Title: Two Steps Behind  (Donna POV) Author: ballynihinch Rating: Strong R Category: Wishful Thinking Spoilers:  How well do we know our West Wing acronyms?  ITSOTG I&II, IED, WC, Inauguration I&II, 17P, and King Corn.  Can you tell I was watching the old DVDs?? Disclaimers: Not mine.  Belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells and the gang at NBC etc etc.  Author’s Note:  I just fired this off the other day in one sitting.  It had been brewing for a while and then watching the clips from King Corn crystallised it.  It’s unbetaed, so my apologies for any major mistakes that might be found within.  For some reason I feel a bit rusty.  I hope it doesn’t show… AN II:  Kudos to Cathy for insisting I NOT lend her my season one DVDs until I had this posted and out of my system.  And to the lovely people who post video clips of the shows on the net so that people not living in North America can still enjoy the J/D scenes.  Thank you!! TWO STEPS BEHIND If I could go back and change one day of my life, one moment in time to play out differently, well…I’d have a lot of days to go through. I wouldn’t change walking into the Nashua office.  Sometimes I wonder if I should have started working for CJ or Toby or even Sam once I saw how cute the dimples were, or noticed the sexy walk. Say what you will about Josh Lyman being an arrogant, domineering, egotistical jackass, but the walk is sexy.  If you don’t believe me, try spending an hour watching only his pants.  Believe me – it’s an education. If ‘Studying Josh’s Ass’ had been a course in college, I might have found a real major before dropping out. Then again, if I *had* gone and worked for someone else during the first campaign, he and I might never have discovered the banter.  The banter was what made our working relationship so good.  It’s a rare thing to find with anyone, let alone someone you get to spend eighteen hour days with.  I wouldn’t want to have lost that.  The banter made us who we are to each other. So, the campaign time stays. Funny how I’m thinking about that now, while I’m lying in yet another hotel room, living through the craziness that is yet another political campaign.  Except this time I’m here for Bingo Bob instead of President Bartlet. And, yes, I call him Bingo Bob.  Or, I do when I’m alone at night.  What can I say?  Josh is a bad influence on me, even if I don’t work with him anymore.  Lyman Osmosis.  Don’t ask. For your information, he’s getting better with the key-card thing.  I know – I watched through the peephole tonight.  I’m almost sad he’s learning new things without me.  Almost. But back to the question at hand.  What would I change? I really liked the day he gave me The Book.  It’s known as *The Book* in my world.  The Book *and* skis would have been the best present ever, but I’m not complaining.  I could smell his smell on me for more than an hour after we hugged.  It was nice.  Okay, it was *more* than nice.  It made me feel all girly and smiley and dork-like and I loved every second that I could suss out the scent of his aftershave on my sweater. Josh was the lead in all of my night-time fantasies for a good two months after that hug.  He replaced George Clooney.  It was that serious. I’d imagine that, after giving me The Book and me getting all emotional and him breathing into my shoulder, he’d come back out of his office when the bullpen was deserted and take my hand.  He’d leave the book on my desk.  Slowly, he would pull me into his office, shut the door and then lean me back against it.  His hands would run up and over the fuzz of my sweater before letting it fall to the floor and tugging my grey shirt over my head. Before I could say anything, his mouth would latch onto my breast.  His tongue would feel hot and wet, even through the fabric of my bra. “Josh.” Looking up, he’d smile at me.  Just a smile – no words. I’d start working on his tie, his shirt buttons, his zipper – anything I could reach.  My underwear would be down my legs quite soon after that – DreamLover Josh was always very determined in his efforts – and then he’d be touching me, filling me, stretching me.  Only after he was inside of me, pumping his hips into mine and making me moan over and over and over again, would he start to talk.  I don’t know quite what he would say, but it would be very sexy and hot and…and him.  Things only he would know to say. Then again, with Josh Lyman having me up against a door with so much passion and power and heat in every caress, the sexiness of the situation would be kind of a no-brainer. So, I’m definitely keeping the day he gave me The Book and everything that my warped imagination came up with after that. You’d probably think that the shooting was a night I would change, but it’s not—at least, not in the way you’d think.  I want to have been there at Rosslyn.  I don’t know if some things are meant to be or not, so I don’t know how to feel about the shooting in the philosophical sense.  But I wish I could have been with him.  Just to have been beside him that night.  I hate the thought that he was alone for so many unending minutes, lying against that concrete, waiting for someone, for *anyone* to notice he was missing. I would have noticed right away.  I mean, it’s *me*. But Josh told me many times over that long, hot summer that the only thing that made him feel better was that I hadn’t been there.  I had been safe in my apartment instead of out in the maelstrom. “You weren’t there, Donna,” he said, “and that’s all I have to go on.  That’s all.  So just leave it, okay?” When he said that, it meant everything.  But I didn’t say anything, despite my absolute need to blurt something out.  That wasn’t what he needed then.  So I just nodded and went to get a soda from his fridge. We needed that time together, those months when we were inseparable and living together at his place.  It was the best of times and the worst of times.  Have I ever mentioned that I think Charles Dickens is a genius?  I started reading Dickens for the first time that summer, during Josh’s recovery.  “David Copperfield” is my personal favourite.  I love the characters. Once I threw Josh’s copy of “Great Expectations” at his head when he was being a dork.  Trust me, he deserved it.  And, no, the irony of lobbing that particular title at Josh is not lost on me now.  I had great expectations for us then.  He didn’t notice, though; he was more concerned with how heavy and painful it had been when the book had nailed him in the face. Note to self: hard-covers always make better missiles. My expectations for us – great or otherwise – went nowhere.  Would I change sleeping with Cliff?  The sex was good and I was horny and every woman has the right to get laid.  The diary fallout, however, is definitely regrettable. I have regrets. Everything changed.  The tenor of my relationship with Josh was never the same after that little escapade.  I think of it as our dark period.  That entire year was dark.  If I could know for sure that if I hadn’t slept with Cliff, Josh would never have gotten involved with Amy, then it might be the thing I’d change. Amy’s not pure evil, but she can be such a bitch to the wrong people.  It drives me nuts.  And she hurt Josh.  You can just imagine how that makes me feel.  She made him doubt and feel less than what he is and screw up on a lot of levels.  It was depressing.  I am a very protective person, and that reflex became even more acute once Josh and I were in our dark period and not communicating properly. Josh is a good man.  He doesn’t hold a grudge.  That’s what I’m for. But, we got through that black time.  We rode out the storm. And then, one night, he made my dreams come true – at least in the screwball-romantic-comedy kind of way.  What girl, even for the briefest glimmer of a second, hasn’t imagined herself as a princess and the whole knight-on-charger-rescue scene?  Even for a smidgen of a moment?  I know that modern princesses can get down out of that tower all on our own and all the power to us, but Josh throwing snowballs up at my window on Inauguration night was amazing.  My hero.  My knight.  My man with the good arm. Pure winter poetry. Plus, I was in my good blue dress.  And Josh was in a tux.  There’s something about a man in a tuxedo that makes me lick my lips.  Margaret understands – she has the same reaction.  We’ve compared notes. So Josh drove up with Will and Toby and Charlie and Danny after figuring out my lie and swept me off my feet, straight into his lap.  Literally.  Wild thing, for sure. “You look amazing.” I could have said so much in return, but I didn’t say a word.  There was an audience and it was cold and I needed something more.  I felt I’d been chasing him forever and now I wanted him to chase me.  I needed that.  For three months after the Inaugural ball, I dreamed that Josh would have done more that night.  He would send the guys away and we’d go back up to my apartment and my hands would feel every inch of him through that tuxedo.  And then, together, we’d peel off the tuxedo and it would be so hot and so right and soooo good. For three months thoughts of Joshua Lyman stripping me naked and mussing up my hairdo and making love to me on every piece of furniture in my apartment dominated my dreams and made me touch myself over and over again in the darkness of my room.  I didn’t fantasize about Hugh Jackman *once*.  This was beyond serious.  This was something I couldn’t even name. Up until now, I would have said that the thing I’d want to change, the one moment I’d play out differently, was one that happened years ago.  It was that night, the one just before the MS hit the proverbial fan. Red lights.  I’d go back to Red Lights. I thought that walking out of his office that night was my best exit ever.  I was calm, I was cool, I was witty, I was truthful, and I left Josh absolutely dumbfounded.  Now I’m not so sure it was such a good idea. What if I had pushed a little bit more?  What if I had crawled across the few inches separating us on the floor and showed him just how much better he was than my old boyfriend?  Would I have found out what he tastes like?  He must be a good kisser – no question about that.  He just is.  And that night, with him wearing his sexy jeans and the sweater and his hair all curly and his teasing making me smile, I might have found out. God!  The teasing can be so hot! It was there that night – that thing between him and me that can just crackle and spark and give off real heat.  It was there.  What would have changed if we had kissed that night?  If his hands had touched my neck, my shoulders, my breasts, the bare small of my back?  If I had straddled him among the scattered folders and pushed him down on the carpet and rolled my hips against his hardness?  He would have been hard.  He’s often hard around me.  He thinks I don’t know that.  I like knowing that I can get that kind of a reaction from him.  I wonder if I still can. Sometimes I wonder how it’s possible that Josh and I have never just thrown each other to the floor and gone at it like bunnies.  Done it all – everything and anything we’ve ever dreamed of or yearned for or craved.  But in all our years of working together, day in and day out, it never happened.  We never crossed the line. Maybe all this sexual chemistry is just in my head.  I mean, is it possible for this man to have that kind of restraint for so long, when normally he doesn’t have enough restraint to keep his bellows to a dull roar?  How could I have been sure he felt the same way? And so now we come to the day I *would* change, the thing I would go back and amend or rectify or transform.  It was tonight. Tonight, I would change the fact that I am just lying here alone on my hotel bed instead of making love to him in his.  I didn’t cross the hall to knock on his door when I knew he was in there.  If I’d done that, then at least I would have some kind of an answer after all this time. We don’t work together anymore.  If I had gone over – walked the entire three feet from my room to his – then *something* would have happened, one way or the other. But I didn’t say a word.  I didn’t do anything. I stayed in my safe zone and did my nightly get-ready-for-bed routine and didn’t push.  That’s the one thing I would change: I would have pushed tonight instead of pulling back and watching him silently through the peephole. Last night, I almost thought that I heard him outside my door.  If that was for real, I’d have changed the way that played out too.  I would have swung open the door just as he was about to knock.  I don’t know if we would have said anything.  Maybe everything would have come tumbling out.  Maybe we wouldn’t have needed words after all.  I would have pulled him inside and done anything and everything I’ve ever dreamed of. There are many, many fantasies that I could have cashed in on. And then, in the morning, he would have gotten me coffee.  Best fantasy of all. I need to stop dreaming. FIN