The Sub-Plan to Protect the Plan

Summary: Donna starts making plans for the future and Josh starts making sub-plans to thwart her plans, and it's a big planning mess.

Author's Notes: So, I'm house hunting, and quite frankly, it sucks. In that vain, I wondered what Josh would do if Donna decided to buy a house, and since I haven't written a 'what goes through Josh's head' piece in a while, I thought this might be fun. Also, this is on the premise that they never left the White House.

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I pass Donna's desk on the way back from senior staff and hear her on the phone. Not that I'm eavesdropping or anything. I'd never do that. Never. Anyway, she's talking on the phone and I hear her say Friday would be great. A date. Ok, no need to panic. I'll go to my office and find my list; everything will be fine.

I go in my office and pull the list out from page 242 of my freshman year poly psy book. I've got a three-day notice, which means that number 2 is a good choice. I'll cough a few times this afternoon, building it slowly throughout the day, look fairly pathetic tomorrow, with a constant cough, a slight whine, a lack of appetite and watery eyes (note to self: bring eye drops to work tomorrow), and Friday I'll be bad, not so bad that a doctor visit is necessary, but bad, and by early afternoon she'll come into my office to send me home. I'll whine and say that I have too much work to do and that I don't have any medicine or soup at home anyway, and an hour later, the date will be cancelled and we'll be working from my townhouse in our sweats with her homemade chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner and a movie for later in the evening. It's evil, but it's a necessary evil.

I carefully fold the list and put it away for the next time, because there's always a next time, then sit down to read the report on housing subsidies. Twenty minutes later, Donna comes into my office. Without looking up, I cough. Nothing major, just a little cough to get the ball rolling. "I have the statistics you need," she says to me.

I look up as though I'm surprised she's here. See how good I am? Granted, I've been practicing for years. "How far back do these go?" I ask, reaching for the papers.

"Thirteen years." Insert small cough here.

"That should be plenty."

"Something in your throat?" Hook, line and sinker.

"Hmm…" See? I act like I don't even notice it yet. "No. Why?"

"You're coughing."

"I am?"

"Yeah."

I wave my hand. "I'm fine."

"You can't get sick, Joshua."

"I'm not." I most definitely am.

"You can't."

Watch me. "I'm not."

"I need you to be well. I can't take care of you this weekend. You can get sick next week."

My eyebrows shoot up a bit. "I'll consult my schedule and see how that works for me." I cough again to accentuate my point.

"No."

"No?"

"No. No coughing. I have plans this weekend and I can't change them."

What the hell? Who is this gomer? I come before gomers. She knows that, it's a rule. "Hot date?" I ask calmly. It's very important in situations like this not to sound like you really care. If I sound like the jealous idiot I…. Toby can be, she'll be on to me.

"Yes. No. I mean... it's not a date. I'm going house hunting."

What? "House hunting?"

She smiles with a look of pride. "Yes, I'm buying a house."

"What?" I kind of yell that. Oops.

"I'm buying a house. I'm meeting with a realtor Friday afternoon. I need to leave early. We're also looking all day on Saturday and Sunday. So I can't take care of you. I've rescheduled three times already."

I stand up. I can't believe she's doing this to me. "You can't buy a house!" I scream. Oops again.

"Why?" She's looking at me like I'm nuts, and I'm looking at her like she's nuts. Trust me, she's the one who's nuts this time.

"Buying a house doesn't make any sense."

Her eyes widen. "It makes perfect sense. I've been wasting money on rent for years. I've saved up a down payment and now I'm buying a house. Or a townhouse. I haven't decided."

"Why buy a house? You're just going to sell it next year!"

"Why would I do that?"

Because the day the President leaves office, you're moving in with me!

"Hello?"

What? "What?"

"Why would I sell it next year?"

Oh… I didn't say that last answer out loud? Well, that's probably for the best. Why would she sell it? Why… why… "Because!"

"Good reason," she says to me in her 'you're a complete idiot' voice.

I stare at her. "I thought so." What a lame come back. "What if… what if you…" get married to me? I can't say that. Can I? No. I better not. "What if you… you know?" I'm an idiot.

"What? You think I'm going to move back to Wisconsin?"

"NO! God no, you can't go back to Wisconsin!" I can't live with the cheese people! I can't!

She stares at me for a second and then busts out laughing. "I have cough drops in my purse. You cannot get sick this week. Understand me?" She leaves the room and comes back a minute later and hands me a cherry cough drop. I put it in my mouth until she leaves again, then I wrap it in a tissue and throw it away. One has to be careful not to drug himself when faking an illness.

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Well this is a whole new ballgame. She's buying a house? Why would she do that? We only have eleven months left. I thought she understood the plan. She's unemployed as of 5:00pm on January 25th. I have the ring in my pocket and drop to one knee at exactly 5:00 and propose in the bullpen. We then go back to my place where I have rose petals covering the floor, the bed, and anything else that doesn't move, as well as a candle lit dinner. We spend the evening making sweet, sweet love… the second through fifth times. Let's face it; the first time will probably be against the door, if we even make it out of the car. I'm still employed until the next afternoon; the President leaves office on January 26th and we'll have transitional meetings and things like that. Donna will spend the day packing what she wants to bring to the townhouse and the movers will be there late in the afternoon (see how I get out of the packing?) All her furniture, because it's ugly and second hand, will be donated to charity, so she should be completely moved in with me by that night. We leave for St. Thomas the next morning where we get married on the beach, just the two of us and the justice of the peace. We send postcards to everyone with the announcement and don't return to DC for one month. Then we start our own consulting firm and eight years later, we get another person elected president.

I know we've never discussed the plan in the traditional way, like with words, but I thought we were both clear on it. Have I been too subtle? Have things like dating Amy, constantly blowing her off, and making comments about her lack of taste in men overshadowed things like bringing her muffins, throwing snowballs at her and flying to Germany. Because I've got to tell you, I thought that was a pretty damn good one. Yet still, she seems unclear of the plan. And how do I know that she's unclear of the plan? The plan does NOT include Donna buying a house when she's moving in with me in eleven months and twenty-four days! That's how.

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I go to a meeting on the hill determined to come up with a plan. Not the End of the Administration plan. That plan isn't changing. This is more like a sub-plan. A sub-plan to make sure she doesn't screw up the End of the Administration plan. The sub-plan is a plan to keep her from buying a house. I have no idea how I'm going to do it, but I've got to find a way. The plan depends on it. The End of the Administration plan, not the sub-plan. I think. I'm a bit confused now.

My meeting with Congressman Allen goes about as well as any meeting with a freshman congressman can go. I'm pretty sure he's got a thing for Donna, but he knows the unwritten rule, so I don't worry about it too much.

"So, how's Donna?" See, I told you he has a thing for Donna.

"She's fine," I say with a smile. It's really quite mature of me, I know. There was a time when I would've had him killed for asking, but I've learned how to better handle things like this in the last few years. "So, I saw you talking to Amy Gardner at the dinner for The Minority Women's and Children's Council last week."

"Yeah, you know her?" he asks innocently.

I nod. "She's an attractive woman. Single too. You could have yourself a good catch there. " He looks intrigued and smiles. That's how I handle men who want my future wife now, you son of a bitch!

You didn't really think I meant all that mature crap, did you?

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When I get back from sending Brett Allen into the lion's den, I feel better. Better that is, until I walk past Donna's desk. She's eating grapes and cucumber slices and looking at houses and townhouses online, and she has a list on a piece of paper of MLS numbers. Shit, she's serious.

She looks up when I cough. I don't think good old number two is going to do the trick this time, but it's the best sub-plan I've got so far. She follows me into my office and shuts the door behind her. "How are you feeling?" she asks with worry in her voice. She does love me!

"It's just a cough." By tomorrow, it'll be plague like, but for now it's just a cough.

"You need to go to the doctor."

"For a cough?" Maybe good old number two will work after all.

"Yes. You can't be sick this weekend Josh. You can't be."

"Donna, I can take care of myself for a weekend if I get sick." That's completely untrue, but the taking care of me thing needs to be her idea for the sub-plan to work. I'm absolutely helpless when I get sick. I need her there at all times. I tend to believe I'm dying, and she lets me put a pillow in her lap and lay there and she reads finance reports to me. It helps. I also call my mom a lot and complain about her being so far away. Basically, I'm six again when I'm sick.

"Well, if you're sick this weekend, you're going to have to."

"Donna…." Now I'm whining. I'm feeling a bit put out here, a bit neglected, and for a brief second I forget that I'm not really sick at all. That this is all a ruse.

She points at me the way my second grade teacher, Mrs. Gartenfield used to do. "I'm going house hunting Josh, get over it. I'm not canceling on him again."

"Him?" Now I'm screeching?

"My realtor," she says like I'm in some special needs class.

"Your realtor's a man?" Get a grip on your voice. You're forty-two years old!

"Yeah," she drawls out.

I stare at her for a second. "Wouldn't you rather use a woman?"

She shrugs. "Jeff goes to my gym."

"Jeff?" Jeff the gym guy spending all weekend hitting on my woman? No way!

She nods slowly. "Yes."

"Donna, you don't even know this guy. He could take you into an empty abandoned house and kill you, chop you into pieces, and no one would know it until I needed something Monday morning!" Or he could ask you to dinner and you could fall madly in love with him and have little Jeff the gym guy babies.

"Until you needed something Monday morning…" Uh oh.

"Donna, I'm thinking of your safety here. Try not to dwell on the stupid things I say."

"But so much of what you say is stupid."

"Donna! I run the country!"

"That's what's so scary." Now she's smiling, so I know I'm not in too much trouble.

"I don't trust Jeff the gym guy."

"You've never met Jeff the gym guy."

"Exactly!"

"I'll be fine," she says, shaking her head at me.

"He's a beefcake. He's some strong, muscled beefcake. You can't defend yourself against him!"

"He's not a beefcake, and who even uses that term?"

"It's a term."

"It's really not."

"Donna!"

"He's a nice guy. I'll be perfectly safe." And then it hits me. The sub-plan is born. I'm a genius!

"Yes you will be. Because I'm going with you."