SUMMARY: Josh and Donna and the Fourth of July. A little piece of fluff.
SPOILERS: Vague references to events in ITSOTG and Noel.
ARCHIVE: At my site. All others please ask.
DISCLAIMER: The West Wing and its characters
belong to Aaron Sorkin and about a billion other
people. No money’s being made, no intent to infringe,
blah blah blahdisclaimercakes.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is for Ryo, for encouraging
me. (You know what this means, right?
Thanks to Lesley for betaing, even if she wouldn’t shut
up about Josh taking his shirt off. Also thanks to
Trilly for letting me nag.
Perseverance
By Em Meredith (emilymeredith@lycos.com)
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all
[people] are created equal, that they are endowed by
their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that
among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of
Happiness.
— Thomas Jefferson
The Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776
“Dammit!”
“What did Allen say, Josh?”
Josh runs his hands through his hair, and I can tell that
he’s trying not to take his frustration out on me. It’s
probably taking a good deal of his self-control not to
throw the phone at the wall. Yes, I know it was an
obvious question, but he needs to get this off his chest,
and explaining why Republicans want to make our
lives miserable is a good way to let him vent his
anger. Plus, it has the added bonus of saving me a call
to maintenance for a new phone.
“Allen says we don’t have it.” He gets up from his
chair and starts rifling through the folders on his desk.
Great. Those took me half an hour to organize this
morning. “He says that we don’t have the votes, and
you want to know the worst part?”
“He’s right?”
“He’s right. I’ve just spent the past few months
working my ass off to get this bill passed so that we
could finally get some real changes in the education
system in this country, and we don’t have the votes.
We don’t have them and we can’t get them.” Josh has
given up pretending to look for anything, and now he’s
standing there, holding the file for his bill that’s dead
in the water, and looking defeated.
It makes me want to hug him.
I gently shove him out of the way and start to make
some order out of the chaos that is his desk. “So
you’ll try again. That’s what made this country great,
Josh. Perseverance.”
“Really? I thought it was our inability to take orders
from tyrants.”
“Perseverance,” I continue, “was what helped us defeat
the British in the first place. And perseverance is
going to be what helps you give America a nice,
shiny, new education system with all the well-paid,
talented teachers you could want, and without school
vouchers to undermine the public school system.
Now, can we go?”
“Sure. Go enjoy your national holiday. Thanks for
coming in.”
I pause on my way out the door. “It’s not a national
holiday.”
“Donna. It’s the Fourth of July. It’s the *biggest*
national holiday.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Donna? Why are you arguing?” He shoos me with
the file folder. “Go on, get out of here and have some
fun before the education system we built on
perseverance is completely destroyed.”
“Okay, are you just gonna stay here all day and brood?
Because I have to tell you, that’s not very festive.”
“Not very festive? Donna, I’m really glad that the
minutemen kicked George the Third’s ass, but right
now a bunch of judgmental power mongers are doing
everything they can to ensure that the President can’t
implement any of the reforms he’d like to make in this
country, and I think that’s plenty festive for this
holiday. So, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna skip the
fireworks and the apple pie and sit here and ponder
why I’m even bothering to try to change things.”
“Okay,” I sigh, “let’s go.”
“Go where? I told you– I’m brooding.”
“You’re being melodramatic, Joshua. And it’s my job
as your assistant to help you snap out of this mood
you’re in, before you drive me and everyone else
nuts.”
“That’s what your job is? I thought it was to, you
know, file things and do research and keep me
organized.”
“That too. I have a pretty broad job description. Which
is why I need a raise.”
He rewards me for that comment with a smile. A
small one, but it’s a start.
“I appreciate the sentiment, really, but I don’t want to
spend this sunny national holiday at CJ’s, listening to
Toby and Sam fight over proper grilling techniques,
when neither of them could cook a hot dog in a
microwave.” He slumps down in his chair like a
petulant five-year-old. “I’m brooding, and that’s that.”
“I know. Instead, we’re going to go reconnect with the
American People.”
“I don’t know that I’m going to be cheered up by that.”
“Maybe not, but you’re going to at least try.” He sighs
melodramatically, which I take as a yes. “So,” I grab
his gym bag from the corner of his office and toss it
on his desk, “go change, because it’s about a million
degrees outside.”
“Oh yeah. This is gonna be fun.”
************************
I’m glad I took up running this year, because it means I
have clothes to change into for our impromptu
Independence Day festivities. It’s easily a hundred
and two degrees outside today, with not even a hint of
a breeze, so I have a pretty strong suspicion I’m going
to want to dress for the heat and wear as few clothes
as possible. That would probably be the best route for
Josh, too. For his personal comfort, of course.
On my way back to the office, I stop by the Mess, grab
some bottled water, and snag a tablecloth for us to sit
on. If I get in trouble, I’m blaming Josh for making
me work on a holiday in the first place.
He’s waiting at my desk when I return, looking very
out of place in his shorts and sweatshirt. That’s
something I’ve never figured out — if you’re going to
wear a sweatshirt, why cut the arms off? Why not just
wear a wifebeater or something? Also, I’d like to
know how he gets biceps like that when he’s working
all the time.
Josh looks me up and down and I figure I must look
just as out of place in my t-shirt and shorts, until he
lingers a bit on my legs, and then I figure that there’s
something else behind his appraising look. And, if
that’s not the case, I don’t want to know about it.
I stick the water and the tablecloth in my bag and nod
toward the door. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
I lead us through the deserted bullpen and he strides
right along beside me. He’s not saying anything, which
means he must still be in brooding mode. It’s kind of
throwing me off to be walking through the halls with
him and not be bantering. As his assistant, it’s my duty
to help him out of this funk. Plus, I don’t particularly
relish the thought of spending the holiday with Deputy
Downer. The obvious solution is for me to distract
him with the trivia. At the very least, it will get him
arguing with me.
“You were wrong, you know. Independence Day isn’t
a national holiday.”
“Donna,” he smirks. “Are you still on that? It’s *the*
national holiday. If you were going to argue with me
over Labor Day or Arbor Day I might concede, but–”
“No you wouldn’t.”
“Hunh?”
“You wouldn’t concede, you’d just stop arguing. You
might even admit that I had a point, but you wouldn’t
admit defeat.” Believe me. I know. This man does not
lose graciously.
“Well,” he ponders this for a minute, “that’s probably
true. In this case, though, I’m right, so it won’t matter.
The Fourth of July is a national holiday.”
“It’s not.”
“Donna.”
“It’s not, Josh,” I start as we head past security and out
the doors. God, it’s hot today. “It’s not, because we
have no official national holidays.”
“Sure we do.”
“We don’t.”
“Then we should turn around right now and get back to
work,” he smirks. “Oh, and I expect to see you in the
office on Labor Day and Arbor Day too.”
“Josh, I come into work on most Saturdays. Like
holidays mean anything anymore.”
“Which is exactly the point I’ve been making all
morning. America sucks and we have nothing to
celebrate.”
I roll my eyes at him. “America does not suck. I meant
that, with regard to work and to me, holidays and
weekends have lost their meaning because,” I clear my
throat and proclaim in a very serious Josh-like voice,
“the federal government never goes on vacation,
Donna.”
He looks way too amused, so it may be that my attempt
at a serious voice ended up being more silly than
somber, but, hey, it put a damper on the brooding, so
what do I care?
We’re on the street now, and as we head toward the
Mall he puts his hand on the small of my back to help
me maneuver through the crowds. Normally I’d enjoy
this, but it’s excruciatingly hot and I’m already sweaty.
His hand’s not helping.
“My point is,” I continue, “that the United States has
no national holidays. Congress and the White House
can’t mandate observance of the Fourth, except in the
District. Holiday observance is set at the state and
local level.”
“Hunh. How about that?”
“See, I told you you’d never concede defeat.”
“What do you know, you were right on both counts.
Looks like I’m starting to rub off on you.”
************************
Josh and I have managed to stake a claim on a rather
small square of space amongst the crowd on the hill
by the Washington Monument. We’re trying not to get
stepped on by police officers on horses or by drunks
wandering around in search of their parties. How they
can find anyone in this mess I’m not sure, since there
are easily 700,000 people on the lawn.
It’s really hot. Have I mentioned that?
Josh and I are sitting here very comfortably, mostly
mocking the other people around us. It’s frightening
how many examples of sheer bad taste we’re
confronted with. Also, I know it’s hot, but really, that’s
no excuse to walk around in such skanky clothes.
Those underdressed skanks may have the right idea,
though, because we’ve only been situated for a few
minutes when it becomes obvious that our attempts at
dressing for the heat were pathetically optimistic. The
first thing to go is our shoes. Believe me when I tell
you that I thoroughly enjoyed the look on Josh’s face
when he saw that my toenails were electric blue.
We don’t have weather like this in Wisconsin, which
probably goes without saying. It’s a good thing,
because I swear that this weather makes hell look like
Alaska.
I would kill to be in Alaska right now. Or for some
ice. Some lukewarm water. I’m glad I had the
foresight to bring bottled water, because the lines to
buy food or drinks seem to be something out of a
documentary on Communist Russia.
Only, you know, with fewer shopkas and more mullets.
I flop back on our tablecloth, narrowly missing the feet
of the woman sitting behind us.
“Josh, I know this was my idea, but I’m secure enough
to admit defeat when *I’m* wrong. ” He turns to look
at me, his amusement hidden by his sunglasses. I love
those sunglasses. “I was wrong, this was a stupid idea.
Humans were not meant to survive extreme conditions
like this. We should give up and go crash CJ’s party.”
“Give up, Donnatella?’
“Yes, give up. I’m telling you, it’s perfectly noble to
admit defeat in the face of spontaneous combustion.”
“But Donna,” he grins fiendishly, “Perseverance is
what made this country great!”
“No,” I sigh, “What made this country great was not
having to endure 102 degree heat with not even a
whisper of a breeze. General Washington also didn’t
have to worry about Code Reds.”
“Donna, if you’re that hot, take off your shirt.”
Okay, that’s a comment that will be burned into my
brain forever.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re wearing running clothes, right? Surely you’re
wearing one of those jogging bra things, right? That’s
perfectly acceptable attire for a day like today. Look,”
he nods toward some 16-year-old in a string bikini top
and the smallest pair of shorts I’ve ever seen, “you’re
not going to even that extreme. Besides, you’ll get
heatstroke.”
These are all very good points, and by now it’s gotten
so blistering that it wouldn’t take much enticing to get
me to strip naked in front of all these people. It’s
*that* hot.
I pull myself up to a sitting position and start to untuck
my shirt, when I notice that Josh is staring rather
intently at me. It’s especially unnerving with his eyes
hidden behind those dark glasses. Suddenly, this
moment’s become intimate. There are almost a
million people swarming around us, but all I can see is
Josh, who swallows hard when I lift my t-shirt over my
head.
While I stuff my shirt in my bag, I grab a scrunchy for
my hair. I run my fingers through the strands to get
out any serious tangles and pull it up in a loose bun. It
feels so good to get my hair off my neck. Maybe I
should cut it short for the summer.
Josh still hasn’t stopped giving me that look, and I’ve
run out of things to do to avoid it, so I give up and
gaze right back at him. He reaches over and trails a
finger down the curve of my shoulder.
“You’re going to burn, Donna.”
I seem to be having a little difficulty breathing, but I’m
sure it’s just the air quality.
“I, umm, put some lotion on before we left.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Did you get your
shoulder? And your, you know,” he motions vaguely
toward my midriff, “stomach area?”
“Oh. Good point.” Thankful for something to do, I
snatch my SPF-45 sunscreen out of my bag and
quickly rub it over my exposed skin. My back is a
little hard to reach, but it’s way too hot out for me to
even consider asking Josh to help me.
I steal a glance at Josh, and am surprised to see how
contemplative he looks. The creases in his brow are
furrowed in what’s usually his “working out a
problem” face.
“Josh?”
He exhales slowly, setting his jaw in determination.
“I’m just gonna. . .” he trails off, motioning toward his
chest. “It’s really hot,” he tries again.
“Sweltering even.”
“Yeah.” He rubs the palm of his hand over his face.
“It’s sweltering, and I’m gonna just . . .See, I have kind
of a thing–”
“Josh,” I smile, “you can’t possibly think that there’s a
person in the DC Metro area who *hasn’t* seen your
scar.”
“Well,” he says slowly, grinning back at me, “I figured
there might be some tourists here today.”
“Go on,” I grin, “give them a thrill.”
Luckily, it seems like my attempts at looking
light-hearted worked. He takes a deep breath and
whips the sweatshirt off, then tosses it on the
tablecloth. I don’t claim to know what he’s going
through, but I know this is a pretty big deal. He’s
trying to make it look like it’s not, but he’s still pretty
vulnerable. And obviously trying to look nonchalant by
developing a sudden fixation with the red spires of the
Smithsonian building. Since he’s leaning forward with
his spine stiff and his knees pulled up toward his chest,
his body language all but shouts his discomfort.
While he’s avoiding me, I take the opportunity to check
out his scar. Last summer it was a collection of angry
red lines, marring his skin like streaks of lightning.
They’re finally starting to fade, though, and his
well-muscled chest is paler, blurring the divisions
between his injuries and his healthy skin. I’m hoping
that goes for his psyche as well as his chest.
Josh apparently hasn’t been taking his shirt off at all
outside, and he’s pale enough that I worry about him
getting sunburned. Something tells me, though, that
he wouldn’t react well if I offered to help him with the
sunblock. He didn’t ask about rubbing it on my back
because it was too much of a turn-on– well, that’s how
I read it, and if I’m wrong, I still want to live happily
with my delusions — and I don’t offer for him because I
don’t want to embarrass him. Nothing’s ever easy for
us.
“So, Donna,” he says, breaking the silence, “tell me
what else you know about our nation’s Day of
Independence?”
“What makes you think I know anything you don’t
know about today?” Besides, what am I, the
entertainment?
“Because you always do. You have this limitless
wealth of knowledge of both useful and ridiculous
facts, and frankly, it can really drive me nuts, but since
it’s usually how you save my ass, I’ve come to
appreciate it.”
Okay, as if seeing the reminder of last May wasn’t
enough, he has to go and say something like that and
get me all choked up. Obviously I look like I’m about
to go all girly and cry, because Josh gets a panicked
look on his face and starts trying to get me to stop.
“Donna, come on. It’s really not a big thing.”
“But, you..” I sniff.
“Can’t you focus on the part where I said you drive me
nuts?”
“Josh,” I melt, “it’s just– you’ve never –”
“Well, if it’s gonna have this effect on your ability to
speak, I’m gonna have to remember it for the times
when you’re making me crazy expounding on the
virtues of rainforest preservation.”
My mushy face is gone and I scowl at him. “For your
information, rainforest preservation is a pressing issue.
Rainforests are being destroyed at an alarming rate,
primarily due to the increase in –”
“I get the picture,” he grins. “But let’s save the
rainforest speech for some other time, okay?
Preferably when I need to torture Toby. Today, you’re
supposed to regale me with facts about the Fourth of
July, and fireworks, and maybe even weather
conditions. Because I really don’t think that this kind of
heat can be a natural phenomenon.”
“And then your faith in the American political system
will be restored?”
“Probably not, unless you can fix that whole electoral
college thing. Or, you know, dissolve the Republican
Party.”
“Right. I don’t think any of that will be happening
today.”
“Really? Damn. Reelection will go a lot smoother if
we don’t have to worry about getting electoral votes
from Florida’s screwed-up election system.”
“And anyway, in spite of the fact that you didn’t know
that our Independence Day wasn’t a national holiday, I
really do hope you know *something* about American
history. Because if you don’t, I think we may not only
need to abolish the electoral college, but we may also
need to require entrance exams for White House senior
staff members.”
“I had my entrance exam, Donna. I was a Fulbright
scholar.”
“You know, that would be much more impressive if
you knew things like whether the White House has
jurisdiction to declare a national holiday.”
“Yeah, well, I bet if we gave the country our okay to
take the day off for no reason, nobody’d complain that
it wasn’t our job to tell them to go watch the
fireworks.”
“For no reason? Would you just give up on this whole
jaded and bitter attitude you’ve got going?”
“I can’t,” he says, as he leans back and props himself
up on his elbows. “It’s not worth it. We’ve been in
office for three and a half years now. We’ve been
worried about reelection that entire time, and it doesn’t
matter if we *do* get reelected, because we still can’t
implement changes because they’re unpopular, even
though they’re the right thing to do. And when we do
try to change things, it doesn’t matter that we’re the
noble ones, or that we’re doing what’s best for
America, because we still run up against a wall and
we never get anywhere!”
“Josh.” I lay my hand on his arm in an attempt to calm
him. That last part got pretty loud, and I don’t think
CJ wants to have to comment on Josh’s pissy mood in
the press room. When he doesn’t answer, I figure it’s
time to change the subject. I’d blame his mercurial
mood shifts on the heat, but he’s pretty much always
like this, regardless of whether or not it’s boiling hot
outside.
“God, it’s hot out here. How can those people be
playing frisbee?”
“I don’t think there’s *ever* a good reason for playing
frisbee, unless maybe you’re a golden retriever.”
He smirks at that. “Fair point.”
Well, if that got me a smirk, I think I’ll run with it. So
to speak. God, it’s hot.
“They shouldn’t be playing frisbee anyway. With the
Code Red in effect, they should limit outdoor
exercise.”
“Well, maybe you should go tell them it’s too hot to be
playing with flying saucers.”
“Too hot? Do you seriously think that a Code Red just
means that the temperature’s high?”
Now he’s looking kind of unsure if he’s the idiot, or if I
am. “Well, it *is* 102 degrees outside, Donna.”
“Yes, but that’s not what makes it a Code Red.”
“Sure it is.”
“Joshua, a Code Red is an indication of unhealthful air
quality and ozone levels in the air. What happens is
that it becomes hot or humid, usually in the 90s or
100s–”
“Which, I might point out, it is now.”
“Yes, but–”
“So I was right!”
“No, because it’s not –”
“It’s not 102 degrees out here?”
I sigh at him. The man can be such a pain in the ass.
“Yes, but what’s dangerous is when it’s coupled with
stagnant air, stationary high pressure, and pollution. It
can lead to all sorts of respiratory problems. That’s
why you’re supposed to avoid outdoor work and
exercise when there’s a Code Red. And you should try
to stay inside if you’re a child, elderly, or an asthmatic.
Actually, if you have any respiratory disorders–”
“Wait, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume
that ‘respiratory disorders’ includes people who’ve had
a collapsed lung.”
“Well, probably. Do I look like a doctor?”
“Not mine, thankfully. My point is this: I could have
gotten out of this little adventure if I’d played the Code
Red/respiratory ailment card?”
“I think this will teach you to start paying more
attention, now won’t it?”
“I pay attention.”
“Since when?”
“I notice things. And then I file that information away
in case I need it for a thing.”
“So next year I have no chance in hell of getting you to
join me for the fireworks, hunh?”
“Pretty much. Although, maybe if you ask nicely.”
“Hmm. Good thing I planned to get someone fun to go
with me next year.”
“Good thing.”
************************
The moment I’ve been waiting for all day has arrived.
The sun has finally gone down.
Of course, now that this moment has come and gone, I
realize two things. First of all, the fireworks don’t
happen at sundown. They happen when night’s
completely fallen. That means that we have a good
two hours left until the fireworks start. Second of all,
when it’s 102 degrees at 4 in the afternoon, it’s not
much cooler a couple hours later, sunlight or not. I’ve
been out here for over four hours, and I could really
use a break from the heat.
We’ve completely given up trying to seem energetic,
and we’re limply lying side by side on our tablecloth. I
feel absolutely disgusting and I’m pretty sure we both
stink to high heaven. It’s hard to tell when everyone
else out here is sweaty and gross too. I’d sit up, but I
don’t have the energy.
“How much longer?”
I consider looking at my watch, but the idea of lifting
up my arm is too tiring. So I settle for evasion. “Not
much. You’re like a kid on a road trip, Josh.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“Me too.”
“I can tell.”
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?”
“You let me win that argument on whether the Navy
should own dolphins.”
“I did not let you win, I simply suggested that we table
the discussion for later.”
“How come?”
“I’m exhausted.”
“See? And we didn’t even do anything today but sit
here and argue. Imagine how the frisbee-people are
doing.”
“What really frightens me is that we have to walk back
to the White House.”
“Oh God, I didn’t even think about that. With the
700,000 sweaty people all headed out of here at the
same time.”
We’re quiet for a moment, and there’s only the din of
the crowd around us. It’s getting darker. *I* think it’s
dark enough for fireworks. Maybe Josh could tell
someone he works for the White House and the
President would like them to get the show moving. I
wonder if that would be wrong. But it would work, I
bet.
When Josh finally speaks, his voice is so quiet that for
a moment I think I’ve imagined it. “Donna?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it?”
“Waiting in the heat for the fireworks?”
“No, the rest of it. Getting defeated at every turn,
getting shot, having all our good intentions distorted.”
I roll over on my side to look at him. I consider
propping my head up on my elbow, but decide that hot
air rises and I should stay as low to the ground as
possible.
Josh is staring up at the sky, looking at the three
twinkling stars that have just come out into the sky.
Or else they may be planes headed to Dulles, in which
case he’s wasting his time if he’s wishing on them.
I chew on my lip thoughtfully. “Yeah.”
“You do?” He turns over to look at me, and he
manages to find the strength to prop himself up.
There’s something incredibly intimate about lying here
with Josh and having him gaze down on me. I could
get used to this.
“Of course I do. We all have bad days, Josh. But even
if we have a hundred days of getting nowhere, as long
as we have one day where we do some good– it makes
it all worth it.”
“Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“I’ve noticed,” I grin. “But see all these people? Every
day we do a little bit to make sure they’re free. We
protect their right to wear skimpy clothes and play
frisbee. We’re all out here celebrating those rights.
And sure, sometimes I can’t help but wonder what
good it does me to go into work every day and listen to
you yell. Would our country be any better if there
were someone else in our office writing the policies?
Probably not. Because we keep trying– because every
now and then we make a little change, and eventually,
that adds up. And you know what that is, Joshua?”
He grins at me– dimples and all. “Perseverance.”
Well, what do you know? He actually does pay
attention. “Exactly,” I smile.
He sobers and reaches over to brush a stray lock of hair
off of my face. For one brief second I have the crazy
idea that he might kiss me, and he starts to lean down.
Before I can react, the fanfare of patriotic music starts
and we both look away, focusing instead on the night
sky.
The fireworks are as amazing as I’ve heard. I always
figure that fireworks displays are all the same, but this
one seems especially dazzling. I’m not sure whether
it’s the relief after the heat of the day, or being in our
nation’s capital, or being so close to Josh. Whatever
the reason, the music makes my heart swell and my
eyes fill with tears. Josh was right that our jobs can be
thankless and frustrating, but in this moment, I can’t
see that. All I know is that every single one of us in
this crowd is free, and that’s a beautiful thing.
We didn’t get here without tremendous feats of
courage. I am sharply aware of this as Josh grasps
tightly to my hand while we stare in awe at the sky.
We’ve come so far this year, that he can lie here with
me, in spite of the booming explosions and the
deafening music. It seems so silly to me that a bunch
of glittery lights in the night sky could symbolize so
much for me. But fireworks defy gravity. They show
us that we can fly, that we can soar and explode in
triumph, and that we have the potential to be great.
And *that,* is perseverance. I wonder if Josh can feel
it too.
When the display is over, I examine Josh’s face
closely. Thankfully, I don’t see any of the haunting
look of last fall. He slowly stands and helps me to my
feet. We put our shoes and shirts back on and Josh
grabs the bag while I fold up our tablecloth and tuck it
under my arm.
The rest of the crowd seems rushed, spilling out onto
the streets in a frenzy. But Josh and I stroll at a
leisurely pace back toward the White House. He takes
my hand in his as we cross the street, but doesn’t let go
once we’re safe from traffic.
“So, Donnatella, what you’re telling me is that we take
small steps and that eventually we can make some sort
of, you know, change? We’ll get to where we want to
be?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Good.”
“So you’re all ready to go back to work and send some
more bills up to the Hill?”
He lifts up our joined hands and studies them. Then he
looks at me and grins. “That too.”
THE END