AN: Silly holiday fluff set on Valentine’s Day right after Bartlet took office. It's written to fit into the Seven Days universe; this is the early Josh and Donna that eventually get together in that series. Chapter 1
It may not currently look like it, but I do. It's not even a real holiday; it's a fake occasion made up by corporate America. It's a fa-cassion. A fa-cassion invented to market chocolate. And flowers. And cards. The cards are the worst! At least chocolate and flowers are useful for eating and…smelling. "Happy Valentine's Day, Mrs. Landingham,” I say in a very chipper tone and set a pink cellophane-wrapped package with a small card on her desk. "Happy Valentine's Day to you, dear. That's a lovely sweater on you… very festive." "Thank you." I smile sweetly at her while groaning inwardly at myself. The sweater is part of the reason why I warned you that it doesn't currently look like I hate this fa-cassion. I succumbed to the hype and am wearing a bright red, fitted cashmere deep v-neck sweater. My mom gave it to me for Christmas. I'm not currently buying fine cashmere on my government salary. Actually, I'm not buying much of anything. Thankfully, I already had a decent professional wardrobe from the last job I held in Madison, administrative assistant at a temp agency. The day I quit, my boss told me if I played my cards right I'd be office manager in two years. Office Manager of EZ Staffing-- he said it like he was offering me the moon and the stars. Being told that a week after I'd broken up with my boyfriend was definitely a catalyst for change. My eyes wander to the left. To the door that leads to the most important office in the country. I can't believe the gamble I took quitting that job and leaving my hometown landed me here. My heart swells with pride just standing in the presence of the door. I'm shaken out of my thoughts by Mrs. Landingham's cooing over the Tweetie on the card. I think she knows it's a child's valentine that I picked up in a box of 32 for a dollar at the grocery store. I thought they’d be cute as gift tags for the cookies, but leave it to her to act as though I've done something miraculous. That's nice; making Mrs. Landingham smile might be one good thing about this fa-cassion. I set another cellophane bag on her desk, but this one doesn't have a hokey Tweetie card attached to it. "For the President, if he's allowed," I explain to Mrs. Landingham. During the campaign Mrs. Bartlet always watched his cholesterol like a hawk. Mrs. Landingham gives me a knowing wink. "I don't think a cookie will hurt him. You're very thoughtful Donna." That makes me blush as I continue on my cookie delivering way. I know that it seems like I should be the kind of person who loves this holiday, but I really don't. However, as you can see, I pretend like I do so other people don't get disillusioned. It's not that I was traumatized by some horrible Valentine’s Day; I've mostly just had mediocre ones. In high school the student council did this thing where you could buy a rose for someone and have it delivered to their home room. Sophomore year… no flower. Junior year… no flower. Senior year came and that was going to be the year. I had a boyfriend, but the flower was once again a no-show. It wasn’t heartbreaking, but it was disappointing. Two years ago the ex had to study. Even though we had plans and it was the last minute, he said that studying came first and I understood. Although, now I really think that it was his study partner who came first. Last year I'd been working for the campaign about a week. There were no flowers, no cards, no chocolate… unless you count Margaret handing out Hershey kisses. Although I did get three phone calls from Dr. Freeride asking when I was coming back, seems he thought I was kidding when I left town. I turned off my phone that night, even though he didn't stop calling and I did eventually succumb. But I didn't succumb that night. No, that night I spent half an hour listening to my new boss fight with his girlfriend on the phone and then we worked… all night long. Although that particular Valentine's night I did learn a lot about the psychology of the voter and how to use semantics to a campaign’s advantage during polling. And he did spring for Chinese food, with extra egg rolls. Actually, all things considered, among my Valentine's Days, last year would have to rank at the top. As for this year, what's to be happy about a day like today when I haven't had a date since… since I left the doctor for good last April? Yeah, it's been a while. You can do the math, but please don't do it out loud, it depresses me. Now this hasn't so much been a dating slump as I've been the busiest I've ever been in my life. And for most of the last year I didn't spend more than a night or two in one place. Dating is not easy under those circumstances, and to tell you the truth I haven't missed it. Actually, I've been much happier than I was in the last year of my relationship. I miss the sex, but, I've, you know, adapted. Truthfully, out on the campaign trail there were men. Lots of them. There was a cute guy named Carl. He worked in advance and would flirt. I remember Sam teased me about it in front of Josh and Josh grumbling something about Carl looking like Ted Bundy. I didn't think he looked like Ted Bundy and I think he was going to ask me out after the convention. But oddly he was reassigned shortly after that, apparently Carl and I just weren't meant to be. However, it's not like I'm completely Valentine-less today. I did receive three cards. One from my parents which had cats on it, they are crazy for cats, one from my Grandma Moss which is, frankly, too raunchy to tell you about and one from my two-year-old niece Shana. It was red crayon scratchings on a piece of pink construction paper. It was definitely the best. "Hey CJ." I greet as I shift my tray of goodies onto my hip and poke my head into her office. "Donna!" She glances up from her desk, "What's happening?" "It's Valentine's Day." "It is at that." "I made cookies." I hand her one of the cellophane packages and small card. "Look at that, you cook!" CJ looks and sounds impressed. "Not really, I bake." "…and it's Tweetie. 'Hope you have a gwwweat Vawentine's Day.’” CJ reads the card out loud and then looks back up at me. “That's cute and probably the most romantic thing that'll happen to me today. So thank you." I study her a second. CJ is senior staff, but she's just about the only female in that group. Most of the rest of the women who work in the West Wing on a day- to-day basis are at a much lower level. On the campaign trail when CJ got sick of the boys, she’d hang out with Margaret and me. And sometimes she hung out with Mandy. By the way, I never hung out with Mandy. But it feels different now that we're actually here in the White House. It’s only been a few weeks and I'm not sure what the protocol is, you know, socially. But what the heck, it's Valentine's Day and if that Tweetie card is the most romantic thing that’s going to happen to her, she might want to be included. "Hey, CJ.” I force my voice to sound casual like a person might if they were nervous about asking another person on a date, which is utterly ridiculous, but I still do it. “Uh… Carol and Margaret and… never mind." "What?" She asks almost eagerly. "Well.” Emboldened by her almost eager prodding, I continue. “A couple of us dateless types are going to get some lunch. Sort of an anti-Valentine's Day lunch-" "Count me in," she says before I can even finish. Smiling, I nod and then turn to go. Even if she's an incredibly important person around these parts, at heart she's still CJ from the campaign trail. Josh doesn’t look up from what he’s working on when I enter his office. Yet he seems to know I’m there, even though I haven’t made any noise yet. "Where ya’ been?" "I was-" "Did you get lost coming back from the mess again? I've told you, you've got to use the west staircase; otherwise you end up someplace called the steam pipe distribution… something…" He trails off when he finally looks up at me and his eyes go wide. “Whoa.” “What?” I ask, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. "That's… uh… a… uh… very red sweater you're wearing." "Yes." I glance down at said red garment. "I mean, it’s… uh… really red." My eyes narrow slightly, because it’s not *really* red, it’s just… red. "Yes, you said that, do you not like it or something?" "No! I mean, yes, I like it. It's fine. It's just red." His eyes seem to roam over me. Is it hot in here? ‘Cause I feel a bit warm. Finally, Josh quits with the roaming eyes and speaks again, although he has to clear his throat before he does so. "Why is it so… red?" I have no idea how to answer that question as I resist the urge to fan myself. Josh must be warm too, because I think I can see small beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Finally, I come up with a gem of a retort. “I guess ‘cause that’s the color the sweater elves made it.” Slightly embarrassed, I glance back down to the sweater; it seems to be of a perfectly normal shade of red to me. Maybe it just doesn’t suit me. My mother said I looked radiant in it when I tried it on at Christmas and Grandma Moss said I looked hotter than a pistol, but mothers and grandmothers tend to exaggerate these things. “Were… uh… you wearing that earlier today? I don’t remember it from earlier.” “I had a jacket on over it this morning, but it got a little warm.” Suddenly, I feel a bit horrified. It is a lot brighter and-- clingy might be word I’m looking for-- and let’s face it, lower cut than anything I’ve yet worn to work at the White House. However, it’s not exactly racy and in any other office in America it wouldn’t even cross my mind, but this is the White House and maybe I’ve overstepped the bounds of what’s acceptable. So far a lot of the women that work here seem to dress more conservatively than… say, my grandmother. Okay, maybe not *my* grandmother, since teenagers at the mall have been known to dress more conservatively than Grandma Moss, but other people’s grandmas, who are, you know, normal. I meet his eye a little fearfully. “Is it inappropriate or something?” “It’s uh… no, it’s appropriate, it’s just… red. It’s nice,” he finished and then quickly looked down at the papers on his desk. “Okay, um… maybe I’ll just go put my jacket back on.” “No!” He says emphatically and looks back up at me. At my startled expression he stutters, “Uh… I just mean… I didn’t mean to make you feel like you shouldn’t wear it. It’s a good sweater… that is a good color on you. You should definitely keep wearing it. Besides… uh… it *is* warm in here.” “Okay.” I nod twice before blurting, “Besides, the red is for Valentine’s Day.” Now he pauses a second and studies me curiously. “You purposely wear red on Valentine’s Day?” Why did I feel the need to justify the sweater? It’s a perfectly fine, not-really-racy sweater-- even if it is tighter than anything I’ve worn in the White House so far. Anyway, I wouldn’t have brought up the Valentine’s thing if he hadn’t made such a big deal about it. It’s his fault, yet I still hear myself explain, “It’s festive.” And yes… typical Josh. Now he’s smirking. I should have known that if I told him, he’d find something to smirk about. “Do your clothes always match the holiday?” “Sometimes,” I smart back at him. He’s still smirking and now regards me with mock suspicion. “You’re not going to try to talk me into some tie with cupids on it, are you?” “No, but you might look cute in some red silk boxers for the occasion.” Wait. What did I just say? Josh’s eyes go so wide that his pupils are swimming in a sea of white. I can’t believe I just told my boss that he would look cute in red silk boxers. While we’re in the White House! There are many things wrong with this situation. First, red silk boxers; second, White House; and third… boss! Even if my sweater’s not too racy, surely that comment was! I blame his smirk. If he hadn’t smirked at me, I never would have said something like that. I really am a decorous person in most circumstances, but sometimes around him I just…say things. Again, I blame him. “Okay, I think I hear my phone ringing.” I have no idea what to say and he’s not saying anything at all, just staring, so I definitely think it’s time to leave. Forgetting my mission of delivering cookies, I start backing out of the room. However, he stops me before I reach the door. “What’s that?” “What’s what?” He nods towards the pink cellophane and the card in my hand. I look down and finally remember my mission. Funny, I’ve been holding this the whole time and even with the roaming eyes, he just noticed it now. “Nothing,” I quickly mutter. Why did I say that? I originally entered his office with the express purpose of delivering cookies and now I’m denying it, even though I’m very obviously holding the evidence. It must be the dratted heat; I really need to talk to someone about turning down the temperature in this room. “It doesn’t look like nothing.” "Oh, well… it’s uh… a valentine treat." I walk forward and set them on his desk before instantly backing several steps away. He looks down at the cookies as if they are aliens rather than heart-shaped butter cookies with white frosting and red and pink sugar sprinkles. Glancing back up at me, he asks, "What for?" His voice squeaks in quite an odd way on that last word. I've noticed that Josh does that sometimes; I've decided it's endearing. "The previously mentioned Valentine's Day." "You made me cookies?" Oh, boy, I better clear that up right now. First the red silk boxers comment and now he thinks I made cookies just for him. This could go down a very wrong road, very quickly. "No… I made cookies and I'm giving you some." "Why?" "Because it's Valentine's Day." "What's this?" he asks as he points to the card. My heart starts beating a little faster. No matter that half the people with offices in the West Wing received Tweetie cards attached to their cookies and I'm 25 years old; suddenly I feel transported back to third grade and the time I gave a Pebbles and BamBam valentine to Jake Goodland. That went about as well as this is going. Currently, I’m really regretting the cutesy decision I made to use the hokey Tweetie cards at all. "It's part of the treat, to let you know the cookies are from me," I reply and try to appear calm and unassuming, despite the heat and the giving of Valentines to bosses. Josh eyes it suspiciously and then finally picks it up. "For me?" "Yes." "You got me a Valentine?" All I’m able to do is shrug. He sets it back on the desk and then a second later, picks it back up again. "Should I open it?" he asks me so seriously that I almost laugh out loud, despite the fact that I’m totally on edge at how weird he’s being. Is it possible that in grade school little Josh Lyman never got one of these valentines? Involuntarily, I feel a pang in my chest, picturing little Josh being left out. In my school you had to give one to every person in the class. No exceptions. Certainly, they did the same thing in Connecticut? Can't he tell by its small size what it is? "Opening is usually the traditional thing to do when presented with an envelope." He's still staring at it. Should I tell him that I've already given a bunch out already? Although… it did just so happen that he got the bigger one. You know how in those packs of cards there's always one design of card that is just a little big bigger than the rest. By chance, that's the one that Josh got. In grade school it means that you might like-like the boy you give it to. Here it just means that it was up in the rotation when I got to Josh, that's all. Finally, he pulls the card out and looks up at me with slightly suspicious eyes. "It's Sylvester and Tweetie.” "Yes." I feel nervous. I shouldn’t feel nervous, but I’ve definitely got a textbook case of nerves at the moment. It’s ridiculous, I’m being ridiculous, yet they don’t seem to be going away. "I like Sylvester." That makes me happy, so in spite of my nerves I find myself smiling. "Oh?" Josh wrinkles his forehead as if he’s trying hard to recall a memory. "Yeah… actually, when I was little, I used to wait through Looney Tunes just to get to a Tweetie/Sylvester cartoon." "I didn't know that." Crap. Yes, I did. It's all coming back to me. One Saturday morning on the campaign we were in Oregon, or someplace that started with an 'O.' He was dictating and I was typing as fast as he talked— which, incidentally, is quite fast, and is probably why I got the permanent job in the White House. Anyway, he was really on a roll when he stopped and was transfixed by the TV for the full three minutes of the cartoon. I'd totally forgotten that. I swear I wasn't thinking that Josh liked Sylvester when I picked these up at the supermarket. What was I thinking? I remember my other choices: Power Rangers, Peanuts, Barbie, N'Sync & Backstreet Boys. Yeah, it was between Peanuts and Tweetie. And even though I'm a big fan of Snoopy, I was just drawn to Tweetie. So you see, it had nothing to do with the fact that Josh likes Sylvester and Tweetie. That train of thought is interrupted by Margaret at the door. "Hey, Donna… you coming?" I turn back to face her. "Yeah… two seconds." She nods and heads back out into the bullpen, where I can see the other gals gathering. "Where you goin'?" Josh asks with more interest than usual. "I wasn't in the mess earlier… actually, the girls are all going out for an 'I Hate Valentine's Day Lunch.'" "You hate Valentine's Day?" I nod, perhaps a bit too vigorously. He narrows his eyes at me. "Why did you bake cookies and buy me a Sylvester card if you hate it? "Because…" I almost lose my train of thought with the way he's staring at me. "Because I'm Donna. Uh… do you mind if I go to lunch?" He looks at me hard for a few seconds before waving his hand. "Have a good time." "Let's go." Startled, Sam glances up from his computer, where he’d been furiously typing away. "Where we going?" "Grab some lunch." "Actually, Josh, I'm working on the remarks for Friday, so I was just going to get a salad from the mess and eat here-" "Nah… you need a break. A walk. We'll go to the deli down the street with the good sandwiches and bring them back." "But why?" Sam crinkles his brow before it smoothes and he nods knowingly. "Is this because you got lost yesterday? Because I've figured out how to get to the mess. I can lead us there and back safely." I shake my head. "Come on, we've gotta run an errand on the way." That must do it, because he shrugs, gets up and grabs his coat. TBC… |
| F U Z Z Y R E D H E A R T S |
| Author: Liza C. Title: Fuzzy Red Hearts Beta: Kim Series: Seven Days |
