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GENTLEMEN'S AGREEMENT
by Marguerite (Marguerite@operamail.com) 
Classification: Mid-ep for "War Crimes," J/D friendship, some UST on Josh's part. 
Summary: Like Alice, Josh gives himself very good advices that he very seldom 
follows. 
  

*** 

Do nothing. 

He pounds his fists on his thighs until the muscles burn. His cheeks ache
from grimacing. He swivels from side to side in his chair, imagining a 
leather-bound book graced with Donna's extravagant scrawl, imagining it 
lying on her nightstand, imagining a man's hand rifling the well-thumbed 
pages. Imagining the man's other hand stroking Donna's... 

Do absolutely nothing. 

Like Alice, Josh is prone to giving himself very good advice that he very 
seldom follows. He propels himself out of his chair and manages to slam 
his door open. Donna is sitting at her desk, still wearing her wet 
raincoat, and she gazes at him with those enormous, fear-filled eyes. 

"Josh...?" 

As he marches up to her he holds up his hand, palm outward. It's a stern 
gesture that makes Donna sink even further into herself, so he tries to 
soften it with a wan smile. 

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." 

She just nods at him. Acquiescent and silent. Donna, acquiescent and 
silent. 

It doesn't help that Josh doesn't remember exactly where Ainsley's office 
is. It takes too long for him to get to her down in the bowels of the 
White House, in the pestilential hellhole she calls her office, and by the
time he gets there some of his indignation has simmered down. 

Ainsley sets down her papers and looks up at him. "Josh. How'd Donna's 
deposition go?" 

"Did you know that he was going to be their lawyer?" 

"He, who?" 

"He, Cliff." Josh manages to convey a world of disdain in the 
pronunciation of the name. 

"He's the one who deposed Donna?" Ainsley's voice rises in pitch. "I 
never...I didn't think..." 

"No. You didn't think." Josh leans against the door frame, his hands in 
his pockets, staring up at the dingy ceiling fixture. Words trip over one 
another in their haste to be heard. "How could you think...what possessed 
you...how could this possibly have seemed like a good idea?" 

Ainsley looks small in her oversized sweatshirt, her hair tied up in a 
ponytail with more meticulous structure than Donna's, allowing not one 
wisp to part company with its fellows. She slumps a little in her chair 
and drops her pen into a ceramic cup. "You said she was stressed. You 
asked me to see if I could help her out a little." 

"Yeah. I thought that meant...I dunno, talking, tea, whatever it is that 
women do. I didn't know you were planning to set her up with...well, you 
know." 

She cocks her head to one side and narrows her eyes. "A Republican, Josh? 
A man? Which bothers you more?" 

It's like a slap in the face. "Look, Ainsley, I didn't--" 

"I'll tell you what I thought. I thought that a young, attractive woman 
like Donna might benefit from having something in her life other than 
drudgery and terror." 

"Well, if working for me and facing a House investigation wasn't enough 
drudgery and terror, imagine what it'll be like for her when she's in 
prison for per--" 

Horrible, frozen silence stalks in ever-decreasing circles around him. 
Ainsley turns white as the full impact of Josh's words sink in. 

"Don't say one more word, Josh. I mean it. I don't want to know, I can't 
know, anything that happened today." Ainsley puts her fingertips to her 
lips, the French-manicured nails shining in the glow of her desk lamp. 
"Oh, Josh. Is it bad?" she whispers, and he can only nod his response. She
blinks fast, still keeping her fingers over her mouth as if to restrain 
the lilting words that want to come streaming out. "We can fix it." 

He has trouble taking in air. "I don't think we can," he says, 
half-inhaling the words. 

"Cliff's not a vindictive man, Josh." 

He glares at her, eyebrows raised. "Let's find out." At Ainsley's nod, 
Josh steps forward and pushes the telephone toward her. 

There's no need to tell her what to do. She fingers some cards on her 
Rolodex and pauses. Her lips move as she punches in the numbers, and it 
annoys Josh for some weird reason he doesn't have time to deal with. 

"Cliff. It's Ainsley. Pick up, I know you're home by now." 

She waits, listening, and after too long an interval Josh can hear a man's
voice crackling on the other end of the line. "I'm not asking you to, 
honestly. But there's someone here who wants--no, it's not Donna." 

Josh takes the phone from her hand and puts it to his ear, motioning 
Ainsley away. "It's not Donna, it's Donna's boss. I'm sure you were 
expecting my call." 

"Actually, you were about the last person I thought I'd be hearing from 
today." 

He has an earnest voice, damn him. Ainsley slowly gets up from her desk 
and walks out into the dank corridor, mumbling something about hot coffee. 
Josh is alone with the disembodied voice of the man Donna had...no, he 
can't go there. Instead, he sharpens his tone. "Why don't we cut to the 
chase?" 

"And by 'chase,' you're referring to what?" 

"What will it take for you not to do this to her?" 

"Josh, I--" 

"You're addressing the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. It's Mr. Lyman." 

It's also snotty. Unforgivable. Possibly lethal. But he can't bear to hear
his first name from the mouth of this man. 

The silence is full of bitter frost. 

"I didn't want this," Cliff says. "But I know she keeps a diary. I'm under
obligation. You're a lawyer, you know that. She lied." 

"You snooped." 

"That's not a crime." 

"It ought to be." Josh imagines the diary again, this time with the 
letters running from tears splashing onto the ink. Whether it's Cliff or 
himself who causes those tears, he's not sure. 

He counts to ten, then does it again in French, waiting for Cliff to say 
something. 

"Mr. Lyman, I know this looks...terrible. But I swear that Ainsley didn't 
know anything about my transfer. I'd just found out about it, and it 
hadn't connected yet." 

"Donna said you left her standing in the middle of the street." 

A pause, and a sigh. "I did. It was...I was shocked when I realized what 
my job was about to entail." Another sigh. "I'm not like that. I went to 
her place to apologize and--" 

"Yeah." Josh sees Ainsley's shadow in the hall. "Look. I meant what I 
said. I want a way for this not to have to happen to her." 

"I understand completely. But I don't know what to do, other than to call 
her attorneys and have them walk her back so she can phrase her answer 
differently. That's how we fix it." 

"What if it's not worth fixing?" Josh sits on the corner of Ainsley's 
desk, frowning when his hand comes into contact with half of a stale 
pastry. "I mean, what if there's nothing material in the diary?" 

"Have you read it?" 

"Have you?" 

Cliff's voice darkens. "No. I just noticed it sitting there on the--" 

He can't let Cliff finish that thought. Nightstand, bed, floor. No, no, 
no, Donna didn't do this. She didn't do it if he doesn't hear the details.
"I haven't read it either. So this could be a tempest in a teapot." 

"Possibly." Cliff sounds hesitant. "You want what's best for her. We both 
do." 

"How could I not?" Josh murmurs. "I owe her everything." 

He can almost hear Cliff nodding. "Funny. She says the same thing about 
you." 

"Nah." The steel bands around his heart loosen, replaced by something 
softer, something that still tugs at him yet lets him breathe.  He 
remembers Donna after the shooting, how she was there for him. Every day, 
no matter how horrible it was, and it was horrible, she had been there. He
shudders. "Donna means a...I can't..." He runs a hand through his hair 
until it stands on end. "I can't stand here and watch this happen to her 
and not try to do anything." 

A pause. "We'll need to read it," Cliff says cautiously. 

"No." Josh isn't surprised at how emphatic his answer is, only at how 
softly he speaks. "I don't need to read it. You do. I'll let you look at 
it." 

"Will Donna be willing?" 

"Considering the options I'm sure you gave her, I imagine she will be. You
call her, tell her the details, and I'll confirm them with her. But you 
can't come to her apartment. We'll meet - you know that fountain plaza 
near her place? Let's meet there at 7:30." 

"Agreed." 

The line goes dead. Josh puts the phone down and calls to Ainsley. "He's 
going to talk to us. I think we--" 

"Josh, did you not hear one word of what I said before? We're officers of
the court!" 

"Actually, it's just you. I'm not licensed anymore." 

"Don't be a smartass. I can not know anything. I do not know anything. 
There is nothing I know." 

Josh's head aches. He holds up a hand, wearily. "Look, can the Department 
of Redundancy Department have its meeting later?" 

She glares at him, returning to her desk and taking her seat with more 
vehemence than is strictly necessary. "We didn't have this conversation." 

"What conversation?" Josh heads for the door, then turns around, holding 
the frame with one hand and leaning back into Ainsley's makeshift office. 
"Seriously. Thank you." 

"See this?" She holds up a canister of some sort. He thinks it may be 
Cheese Whiz. "It's a big ol' can of Josh-B-Gone, and I'm spraying you with
it. Now, move." 

"Yes, ma'am." He grins at her and she smiles back, just a little, before 
picking up her papers once more. Josh's steps are a little lighter as he
heads back up, knowing that Donna will be on the phone when he returns and
that there is, at last, something to be done. 

*** 

"This situation is a little like a one-hour photo place. You sit around 
and wait to see what develops." 

There's no indication that Donna heard Josh's weak joke. Ever since Cliff 
came to take the diary and read it, she has been a statue - frozen, gilded
marble. "Here, take my coat," Josh offers, but Donna doesn't respond. She 
just sits and lets the wintery breeze lift her hair like a sail. He shrugs
out of his coat and drapes it over her shoulders. "You need this." 

"Why?" 

"Because...I'm cold." He gives her a smile, a sweet one, the type that 
usually leaves her smiling back, but tonight her lips don't flicker. 

Is she recalling the feel of warm hands on her body? Sleeping with the 
enemy. He'd expected so much more from her. Oh, Donna. 

The minutes tick by, time as tremulous as her fast, shallow breaths. Josh 
wonders if she's going into shock, and the memory makes his chest tighten. 
He slips his arm back around her, sitting a little closer and trying to 
convince himself that it is for her comfort rather than his own. "It's 
going to be okay." 

"How?" 

"Well, if there's nothing relative to the investigation, then he's just 
gonna give it back to you. If there is, we'll get the best lawyers to help
you find a way to correct the mistake." 

"What if the mistake can't be fixed, Josh? What if my lie comes back to 
haunt us? Or the President? What if they put me in jail?" Her voice cracks
on the last word and tears well up in her tired eyes. 

"You're not going to jail, Donna." He grasps her by the shoulders, his 
fingers digging into the jacket. "Donna, look at me. You're not going to 
jail. I promise." 

"Don't make a promise you can't keep, Joshua." 

"I can keep this promise," he says more firmly.  She's staring at him, 
dumbfounded. "I'll get you out of the country, I'll send you 
to...to...Switzerland. They don't extradite people for keeping diaries, 
and you can finally learn to ski." That earns him the beginning of a 
smile. "I'll get money to you, I'll help change your name and give you a 
whole new life, but I swear to God, you will not go to jail." 

He forgets to breathe. The world's spinning too fast and he's dizzy. He 
lowers his head for a moment. 

"I won't let anything happen to you." 

The words hang in the air like vapor. 

"But what I did was so stupid." Donna's voice is raspy with exhaustion and
frustration. She leans forward, her hands on her knees, her hair veiling 
her face. "And now he's reading...it's...I'm so embarrassed, Josh. I don't
think I can stand it." 

"You're Donnatella Moss. You can stand anything." 

"Not this," she whispers. "I'm sitting out here, letting two men I care--"
She stops herself. "I'm like some medieval maiden letting two knights 
battle for her honor while she just sits around being helpless and 
pathetic. You don't get over this kind of humiliation." 

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. She's unmoving, wary. 
"Donna, remember the chicken soup Toby brought me when they finally let me
try to eat? It stayed down for, like, fifteen seconds, and the only reason
I didn't choke to death was because you held my head up for me. It doesn't
get much more humiliating than that. Did you think less of me?" 

She shakes her head, not even bothering to sweep away the hair that falls 
into her face. 

"Then please..." 

She sighs. "You're right." 

He's never been less happy about being right than he is at this moment. 
Sitting here, next to Donna, barely touching her, he's waiting for an axe 
either to fall or to disappear. He's never been less happy, period. 

So intent is he on their combined levels of misery that he doesn't hear 
Cliff walk up to the edge of the fountain. He holds the diary between his 
hands, almost in an attitude of prayer. 

Josh rises and heads toward the fountain, narrowing his eyes and trying to
gauge Cliff's reaction. "Interesting reading?" 

"Two years in the life of Donnatella Moss? What do you think?" His 
expression is soft and vaguely sad. "I learned a lot." 

"Anything you and I need to talk about?" 

Cliff chuckles. "It's tempting, just to see the look on your face - but 
no. Her only mention of the MS was the night she said she was told - 
before that, there's nothing that has any bearing on our investigation." 

Josh hardly dares to breathe. He wasn't talking out of his hat. It's 
really going to be okay, with or without Switzerland. "So. What happens 
now?" 

"I give this back to her." 

He's dying inside. And then what? But he can't ask that. "So...you're 
giving this back to her." 

"Yeah." He smiles but his eyes are full of misery. "I'm giving it back." 

The lump rising in his throat is threatening to cut off his oxygen supply,
so he just nods. Turning, he sees Donna watching them with an alarming air
of detachment. "C'mere, it's okay," he whispers. 

She touches his arm as she walks past him to Cliff. Josh tears himself 
away and takes enough steps backwards so that he can't hear what they're 
saying. 

Cliff gives Donna the little book, letting his hand remain on hers for a 
few moments. They look at each other, faces full of regret and sorrow. 
Josh can read Cliff's lips as he says "You're welcome." Cliff cups Donna's
face, so sad, so gentle, and leans over to kiss her on the forehead. He 
nods at Josh, then turns, hunching over with his hands in his pockets. 
Donna watches, eyes shimmering, as Cliff walks around the fountain and 
disappears into the night. 

Everything in Josh's soul cries out in dismay. He wants to rush up and 
enfold Donna in his arms, to give her his warmth, to use his hands to 
smooth away the anguish in her face. 

"You want coffee?" he asks instead, and she finally smiles, sunlight 
breaking through the clouds. 

"Joshua Lyman, when did I start working for you?" 

He throws his head back and laughs although he doesn't really want to. He 
can't buy her anything but coffee, can't give her anything but time, can't 
take away the pain and fear and regret that are bringing little creases 
around the corners of her mirthless eyes. But he can buy her coffee, and 
he can listen, and he can drive her home and watch from his car as she 
ascends the stairs alone, clutching the diary to her heart. 

*** 
END 
*** 

With endless thanks to Jill Kirby for checking my department of redundancy 
department's repetitive repetition.