Rating: PG-13/R
Pairing:Toby/Donna
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Archive: At my site, The Band Gazebo; anywhere else, just ask.
Feedback: Yes please. Don't make me beg.
Spoilers: 17 People, slight for Two Gunmen - all the backstory.
Summary:A photograph causes Donna to look back at the events of the Inaugural Ball.
Notes: In the episode Bad Moon Rising in the scene where Donna and Josh are talking about the Mexican workers, you can see Donna's desk, and the pictures on it. While one of them looks to me like it's of her and Josh talking in the hall, the other looks more like Donna and Toby. And although I could be wrong, I got to thinking - why would Donna keep a picture of her and Toby on her desk? And this is my answer.
This place looks like a bomb hit it.
It's a week since the Inaugural Ball. One week since we began to run the country. And I still can't find half the things that I need to do my job properly. Josh is running around the place like a madman, trying to juggle seventeen things at once, which of course means that I have to juggle at least thirty four, but does he pay any attention to that? Of course not.
I swear, it's enough to make a girl wish she'd never left Wisconsin.
OK, maybe it's not.
There is however, one great difference between now and the campaign trail. At least now Josh has an actual office door, with real walls surrounding it, a place where he can sequester himself and give me a break before emerging with a new list of complaints and demands. Which is something. I mean, at least it gives me a real break, and him a chance to think about what he's going to do or say rather than just blowing up at me. Although you wouldn't think it. Still, I also know that he's not the only one acting like this. I've been talking to all the assistants over the past week, and we're all feeling a little bit stressed and harried, and we all agree that it seems like our bosses have been taken over by their evil twins. We'll get through it.
I hope.
Of course, this time last month, I wouldn't have been so philosophical. In fact, right about now, I think I would have been in the ladies' room sobbing, wondering how much grovelling it would take for my parents to let me come home.
Isn't it funny how one night, one encounter can change your whole perspective on a person, even when the person is you? How someone else can say something, or do something, and all of a sudden, it's like a door has blown off a building and there's this ray of sunlight there that you never saw before?
A shadow falls across my desk, and I brace myself to see Josh beside me, breathing fire about something new, but instead I'm met by a smiling face and I can't help but smile back at the First Daughter. "Hey Donna," Zoey says to me. "How's it going?"
I look at the chaos in the bullpen, most of it on my desk, and throw my hands up. "Put it this way…the job's yours if you want it."
She wrinkles her nose, laughing as she does so. "Much as I love Josh, I don't think I could deal with him all day."
"Welcome to my world," I tell her wryly, and she laughs again. "You want to see him?"
"I stopped by to see you," she tells me, and I can't stop my eyes from widening in surprise. "I wanted to show you my photos of the ball."
I take the packet of photos from her eagerly. Zoey's been going through a photography phase lately, and if history should ever require a record of the Bartlet for America campaign, she's our girl. She's been showing me her photos ever since I've been here, and this is the very last set. It's of the Inaugural Ball, which, let me just tell you, was one heck of a shindig. We spend the next few minutes laughing and talking and she tells me the stories behind all the pictures, taking the time to admonish me. "You avoided the camera all night," she tells me. "I only got one picture of you."
I smile sheepishly, not telling her that I consciously avoided having my picture taken as much as possible during the campaign, even by her. After all, I was a college dropout from Wisconsin - who would want a picture of me? Plus, there was no way that I was going to be kept on after the campaign, or so I thought. It was only on Election Day that Josh told me he was going to take me to Washington as his assistant when we won - when, not if we won, that's how confident he was. But I still couldn't quite bring myself to believe that. Even when we moved into the White House, even when I was at the Inaugural Ball, I still couldn't bring myself to believe it.
That's how confident I was.
I smile when I get to the photo of me. It's right at the end of the pile, which means that it was taken right at the end of the night, something which Zoey is at great pains to point out to me. I'm on the left-hand side, slightly occluded by the man in the foreground. I have my black coat on, so you can't even see my dress, but I'm smiling at the camera. The man in the foreground isn't though, he's practically scowling, then again, that is his stock in trade.
For most people.
I look at the picture, looking at the two people there, and I allow my thoughts to drift back to that night.
As I've already said, the ball was quite something. I'd been to parties while on the campaign you understand, but this was something else altogether. For starters, at campaign fundraisers and Primary victory parties, it was all far more informal. At the Inaugural Ball, the men were in white tie, and the women, me included, were in evening dresses, the price tag of which would keep me and most small nations fed for a couple of months. Mine wasn't quite that nice, or that expensive, but all the assistants had banded together and gone shopping en mass; after all, on what we get paid, we are girls on budgets for the foreseeable future. But even if I do say so myself, we all looked pretty good.
Of course, I didn't think that of myself. My dress was the least expensive of the bunch; my savings had pretty much been guzzled by living on the campaign and getting my car on the road. It was long and lavender, satin, with a long sweeping skirt and tiny spaghetti straps holding it up. My hair wasn't done elaborately, just pulled back off my face. I'd quipped to the girls that I was going for the simple look when they'd gushed over how nice the dress was, how well it fitted me, how the colour complimented me. I thought they were just being my friends.
And once we got into the Ball itself, I got compliments from CJ and Sam and Josh and a host of other people. And it seemed like most of the men in the place wanted to talk to me, to dance with me. Of course they did. After all, I was the newly appointed assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff. If they wanted to talk to Josh after tonight, it was me they had to go through. Therefore, it was important to talk softly to me, dance with me, get me drinks, make me feel appreciated.
However, all that attention was a little suffocating, so I escaped to the balcony. It was cold enough that most people were staying inside, but coming from Wisconsin, as someone who routinely sat in Lambeau Field in the ice and snow of winter, I thought it was fine. I didn't even realise I wasn't alone until I smelled cigar smoke, and heard Toby say my name.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked.
"Getting some fresh air. You?"
He held up his cigar. "Damn anti-smoking regulations. By the end of the night, I'll be inside smoking and no-one will care. But right now, I'm being asked to please refrain." He paused, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "I wonder if we can make a law against that?"
I laughed. "I'm pretty sure that the President wouldn't go for that."
He shrugged. "You look lovely tonight, by the way."
He'd stepped closer to me on the balcony, and the compliment, coming from Toby of all people, stunned me, and I was left lost for words for a moment, before I thanked him.
"I noticed you had lots of dance partners," he told me. "Come out here for a break?"
There was something about his words, a lightness of tone maybe, that I hadn't heard in Toby's voice since I'd been working on the campaign. And there was a hint of a smile about his lips that I was suddenly finding quite endearing. That thought, and the comment that he'd made, had me blushing, and I waved a hand. "I think that they were just being nice to me so I'd make it easier for them to get to Josh."
His cigar stopped halfway to his mouth, and he looked at me, surprised. "Why would you think that?"
I'm surprised he even has to ask that question, but I answer it anyway. "Why else would they be nice to me?"
I didn't expect him to laugh at what I said, but that's what he did. "Of course, how silly of me. Because that's the only reason that men are nice to stunningly attractive blondes in pretty dresses."
After that comment, I was pretty sure that the world was about to end, because it sure as hell seemed to have gone crazy. I was even willing to entertain the possibility of alien body snatchers, because this couldn't be Toby Ziegler standing before me. I mean, I'm usually pretty clueless about these things, but I could swear that he was flirting with me. "What do you mean?" I asked uncertainly.
There was an air of open curiosity on his face. "You really think that the only reason men are flocking to you tonight is because you're going to work for Josh?" I nodded, and he stepped closer to me, his eyes dark, his voice low and serious. "Donna, those men are being nice to you because you look sensational. Because they've talked to you, and realised that you are intelligent and astute and witty. They are dancing with you because they want an excuse to hold you close, to know how you feel in their arms. They're there because of you Donna. Not because of Josh."
By the time he was finished, I'm sure that my eyes were wide. I know that my cheeks were red, and not from the cold, and my heart was beating so loudly, I was sure that people would hear it over the noise of the band inside. "How do you know that?" I managed to whisper.
He leaned in closer to me, so close that his face was only inches from mine. "Because I do."
I don't know how long we stood there like that, neither one of us moving, afraid of the consequences. I spoke first, never taking my eyes of his. "Would you like to go inside…and dance?"
He smiled at that, and my heart quickened again. "I would love to."
So we went inside and we danced. And he held me close to him, and I was very much aware of his hand on the small of my back, of his hand in mine as we moved oh-so-properly. I was able to feel his breath as it moved strands of my hair gently, and I was able to smell the scent of cigar smoke and cologne that I will now and forever associate with him. And I was very aware of the affect that he was having on me. And when he moved his head back and looked in my eyes, I felt like the rest of the room had disappeared, leaving just the two of us.
Until the music stopped and he walked away and I tried to ignore the disappointment.
I spent the rest of the night either on the dance floor or seeking refuge with my friends. But I couldn't keep from going over Toby's words in my head, from remembering the way he looked at me. Could it be that simple? Could all these men, these attractive, powerful, influential men, really be interested in me, Donnatella Moss?
It beggared belief. It absolutely defied everything I knew to be true in the world.
The other assistants and I had shared a cab from one hotel to the other on the way over, but by the end of the night, as we had known we would be, we'd all scattered in different directions. So I was all ready to go out to the lobby and find myself a cab. My coat was in my hands when it was taken out of them. "Let me help you with that," Toby said to me, holding it out for me, slipping it on, gently taking my hair from out of the back, smoothing the shoulders for just a little too long. He had to have noticed the shiver that coursed through me when he did that, and I turned to him and managed a smile. "You're going back to the other hotel?" he asked.
I nodded, knowing that most of the new Senior Staff had planned ahead and booked rooms here. "I think the others have gone on ahead." I looked around the almost deserted room then, and couldn't see them anywhere. "I was just going to go out and get a cab."
He nodded. "I'll walk you out." His hand went once again to the small of my back and we walked to the door, being waylaid on the way by a hyperactive First Daughter with a camera, who insisted on taking our picture. I smiled, he grimaced, she clicked and we continued on our way. "Or," he said when we were out of earshot of everyone. "You could just come to my room."
I kept on walking, he kept up with me, as I thought rapidly. There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea. So many reasons why I shouldn't do this. So many reasons why I should walk out that front door and keep on going.
Instead I said ok.
Which is how I ended up in Toby's room that night, until morning. Aside from his hand on my back, he didn't touch me, not when we were in the elevator, not when we were walking down the corridor. But when we got into the room, all bets were off. Clothes were flying everywhere, although we were careful; after all, I was going to have to wear these clothes the next morning. But his hands were everywhere and so were his lips, and I've never had an experience like that before. Although you might not think it to look at him, Toby Ziegler is an amazing lover, experienced and considerate, and he made me feel like a goddess. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the things he said…it was truly incredible.
I woke up in his arms before sunrise the next morning, and spent a couple of minutes just looking at him sleep. Then I got out of bed, gathered my clothes up from their various places on the floor, draping my coat on the chair, and made for the bathroom. When I came out, he was up and dressed, his shirt looking remarkably rumple free for what had been done to it the night before, his trousers the same. I stared at him for a moment, knowing that the remnants of last night's makeup still hadn't quite been cleaned off my face properly, aware that my hair was tangled and sticking up, as presentable as I could make it considering I had no brush or comb. But I couldn't help smiling at him. And he smiled back, and he was the Toby of last night.
And then it was like someone flicked a switch, and he was the Toby I've always known. "Donna…" he said, and there was something in that tone that made me speak out. Because he's not going to say anything that I don't already know. If the press found out about this, they'd crucify us both. If the Republicans found out about this, they'd crucify us both. If CJ found out about this, they'd never find our bodies. That's what he's going to point out to me, and I know it's the truth. That doesn't make it right.
"I don't want to hear it."
He opened his mouth to say something else, but a shake of my head stopped him. "I don't want to hear it Toby. I don't want to hear you tell me that this was a mistake, that it shouldn't have happened. Because I know that that's not true." He looked more than a little taken back at my pronouncement, and I shook my head, laughing slightly, knowing how he'd taken that up. "Look Toby, I may be new to the political world, I might not know a lot about what goes on in Washington circles. But I do know what would happen if this became public. I know how it would look. I know it can't happen again. And I don't want a relationship with you, if that's what you're worried about. I know you don't want one with me either. But that doesn't mean that last night was a mistake."
"Donna…"
"I'm not finished." I ran my hands through my hair in frustration, pushing it back behind my ears, wondering how I could get my point across. I took my time before I spoke again, and thankfully, Toby waited for me, not interrupting me again. I wasn't sure what to say to him, so I opted for a strategy I'd once heard him advocate - tell the truth, because if nothing else, it's the easiest thing to remember. "Do you know how I joined the campaign?"
Toby shook his head. "You were just there one day. Why?"
That comment struck me as funny, because it was quite true. "Yes. I was just there one day. You see, I was dating this guy. I was at the University of Wisconsin when I met him, and he was a Med Student." I noticed his raised eyebrow and nodded, the look on my face daring him to make something of it. "Yes, I have a thing for older men. Anyway, he was struggling financially, and he suggested, after we'd been together for a while, that I should drop out of school, get a job to help with his bills, and he'd do the same for me when he graduated. And I agreed to that. Now you might wonder why I did such an obviously stupid thing. Aside from the fact that I was in love with him, I also don't have the greatest sense of self-confidence in the world. And he played on that. I'd try to help him study, and he'd tell me that I wasn't smart enough to understand, that I'd never make it as a doctor. That I'd never make it as anything. When he and his friends talked about politics, I was supposed to be the ditzy blonde who got the beers. Stuff like that. And after a while, I began to believe him. After all, I couldn’t believe that someone like him would be interested in someone like me in the first place. Then, when he began coming home late, he'd tell me that he was studying hard, but I knew he wasn't. And I still didn't leave him because I thought I'd never find anyone else who'd love me like he loved me. So I stayed, and all it cost me was my self-esteem."
I've never talked like this to anyone before. I've only just got to the point where I can admit this to myself, and I have to take a deep breath before I can continue. I sneak a look at him, and the look in his eyes tells me to go on. "Then one day, I got a phone call from a girl that he was seeing as well as me. She was older than I was, a grad student, and she told me that not only was he seeing her, he was also, and I quote 'whoring around with any undergrad who shows an interest.' So I met Stephanie and we compared notes, and we dumped him together. And I stayed at her place that night, and when I couldn't sleep, I watched CNN. And saw a profile on Governor Bartlet. The next day, Steph helped me load up my car, I drove to Manchester and joined the campaign." I leave out the story of how I talked Josh into hiring me, because I'm sure he already knows that.
He tilted his head, interrupting my narrative for the first time. "But you left. Why would you…?'
"Go back to him?" I grinned. "Josh Lyman isn't the kind of man that you go to if you want personal validation Toby. I don't know if you've noticed that." He smiled at that too, and I guess I know what he was thinking, that personal validation was few and far between on that campaign, and that the form of validation that most mattered had been the election. "Everything was so fast, so hectic. And Mandy…my God, I think my breathing offended her. And one day, she was on my case, and Josh had yelled at me for something that was nothing to do with me, and that night, Tom rang me. And he told me he loved me, that he was wrong, that it'd never happen again…. and I was feeling so low, and so worthless that I agreed."
"Of course, once I got there, it was the same old same old. Until the day my car decided that it had had enough of life, and the steering went. I was lucky, I wasn't going that fast, and you know, there was a car in front of me that stopped me. I had a few cuts and bruises, I couldn't laugh for weeks, not that I had a mind to, and I wrenched my ankle. I was taken to the hospital where I called him to come get me. And he had arranged to meet his friends, so he stopped to tell them that he couldn't make it. And he had a couple of drinks when he was there. When he got to the hospital, it was late, I was tired and pissed off and he was drunk."
"That's when I came to my senses, called my parents and got them to collect me. And as soon as I was mobile, I came back to the campaign. Do you know the first thing Josh said to me?" Toby shook his head. "He said, 'Thank God, there's a pile of filing on the desk.' Nothing else, like he hadn't even noticed that I was gone. Like that's all I was good for. I didn't say anything, just did my job. But that's how I've been feeling for the whole campaign, it's been in the back of my mind, that I'm not good enough to be here. That my only role is as some ditzy blonde who does the filing."
"I wasn't kidding when I talked to you last night. I did think that people were only paying attention to me to get to Josh. Not because of me, not because of what I said or how I looked. And then, you said those things to me. And I'm not naïve Toby. I know you probably said those things to a hundred other women in that room. But you made me believe them. And when you danced with me, I felt like I was the only woman in the room. I know that you didn't intend for this to happen…but I do believe that you never would have let things get this far if you didn't mean what you said. Last night, you made me feel beautiful, and desirable, and attractive…things that I haven't felt in way too long. You made me feel special, like I mattered. And that's why I know that this wasn't a mistake. Not for me."
My tale told, my story done, I moved over to the chair, taking up my coat and slipping it on, not waiting for him to help me this time. "And now, I'm going to go back to the other hotel, and back to my room. And I'm going to shower and change, and then try to make sense of the office. And when I see you, we're going to pretend like this never happened. I know that. But I'm not sorry Toby."
I was halfway to the door when his stopped me. "Donna?"
"Yeah?" I turned around.
"When I said those things…I didn't say them to flirt with you. I didn't say them to get you into bed. I said them because they're true. You are an exceptional woman Donnatella Moss. And I look forward to working with you for the next eight years."
I smiled at him and nodded. Then I walked out the door and I didn't look back. And that day, when I saw him at the office, you'd never know what we'd spent the night doing. That's been the way we've been all week. And I know it's going to be the way things are for as long as we know each other. What happened that night can never be repeated.
And I'm ok with that.
Because last week, for the first time, I saw myself through someone else's eyes. And I really liked what I saw there. And I've spent the week trying to see myself through the eyes of the rest of the staff here. I've seen myself for so long as this well-meaning idiot who was duped by a man, who dropped out of college and doesn't have a degree, and I'm surrounded by all these intelligent, accomplished people, and I wondered, what must they think of me? And I've kinda come to the conclusion that they see something there. Something good, something worthwhile. And maybe, maybe if I stay here, and work hard, and believe what they believe, maybe I'll be able to look in the mirror and see that something there too.
And that's why I smile at Zoey now, as I look at the picture that she took of me and Toby as we were leaving the ball, and that's why I ask her if I can have it. "Since it's the only one of me at the ball," I tell her. "It'd be nice to have as a souvenir."
And she nods and smiles and lets me have that one. I thank her and tuck it into my diary, knowing that I’m going to get a frame for it and keep it as a reminder of that night, of what happened in that hotel room, and what it taught me. So that the next time that I get down on myself, next time I start to question my sense of self-worth, I can look at that picture and remember that for one night, someone knew different and told me as such. And that, while it might take a while for me to believe that, for me to look at myself and see myself the way that they see me, I'll get there. I've already started down that road, and by the end of my time in this White House, I hope I'll be nearer to the end of it.
That's why what happened between Toby and I could never be a mistake.