Summary: Sometimes the tests in life that seem the least important aren’t quite so insignificant after all.
Disclaimer: Aaron Sorkin created the West Wing universe, so he gets to claim, Josh, Donna, and President Bartlet. I own nothing. I did this without intent to infringe, and not for profit. “Plays With Questions” refers to one of the multiple intelligence learning styles proposed by Howard Gardner.
Spoilers: None, I think.
Author’s Notes: For Lesley, who always does me favors, even though she knows it means I’ll keep asking.
Distribution: Archived here. All others please ask (I’ll say yes, I just like to know where it’s living.).
So, since President Bartlet left office, I have a lot more spare time. Sure, I’m taking a pretty substantial courseload in school, and working besides that, but my twenty hour workdays are pretty few and far between. I know I’m not the only Bartlet refugee with too much times on his hands, though.
Which brings me to why Josh and I are sitting by the tidal basin and taking a Cosmo quiz.
What?? If he keeps quizzing me on my poli sci class, we’ll not only both go insane, but we just may kill each other. Instead, we’ve settled for taking a romance IQ test while I steal Josh’s french fries from right under his nose.
This is nice. Not too many months ago, Josh would have been too busy to do much more than flip through my magazine while he waited impatiently for me to finish some report. He’d have paused for the lingerie ads, though. Guys always make time for those damn Victoria’s Secret models.
Instead of listening to him whine about how slowly I type, we’re sitting outside on a small strip of grass, under some blooming cherry trees. I try to pretend we’re not right next to a parking lot, but DC’s not exactly known for it’s lush, rolling hills. It kind of ruins the effect for me, though. The sun is shining, a nice breeze is blowing, and best of all, there isn’t a single national
emergency that either of us have to worry about. It’s all on President Hoynes’ staff now, and it seems like a lifetime ago that any of it mattered.
“Question Four. The best place to meet men is . . .” Josh pauses expectantly to let me fill in the blank. I just wait. It’ll drive him nuts.
The smirk disappears and he starts getting whiney. “Donna…”
“Josh.”
“C’mon, Donna. Answer the questions or we go back to discussing the political ramifications of Brown v. Board of Education.”
“I’m not sure, Josh,” I grin, “I think that might be almost as entertaining.”
“You do not, and you started this. Now play nice and answer the question.”
“The thing is, Joshua,” I say as I casually munch on a french fry,”I have read Cosmo once or twice before. Therefore, I am aware that these quizzes are multiple choice. And even if I wasn’t, any idiot could figure that you’d need to standardize your responses in some way in order to collect data that are…”
“Okay! Enough!” Before I can get into the finer points of data collection (which is really a shame, because statistics are really very fascinating), he throws his hands up in frustration. Of course, the magazine goes flying too and I have to wait for him to retrieve it.
“A: A library. B: A blind date. C: At work. D: A nightclub.”
“E: None of the above.”
“Donna, you just gave me that whole statistics speech and now you’re making up answers.”
“Yes, but only because I didn’t like their choices.”
“You didn’t? Because I thought that they sounded promising.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Picking up dating tips from Cosmo, Josh?”
He raises his eyebrow in response. “I take them where I can get ‘em. Now, if you have some heretofore unseen insight into the dating scene, I say hand that info over. Otherwise, you’re just gonna have to settle for A, B, C, or D like the rest of America.”
“Heretofore unseen? Just because you pretty much just fall into relationships, doesn’t mean that there aren’t better ways.”
“Oh?” He’s smirking again. Really, if it weren’t so damn cute it would be annoying.
“Yep. Everybody knows that the best place to meet guys is, in fact, the grocery store.”
“The grocery store?” *Must* he argue with everything I say? “How is that romantic?”
“Because, Josh, you can tell a lot by what a guy’s got in his cart ” Josh interrupts me to cackle like a twelve-year-old, but I keep talking. You can’t encourage him, it just makes things worse. “By what kind of groceries he’s buying. Even if he’s not wearing the ring, you can spot the food he’s buying for the wife and kids. So, not only does it help you avoid unfaithful husbands, but as an added bonus, you can ask them to, you know, reach boxes on the shelves for you.”
“Reach boxes on the shelves for you?”
“What? It gets the conversational ball rolling. That’s how these things start; by initiating a conversation.”
“Donna. You’re 5′ 7″.”
“I know. You see why I have trouble finding dates?”
Josh moves his backpack out of the way and flops back on the blanket, turning to lie on his side. I’ve been sitting cross-legged next to him, but he kind of tugs on my sleeve, so I turn and lie on my stomach next to him, propping myself up with my elbows.
Well. This is certainly cozy.
“Question Five. The ideal romantic evening with the man in your life involves. . .”
Dammit. He’s pausing again. Did we learn nothing from Question Four?
“The choices, please?”
“Oh, sorry,” he looks positively gleeful. “I thought you might like to make up your own answer again.”
I just glare at him. Since when have I claimed to be consistent?
He finally realizes I’m not backing down, or, more likely, he started getting impatient for something new to argue about, and starts listing my choices.
“A: A walk on the beach at sunset.” He directs a questioning glance my way.
“I’m not sure if I’d like that. You never took me to Hawaii so I could find out.”
I don’t know that it’s possible, but his smirk gets more devious. “So, you’re saying that you need my help to find out how romantic you think that is?”
Oh, hell.
“I didn’t mean that I needed you to take the walk on the beach with me. I meant that I needed you to take me to the beach for work. But you didn’t. And now we don’t work together, so you can’t.”
I don’t know where the smirk went, but this thoughtful look that I’m now getting is pretty unnerving. “So, you had someone else in mind for this romantic walk on the beach? You just wanted me to act as your travel agent?”
“No, you could walk with me if you wanted to.” Okay, that’s not really the direction I wanted this conversation to go. “I mean, no, I had no one in mind, and I wouldn’t have been using you, and what are my other choices?”
He laughs softly to himself. “B: Dinner and a movie. C: A long talk over the candlelit dinner. D: A day at an amusement park.”
I don’t even hesitate. “C.”
He looks downright smug. “Thought so.”
He did?
“You did?”
“Of course I did.” I don’t know which is more unnerving: the fact that he knows me so well, or the way he’s invaded my space just now so that his face is just inches from mine. He looks positively triumphant. I’m not sure what to make of this. I want it, and then I don’t. I back up to grab my water from the edge of our blanket. I need something to cool me off, and
something to give me space.
He keeps talking casually, as if there suddenly wasn’t all this electricity in the moment, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. And I suppose it’s not. I’ve just gotten better at ignoring it over the years.
“I knew you’d choose the candlelight because it included a long talk. I figured that would appeal to you.”
If I weren’t an adult, it would be pretty appropriate to describe my reaction as ‘pouting.’ I tend to think ’sulking’ covers it about as well. “Because I never shut up?”
He shoots me a quizzical glance. “Because smart is sexy, Donnatella. I figured you’d like a date that appealed to your mind.”
I’m suddenly flustered, and I snatch the magazine out of his hands. “My turn. Question Six. Does the man in your life ”
“Why do they keep saying that? Isn’t ‘boyfriend’ a pretty all-purpose term?”
“Because, Josh,” I say, rolling my eyes, “It’s not. Some women have husbands. Or,” I shrug, “whatever.”
“Or whatever? Come on, Donna, it’s imbecilic. Why not say ’significant other’ then? ‘Man in your life’ makes it sound like it could be your father. Or your dentist. Or your– ”
“Former boss?” I smirk at him.
“Exactly.” He grins. ” And I hope that you’re not answering these questions with your father in mind.”
I think we both know who I’ve been talking about. It wasn’t my father, and it certainly wasn’t any of the ‘local gomers’ I’ve dated lately.
“I assure you I’m not. I can’t get my dentist out of my head, though.”
I give him a saucy grin and suddenly we’re heading toward dangerous territory. I should have seen this coming. I figured we’d read the questions, mock them, do a little bantering, and get back to the task at hand preparing me for my mid-term. I didn’t realize we’d keep coming so close to confronting this thing between us.
There’s no need to get distracted by this. There’s also really no need for Josh to give me that look. I’m not quite sure what he’s thinking, which is unusual, or what that look means, but I’m afraid that the look means we’re going to talk about it.
“Anyway, to return to our quiz: Does the man in your life make you feel…A: Like a princess. B: Like superwoman. C: Like a movie star. D: Like a maid.”
I roll my eyes. “These are just stupid.”
“You’re just now noticing this?”
“No, I’m not just now noticing this, Josh. I *have* managed to discern that all of the questions so far have been shallow and silly, but these choices are just dumb.”
“Dumb? And you think *they* have problems?”
“Dumb. The man in your life shouldn’t make you feel like you’re something that you’re not. He should make you feel like what you are is amazing.”
“What about all those women who aren’t amazing?”
“Josh.”
“No, seriously. It’s easy for you to think that way because the man in your life couldn’t possibly think you’re more amazing than you already are. What about the other women who are just mediocre?”
Somewhere in that little speech, I think he paid me a compliment. If he did it to knock me off my game, he succeeded, because I’m all flustered now.
“Donna?” I must look dazed.
“Josh?”
“Donna, c’mon isn’t this a magazine for normal women?” He keeps talking right over my indignation that he’s implying I’m abnormal. “Don’t you think that they want to feel like more than they are?”
“Like more than they are? Sounds a little elitist, don’t you think.”
“Nah,” he smirks.
I just give him a look. It’s very eloquent.
“What.”
“You’re arguing just to argue now.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Donna. I am NOT.”
“You are, Josh. Face it, you’re arguing just so that you can win. Do you always have to have the last word? Must you be right all the time? You know, it’s not the end of the world to admit the occasional defeat.”
“I don’t have any driving need to be right. I just am.”
“Oh, please,” I snort.
“What?”
“Why do you always do this?”
“I like to argue with you. You give me a run for my money. But you never answered my question, Donna. How does the man in your life make you feel?”
Confused.
“Josh,” I plead, “let’s just forget the damn quiz and go back to studying for my midterm.”
“Nope,” he announces. “We can’t. This is the last question, and then we get to add up all of our points and discover how smart about romance we are.”
“We really don’t. We’re both idiots.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m not going to believe it until I see the numbers. The numbers don’t lie.”
“Josh, it’s Cosmo, not a polling sample.”
“Still. What’s your answer?”
“No.”
“No? That’s your answer? I ask ‘How does the man in your life make you feel?’ and you say ‘No’? That’s not an answer.”
“It *is* an answer, just not to that question.”
“To which question, then?”
“Whichever. Look, I’m done. Let’s get back to work.” I point emphatically to my textbook, on the off chance that this will make him realize how stubborn he’s being. Oh yeah, that’ll happen.
“We will, just as soon as you answer the question.”
“No.” It is quite possible that I’m every bit as stubborn as Josh is.
“How does the man in your life make you feel?”
“Joshua,” I warn.
“How does the man in your life make you feel?”
“No.”
“How does he make you feel, Donna?”
“No, Josh!”
“Does he make you feel happy, sad, what?”
“Annoyed!”
Oops.
There’s a pause while we both try to figure out the implication of what I’ve just admitted.
“Annoyed?”
“Look, Josh ” I start to sit up, but Josh grabs my hand and pulls me back down. I’m suddenly distracted from whatever I was going to say because Josh hasn’t let go of my hand. He’s tracing these soft patterns on the back of my hand, which I think are meant to be calming and reassuring, but are just making me more confused. All traces of his mischievous grin are gone,
and he’s gazing at me very intently. I can’t look at him, I’m too unnerved by this whole situation.
I close my eyes and try again. “Can’t we just get back to–”
“Annoyed?” he asks softly. “Not, you know, happy?”
I can’t help it, I open my eyes. I never would have imagined it, but Josh
Lyman looks almost shy.
“Not happy,” I smile. “Ecstatic.”
“Yeah?” Speaking of ecstatic, that’s exactly how he looks right now. He’s grinning for all he’s worth and the dimples are out in full force.
“Yeah. And cherished. He doesn’t say it often, but he always makes sure that I know that he’d be lost without me.”
“He does. I mean, he’d have to be a fool not to.” Josh is still caressing my hand his fingers skimming softly against mine. His face is moving closer to mine, and his voice has taken on a husky tone. “Is that all? There’s no other word for how he makes you feel?”
“Breathless,” I whisper, and suddenly his lips are on mine.
Eventually we part, and Josh leans back to look at me thoughtfully.
“See,” I flash him a self-satisfied smile, “I told you we were romantic idiots.”
He starts to look alarmed, and I realize that I could have probably phrased that better.
“What I mean is, look how long it took us to do this.”
“Yeah,” he grins, “but think about how much fun we’re going to have making up for lost time.” He pulls me closer and we proceed to do just that.
People have been telling me for years that Josh and I are joined at the hip, but I think I like this much better.
For now, at least. We’re going to have to give that hip thing a shot.
THE END.