made her heart flutter. No question it had made

her blush. And she'd started out okay. A couple of

months ago, her response to a question like, 'When did

you get so smart about this stuff?' would have been 'I

was always smart about this stuff, you just failed to

notice. Jackass.'

But time had passed and he'd smiled at her and she

knew it was his way of complimenting her… so she'd

gone for it. Said the thing about having a good

teacher. It was the perfect non-emotional, low-key way

of acknowledging the important role he'd played in her

professional development.

And it had worked. He had looked happy when she said

it. Really happy. And he'd thanked her. Looking back,

she was sure it was a genuine, sincere thank you; he

hadn't even been smug or arrogant like he normally

would have been. He had been legitimately pleased by

her words. But then she'd ruined it. In essence, she'd

taken it back. Under other circumstances it would have

been just another playful joke between them, but these

days they weren't playful, and she felt every inch the

ingrate she was.

***

"'Lo?" Without opening his eyes, Josh had grabbed the

receiver and brought it to cradle against his cheek. He

wasn't startled; late night phone calls were the norm

while running a campaign for the Presidency.

"Hello… anybody there?" He mumbled sleepily against

the mouthpiece when no one responded the first time.

For a second time no one answered; he grunted and was

about to hang up when he heard a soft voice.

"Wait… Josh…"

His eyes popped open the second he heard her voice.

He cleared his throat before questioning, "Donna?"

"Yes."

Neither spoke for a moment as Josh's mind began to

clear. He glanced over at the clock on the nightstand.

"It's 3am," he mumbled. Why was Donna calling him at

3am? When that question finally took hold, he sat bolt

upright as panic overwhelmed him. The words came in

a rush, each new one tripping over the last. "Where are

you? Is something wrong? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm home," she quickly reassured when she

heard the worry ring through his voice. Part of her was

pleased that he still cared enough to be worried.

"Are you sure?" His anxiety was still evident, even

though the phone.

"Yes… I'm sure. I’m fine." Mostly fine, she added silently.

"Oh…" Relaxing his muscles from when he'd gone into

fight-or-flight mode, he laid back down. "You scared

me."

"I did?"

"Uh-huh… why are you calling me at 3am? You don't

call me anymore." The worlds were out of his mouth

before he could censor them.

Donna's stomach hit the floor. It was too late; he didn't

want to hear from her. Part of her wanted to cry

because he didn't want to talk to her and part of her was

relived that she wouldn't have to say anything. "Oh…

right…. sorry. I shouldn't have called so late. I'll let you

get back to sleep."

"No!" It came out as a loud, quick bark. "I mean, you

can call me anytime. I'm glad you called. I'm just… uh…

a little curious about why you called."

After another prolonged silence, he prodded, "Donna,

you still there?"

She just started babbling without any further preamble.

"When we were talking in the bar and you said, 'when

did you get so smart about this stuff' and I said 'I had a

good teacher' and you responded, 'Thanks' and then I

got the last word and teased you about the 'I meant Will'

comment… I just wanted you to know that I didn't."

Josh shook his head back and forth slightly on the pillow

in order to clear it and then uttered a particularly

inarticulate, "Huh?"

"I didn't," she repeated.

"You didn’t what?"

"I didn't mean Will. I meant you. You were the good

teacher… I just wanted you to know that."

Josh brought one hand up to his eyes and rubbed

fiercely. "You called me at 3am to tell me you made a

joke two days ago?"

She took a deep breath. "When you put it like that it

sounds silly."

"It's not silly?" He smiled as he spoke and she could

hear it in his voice. Josh couldn't help thinking how nice

it was to talk to her. Just to hear her voice. Even at

3am. Hell, it was even better at 3am. He missed this

kind of intimacy like he'd missed nothing else in his life

before.

"Did you take it as a joke?"

"What?" Josh asked, his smile gone. He shouldn't be

surprised that she could still read his mind. It was easy

enough to play it off as a witty remark, but it had

stung.

"When I said it was Will… did you take that as a joke?"

He huffed loudly and finally admitted, "No."

"That's why I'm calling at 3am… to tell you that; it was a

joke and I didn't mean it."

"Oh… okay."

"Soooo…" Donna drawled the word out for as long as it

could go.

"So," Josh echoed before swallowing hard.

"I guess I should let you go. Sorry to wake you. Good

night, Josh."

"Wait!" Josh practically screeched as he sat up again.

He’d had so very few opportunities to talk to her lately,

he wasn't about to let this one go.

"Okay," Donna agreed quietly. She knew she should say

more in her blame-taking conversation, but she

suddenly felt paralyzed from the esophagus up.

"Seriously, Donna. Why are you calling to tell me that

now?"

She paused for several seconds and then a smirk formed

on her tear-stained face and she went into self-defense

mode. "Well, I didn't want it to keep you up nights, you

know, feeling second best. You may lose this campaign

to Will, but you can take comfort from the fact that one

of the reasons we beat you… is that you taught me how."

Instantly he replied, "It's not over yet, Donnatella, the

last chicken hasn't… clucked."

"Oh I can hear the clucking of the chickens, Joshua.

They are fit to be… fried," she replied with a confidence

she didn't feel. But she didn't care if the fight wasn't

over and she hadn't won yet; it didn't stop the huge

smile that was spreading across her face.

"Well, you do speak their language." He matched her

grin as he leaned back against his headboard. He

inhaled deeply and after a few long moments of silence

he continued softly. "For the record, if you learned

anything from me, it's only because you're the best

student, Donna… the best. I know now that you were

unhappy, I now understand that. But there are things

that I wouldn't trade…"

Again Donna's heart squeezed into a ball in her chest

and her voice sounded foreign, even to her own ears.

"What wouldn't you trade?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, before finally

just saying it. "Our time together."

She felt tingly in just about every nether portion of her

body. "Me, neither."

"Really?" Surprise, wonder and hope all rang through

the one little word.

"Really," she reassured and then added slowly, "I don’t

want the chickens to cluck, Josh."

He crinkled his brow. "The convention is almost here

and one way or another, an egg is going to be laid…"

"I wasn't talking about the election."

"Oh?" Was she talking about then? "You mean…"

She nodded but he couldn't see her. So when she didn't

respond, he asked tentatively, "You were talking about…

the end of … our time… together?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as

she waited for his reaction.

She would have been reassured and not a little happy to

see the huge grin that broke across his face. "Well, I

don't hear any clucking… do you?"

She emitted a small, relieved giggle. "Not a peep."

"Well then, there's our answer."

"I like that answer." She yawned. Suddenly, she felt

like she'd be able to sleep.

"Maybe after the convention we could compare notes

about poultry and stuff." His voice was still unsure.

"Maybe over dinner?"

"Yeah…" She replied eagerly. "Maybe over dinner… as

long as…"

"As long as what?" He sounded wary.

"As long as we don't go anywhere that serves chicken."

"Vegetarian… done." It came out with a low laugh. He

suddenly felt happier than he had in ages. "Hey, Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for calling."

She smiled broadly as she curled on to her side and

whispered into the receiver, "Good night, Joshua."

"Night, Donnatella."

The End.