Summary: Josh tries to learn to relax. I blame the BW article in the May Esquire, the June issue of Yoga Journal, and Lesley.
Rating: PG-13 for some mild sexual situations and swearing.
Disclaimer: Just borrowing from ABS, WB, and NBC. They’ll be way more relaxed when I’m finished with them, anyway.
Distribution: My site. You can archive if you’d like, just please tell me where and leave my
info intact.
Spoilers: Vague references to ITSOTG and The Leadership Breakfast.
Author’s Notes: Thanks, as always, to Lesley for wanting Josh in shorts and for giving me great suggestions. Thanks to Ryo for being a fabulous editor and for giving me a kick in the ass when I needed it.
Josh deposits a stack of files on my desk with a triumphant thud.
“See, Donna? We put our noses to the grindstone and we’re out of here before seven.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything, Josh,” I counter as he leans against the edge of my desk.
“Do you know why?” Typically, he doesn’t even pause for me to answer. “It’s because I was considerate enough to remember that you have your class tonight.”
The look I give him is far from grateful.
“As much as I appreciate the effort–which, by the way, mostly involved *me* putting my nose to the grindstone while you yelled at people–my roommate’s out of town, so I’m not going anyway.”
“In case you haven’t noticed by now, yelling at people is a very important part of my job.” I hand him a memo and he starts to sign it, but then he stops and looks up at me, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Wait, you can’t go by yourself?”
“Josh, what kind of class is this?” I challenge.
He pauses, momentarily stymied by this detail.
“Tai chi?” he offers.
“Nice try.”
“Hey, I remembered that you *had* the class, what more do you want from me?”
“I really don’t think we have time for me to even begin to answer that,” I answer haughtily.
I pick up the memo and a pile of folders and head out into the corridor. After about five seconds, Josh comes trailing after me.
“I don’t see why you need your roommate to go with you to your tae-bo class.”
“You’re still wrong.”
“I’m trying,” he smiles. Dammit. The dimples get me every time.
“I noticed,” I relent. “So I’ll take pity on you. Partner yoga.”
“They have classes for partner yoga?”
“Yes,” I sigh. It’s not like we haven’t covered this before.
“What, is it like the buddy system for meditation?”
“Must we go through this every week?” I complain.
“No, because this time I’ll actually listen.”
“You have yet to prove that.”
“I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“Right.” I don’t think I’ll be holding my breath on that one.
“So,” Josh continues, “let me steer this conversation back on track. You can’t find someone else to do the yoga stuff with you?”
“No, Josh,” I huff, exasperated. “It’s almost seven. My class is at seven thirty. Bonnie and Ginger have already left for the day, Carol and CJ are still working, and my roommate’s out of town. Who else would you have me ask?”
“You could ask me.”
Well, that made me stop dead in my tracks. Josh, being the observant guy he is, keeps walking for another ten or fifteen feet before he notices I’m not next to him.
“You? Josh, it’s *yoga.*”
“So?” He counters. “I’m an athletic guy. I could kick some yoga ass.”
I roll my eyes and start us back on our path through the bullpen. “It’s not a contact sport, Josh. It’s yoga. It’s all about being relaxed.”
“I can be relaxed.”
Josh looks a little disconcerted when the three or four staffers nearby us laugh at that.
“Josh,” I grin as we weave through the maze of desks. “I know that you think that leaning up against the wall is working for you, but your inability to be relaxed is one of the reasons that I’m taking yoga in the first place. Besides,” I continue over his rather loud objections, “It’s also about being calm and at peace, and, I don’t know, one with the universe.”
“I can be those things.”
The man has no idea what I’m talking about, I swear.
“I think that if you could ever be any of those things, I might die of shock.”
“I can be calm and relaxed, dammit!”
I merely arch my eyebrow in response.
“Okay, but maybe this class could teach me those things,” he argues.
“Josh…” He’s giving me that same look that he usually reserves for when he’s trying to get me to run to the mess for him after I’ve just gotten back from lunch. And since, in addition to my paltry salary, I don’t get a lot of time for lunch, he pulls out all the stops with that look. I can’t figure out why this is suddenly an activity he’s desperate to do, but the pleading expression is
working. You’d think that with our work schedule I’d be tired of spending time with him– I’d have to be crazy to let him come with me. “I really don’t think you’d enjoy it.”
“Probably not, but then I’ll have racked up a bunch of points and I won’t feel bad the next time I make you stay late every day for a week.”
“You would have felt bad in the first place?”
“No,” he admits, “but I would have felt like I *should* have felt bad.”
I sigh in resignation. “Alright. We’ll go.”
“Excellent.” He grins at me.
“Just . . . try not to be *you.*”
“Hey! And don’t worry — I’ve got it covered.”
Josh heads into his office to grab his backpack, but then he pokes his head back out. “Hey, Donna?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna kick some *ass.*”
“Oh, for the love of God.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Donna, I feel like an idiot.”
“Shut up, Josh.”
Isn’t yoga suppose to make you more sensitive or something? Donna should care that I feel uncomfortable in shorts when everyone else is wearing tights and, well, whatever you call their
yoga clothes. I look like I took a wrong turn on the way to the basketball court.
Not that I would want to wear tights, mind you. I don’t need to fit in *that* badly.
“But I look like an idiot. Everyone’s laughing at me, aren’t they?”
Even though my voice is considerately hushed, she frowns at me. “Shhh!”
“What, I’m not allowed to talk?”
“No. Now shut up!”
“But what if ”
“Josh,” Donna hisses, “Do you see anyone else talking? No. Because you’re supposed to be focusing inward. Yoga’s about inner peace, and it requires quiet. Now shut the hell up.”
The instructor turns around and gives Donna a dirty look. I smirk at her because I feel vindicated. Never mind the fact that she’s not looking very pleased with me at the moment.
So far, this yoga thing seems harmless enough, in spite of the crappy new age music (if you can call the sound of waves and wind chimes music). The yoga part is just a lot of bending and
stretching and there hasn’t been anything involving a partner yet. Oh, and there’s breathing. How people can think that breathing is an exercise, I have no idea, since I think this whole thing is a little too sedate to be considered exercise. I wouldn’t mind taking a lap around the room while we’re all just sitting here and breathing, but for the most part I’m enjoying myself.
I swear, though, that it has nothing to do with that leotard thing that Donna’s wearing.
Finally, the instructor rises and urges us to stand and face our partners. She demonstrates the first position for us. Apparently, we’re going to hold each other’s wrists, lean back, and then
slowly squat.
“Piece of cake,” I tell Donna, who is looking at me like I’m going to screw this up.
It’s about five seconds later when I lean back too far and pull us both down. As we’re sprawled on the floor, I realize that she may not have been wrong.
As she disentangles her limbs from mine, I’m momentarily distracted by the graceful curves of her body, not to mention the way her legs feel as they brush up against mine, until I notice she’s glaring at me.
That may be because I’m still sitting on the floor.
I get up and take her hands in mine, but she’s holding her arms stiffly, like she’s afraid I might give a repeat performance.
“Sorry,” I grin. “I don’t know my own strength.”
She rolls her eyes and allows herself a small smile. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”
We try the position again, but we keep losing our footing. Donna obviously doesn’t trust me not to screw it up again, so she keeps stepping forward to keep from falling on me. It’s kind of a shame, because aside from the, you know, bruising, I found the falling to be rather enjoyable.
Every time she steps forward now, though, I have to step back so that *I* don’t lose my balance. The other people in the class are all doing elegant, ballet-like movements, and we’re stuck in some country line- dance gone horribly wrong. Thankfully, we don’t completely fall over again, but we still pretty much look like asses.
I’m thinking Donna might be starting to regret having brought me.
We’re each fighting for control of the situation when the instructor comes over, lays her hand on Donna’s shoulder, and starts explaining that this is our problem. We need to become nonverbally attuned to each other and find our balance. Then she starts spouting off all this nonsense about trust and telling me not to dominate the situation.
I have no idea what she’s talking about.
Finally, she mercifully leaves us alone and continues to circle the classroom.
“Donna.”
“Josh, shut up and focus, please.”
“Donna, everybody else is doing it. We’re the only ones who can’t.”
“Feeling inadequate?”
I scoff at the implication. “No. I’m just saying that everyone else can do this thing and we have yet to do it once. It’s holding hands and squatting. What’s wrong with us?”
“Well, besides the fact that you’re overbearing and clumsy, it’s our first class.”
“I am not clumsy.”
“But you’ll admit to being overbearing?”
“I’m neither — stop pulling so hard. I’ll have you know that I was on the basketball team in high school.”
“Yeah,” she grins, “but that was a *really* long time ago. Anyway, lots of these people have been doing this for a while.”
I work to readjust my equilibrium — Donna’s tugging too hard on my arms. “Yes, but we have a rhythm.”
She laughs at me. “A rhythm? Have I missed the chorus lines in the West Wing?”
This time, when we lean back, we seem to have gotten the hang of it, so we slowly start to squat. Even though we haven’t broken eye contact, I’m very aware of the way our bodies are moving in tandem.
I clear my throat. “We have a rhythm.” I insist. “From all the walking and talking in the halls. You know, the way you follow me around?”
Donna abruptly lets go of my wrists and stands up, effectively knocking me on my ass. “I follow you around?”
“Sometimes,” I backpedal as I clamber to my feet. “Sometimes I follow you. It’s all part of our rhythm.”
Our pleasant conversation is interrupted by the instructor, demonstrating a new position. Apparently everyone else has done the squat thing a couple times now, even though we barely
managed to do it once.
Yeah, so I rounded up.
The instructor and her lackey are facing each other again, holding hands. I’m pretty sure Donna and I can handle that much, at least. Then they sort of start leaning backwards, and . . . no way am I going to do that with Donna.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
For someone who practically begged to come to this class, Josh hasn’t been trying very hard, which, I suppose, isn’t surprising. I can’t quite figure out how I got talked into this, but it won’t
happen again. I can be impervious to the begging if I set my mind to it.
The yogi’s finished demonstrating our next asana, and so I turn to Josh, who’s suddenly looking rather like a deer in headlights.
“Josh, come on.” I hold my arms out toward him.
He takes a panicky step backward, narrowly missing the woman behind him. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“What?”
“I’ll just wait for the next one.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
We’re attracting stares again. I’m beginning to think I can’t ever come back to this class, because Josh manages to make a scene wherever he goes.
“I don’t think I can do this one, Donna.”
My annoyance is gone in an instant, and I step forward, laying a hand on his chest. “Is it your side?”
He looks surprised. “No.” He looks around furtively, as if somehow he’ll find the answer written on one of the walls. “No, it’s just….the crappy music.”
“The music.” I just stare at him.
“Yes, because it’s distracting me, and I might lose my balance, and then we’d fall and crack our heads open.”
I roll my eyes, because he’s really quite a pain in the ass. This time I take the initiative to reach out and grab his hands.
“Don’t worry,” I grin. “I won’t drop you on the floor again. As long as you behave, anyway.”
Josh just snorts in response, and we start.
The purpose of this posture is to achieve balance. Backbends are supposed to explore and deepen trust in your partner because you must sense your partner’s needs and provide him with the right amount of leverage, while listening to your body’s own needs at the same time.
In other words, if we can stop arguing long enough to do this damn thing, we’re going to be keeping our lower bodies together while we lean backwards and arch away from each other.
The thing is that this requires you to trust your partner, so you’re supposed to close your eyes and rely on your other senses. Josh doesn’t have his eyes closed. As we lean back, he continues staring at me, to the point where he has to lean slightly to one side so that he can see me.
Yes, my eyes are open too, but I’m just keeping an eye on what trouble Josh is getting into.
Finally, I have to give up and close my eyes, or else we’ll end up on our asses again. I drop my head back and arch into our shared center of gravity, bringing my legs and hips flush up against Josh.
Oh. Well, I guess that explains what was making him so nervous.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When I realize the effect I’m having on Josh, I do what any sane person would do: I jerk upright and drop him on his head.
Unfortunately for me, I haven’t quite internalized the lessons from this class, because, you know, I’d forgotten that my balance depends on Josh. So, while he’s lying on the floor with a concussion, I’m staggering backwards, my arms flailing ridiculously as I try not to completely lose my balance.
I manage to pull myself together only after crashing into not one, but two pairs of partners, and attracting the attention of the entire class.
I’m not going to be able to come back here. Ever.
Once I’m done with my half of our Two Stooges routine, I take a deep breath and go stand over Josh, who’s still lying there on the floor, eyes closed. The big faker.
I nudge his shoulder with my foot.
“Josh,” I whisper, “stop playing possum.”
He opens his eyes and peers up at me.
“Wow. You weren’t kidding about dropping me on my head if I didn’t behave.”
“Really, Josh, it’s not a big deal. These things happen,” I say with all the confidence I can muster while I’m blushing. It’s not a big deal, right? I should act casually.
“Yeah,” he sighs, looking disappointed. “I know.” He slowly eases himself up off the floor, and I can’t help but notice that he’s favoring his left side. But he laughs when I hold out a hand
to help him. “Haven’t we figured out yet that the two of us are an accident waiting to happen?”
Well, that’s certainly not how I would have phrased it.
“Look,” he starts, as he begins to roll up his mat, carefully avoiding my eyes. “I’m sorry I forced you into letting me come here with you tonight.” He weaves through the other classmembers and I follow after him in some twisted new age version of what we do at work.
“No, Josh, it’s okay, really.”
“Donna,” he sighs, “we’re horrible at this. I really don’t think I’m the ideal partner for you.”
I notice that he sounds kind of bitter– defeated even. I swear, he’s the most competitive guy I know.
He grabs his backpack from its place by the wall and slips his feet into his sneakers, leaning over to tie them. “So,” he says as he straightens up and hoists the backpack on his shoulder. “I’m going to go. See you tomorrow.”
I grab his shoulder as he turns to leave.
“Josh, wait.”
He’s looking at me, eyebrows raised expectantly. And so, I might mention, is the rest of the class — they’re all staring at us like we’re acting out some sort of soap opera. Or maybe a circus, the way we’ve been falling down so much.
And I can’t think of anything to say.
“Donna?”
“Thanks for coming with me today, Josh. Even if,” I shrug, “even if things didn’t work out.”
“Yeah,” Josh lets out a breath. “Anytime.”
Watching him walk out of the classroom, it occurs to me that I may have said the wrong thing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Well, that will certainly teach me to try new activities. I attempt to spend some time with Donna outside the office, and look what happens: my ego’s been crushed (I’ll have you know that it’s a pretty big deal), I may need to go check up on how strict our sexual harassment policy is, and, furthermore, Donna couldn’t possibly have made her lack of interest in me any clearer.
In the meantime, I’m sitting in my car and banging my head against the headrest. If I could find a wall, I’d be leaning up against it. Or, quite possibly, hitting it with my fist. People who find yoga relaxing obviously haven’t ever tried it with their lithe, blonde assistants. Lithe, blonde assistants who would probably be wearing a leotard thing that clings to all her curves in a way that was –
Let’s see if banging my head on the *steering wheel* helps any.
In the meantime, I have a dilemma.
A very large part of me wants to rush home as fast as I can, put my back against the wall, and practice pretending this whole evening never happened.
But it’s pretty dark out, and while I have my car, Donna took the Metro. I can’t just leave her here to take the train home with all the lunatics. On the other hand, it’s going to be harder to pretend nothing’s happened not fifteen minutes after I made an ass out of myself and ran out of the class.
Incidentally, the third part of me that has a vote wants to combine options one and two: bring Donna back to my apartment and lean *her* back up against the wall.
However, since that’s the part of my mind that got me into trouble in the first place, I’m currently trying to ignore it. I’m not going to think about pulling the straps of her leotard down her shoulders and –
“Josh!”
I jump a good three feet in the air when Donna bangs on my car window. I also may have yelped.
So much for my plans– I’m totally unprepared for this scenario.
I turn the key in the ignition and roll down the window. Donna shifts her bag on her shoulder and leans down, propping her elbows on the car door. As helpful as it is not to look up to talk to her, I now have a spectacular view of her cleavage.
Her face. Must remember to look at her face.
“….still doing here, Josh?” she asks, quizzically.
“Hunh?” Obviously I missed some of that. Okay, this time I’ll focus on her face *and* what she’s saying.
“I said that I thought you’d left.”
“Nope. I was sitting here, trying to decide if I should give you a ride home.”
She frowns at that, pouting a little so her lower lips juts out in a way that makes me just–
Okay, focus on her *eyes*. Hell, at this point, maybe I should go back to my first plan, start the car, and get the hell out of here as fast as I can.
“That was some sort of dilemma, Josh?,” she demands. “You’ve given me a ride home hundreds of times. I said it wasn’t a big deal– I don’t want things to get all weird with us.”
Well, I think it’s a little too late for that.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I’m trying my hardest to keep everything from getting any more uncomfortable, but Josh just keeps giving me these blank looks. Has he even heard a word I’ve said?
Finally, he swallows hard and seems to pull himself together enough to pay attention. It’s about damn time.
“Me neither, Donna. But even if we try to ignore it, I think things have…” he pauses, trying to find the right word, “changed, regardless.”
Okay, I’ve had about enough of him acting like an idiot.
“You know what, Joshua?” I storm. “That’s your own damn fault. You’re the one who can’t seem to ignore it. Now, are you going to drive me home, or should I start walking?”
He drops his head back on the headrest. Apparently he’s decided to continue this conversation with his eyes closed — like that’s going to be an effective way of avoiding me.
I straighten up and walk around to the other side of the car, climbing in the passenger side. Josh doesn’t even bother to open his eyes.
“Seriously, Josh, I think you should just forget this whole thing. These things happen, but we still have the same relationship we’ve always had,” I tell him, as I pat his knee reassuringly. Of
course, it’ll be easier for me to picture him naked now, but that’s beside the point.
“Which is?” His voice sounds strangled — what, is he worried I’m going to sue him for harassment or something?
“Well, it’s certainly not normal, that’s for sure. Now start the car and drive me home, please.”
“You know, maybe I should just let you make all my decisions for me. It would really make things easier.”
“You think I let you make decisions now?”
That makes him smirk, and he turns his head to look at me, opening his eyes and regarding me carefully.
“Well, you know, sometimes I get to decide little things like domestic policy.”
“Yes, but think of how often you screw that up.”
“I do not,” he protests indignantly.
“Mary Marsh, Josh.”
“That wasn’t policy I screwed up, it was ”
“The entire administration?”
We’re grinning at each other because, in spite of all Josh’s whining, we’re back to normal.
“Okay, Donna, then I stand by what I said earlier: you can make all of the really important decisions from now on.”
I think this over. This could be my chance to change things, to do something big. Who knows when I’ll have another opportunity like this one? I should take advantage of it now, while I can. So I decide to go for it.
I lean over and kiss the hell out of Josh Lyman.
THE END.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Send all requests for smut-filled sequels Ryo’s way. heeheehee