When I First Met You
Spoilers: Season 4 and before.
Disclaimers: Not mine, end of story.
Summary: They got drunk and have no idea what happened next.
Acknowledgements: For Kerry.
Author Notes: This is a total AU where Donna never made it New Hampshire, thus never had the pleasure of meeting Josh or suffering through Mandy or Amy for that matter. If only we were that lucky... Assume Bartlet has won re-election and is in his second term; Sam is still a member of the Senior Staff and not a Congressman in California, although I have yet to decide if Sam lost the race or if he never needed to participate in the first place.
Feedback: Love some.
When I First Met You
I
Oh God, what the hell? My head is pounding, my mouth is dry and the foul taste of morning breath mixed with... something... is making itself very clearly present. Strangely enough, though, my body feels sated and...
There's a warm body pressed up against me. There's a warm body with long blond hair pressed up against me. There's a naked, warm body with long blond hair and a stunning expanse of pale skin snuggled up against me. I'm staring at her back, to be more precise, I'm staring at how the rippling movement of the deep red silk sheets expose more of her spectacularly curved and pale back.
I take a look around and note the papers on the table across from the bed, my backpack inches away. At least I know this is my room. I should probably move. I should probably get up, get dressed, and try and figure out just who the hell this blond is. Also, it might be a good idea to figure out what the hell she's doing in my room, in my bed, naked. Well, yeah, ok, I can take a guess as to what she's doing here, but... what the hell happened? I don't remember leaving the party with a woman; in all honesty, I don't remember much of the party to begin with at all.
"Hey, Idiot boy, in my office. Now!" CJ's shouts across the bullpen.
Both Sam and I look at each other. "She means you." It's a little scary when we do that you know, say the same thing at the same time. Sam gives me a pointed look and I realise that she was actually referring to me.
"You think she's jealous?" I ask as we both walk the short distance from my office to hers.
"CJ? Jealous?"
"Yeah, you know, because of this weekend."
"No one's jealous, Josh."
I smirk. "You are."
He sighs. "It's not fair that I didn't get invited."
"That may have something to do with the fact that you don't know anyone going besides me and Mike. Don't worry, Sam," I start as Sam heads back to communications and I go into CJ's office. "I'll live it up for the both of us," I call after him.
"I think that's what CJ's afraid of," he mutters, grinning.
I enter CJ's office in a jovial mood. "So, are you jealous?" I ask. I'm bouncing. What can I say? I have the weekend off with absolutely no work to do and I get to spend it relaxing with friends. I repeat-- I'm bouncing.
It's annoying the hell out of CJ.
"Jealous?"
"Yeah, you know, because I'm going away for the weekend to Vegas, to a party held in honour of one my best friend's last night of bachelorhood."
"Bachelorhood?"
"Yes, CJ. A weekend of doing things that men do."
"Josh, the day I'm jealous of 'men doing the things men do,' hell will not only have frozen over but I'll be coming up with--"
Yeah, I get the point. But I really don't want to listen to this so I interrupt her, "I am in a good mood. This you shall not ruin for me," I proclaim.
"You want to place a bet on that?" She's grinning.
No no no no... God, no, I've been looking forward to this for weeks, to get away from the White House and work and well, everything. Don't tell me I have to cancel, anything but that.
"Relax, idiot boy. I just have some rules for you."
"Rules?"
"Yes Josh, Rules. After the last bachelor party debacle, I think rules are in order."
I pretend not to remember. "The last debacle?" But really, how am I going to forget being subjected to endless lectures from Leo and the President?
CJ glares at me.
"My assistant wouldn't bring me coffee for a week," I gripe. Coffee is essential if I'm to function in any way in the morning. Alice knew that and yet she refused to bring me coffee.
She got reassigned the next day. She never was a very good assistant.
"Your picture ended up splashed across all the tabloids and all you remember is Alice not bringing you coffee! I swear to God, Josh, if that happens again then a motherboard shoved up your ass will be the least of your problems. Got it?" I nod. What else am I going to say to that? And the motherboard thing is getting a little old if you ask me. "So here. Read this." She hands me a piece of paper.
"What this?"
"The rules. I wrote them so you'd have no excuse for not following them."
I read through the list. Number one-- no getting drunk. Number two-- no leaving the hotel room. Number three—
"Ok, first, number one is just plain ridiculous. It's a bachelor party."
"I know. Hence, the rules."
I'm staring at CJ like she has two heads. "You get drunk at bachelor parties; it's like, the law!"
"Stop whining. It isn't and if you want to live to see the next day, you won't."
I am so gonna get drunk. How the hell is she going to find out? And I don't whine.
"Why in the hell would you think I would do number three, CJ?"
"Do I really need to bring out the pictures?"
Point taken.
Number four reads: Don't sleep with the stripper. There is an addendum to this rule that says 'Don't even think about telling me there isn't one.'
She's right; it's a bachelor party so there's really no point arguing that one.
I read further down the list just for amusement's sake when I get to number ten.
"CJ, how stupid do you think I am? Number ten?"
"Josh, your stupidity has no bounds."
I'm pretty sure I broke rule number three last-night.
Ok, take a deep breath Josh. I rub my one free hand across my face, since the other is currently under the smooth expanse of her stomach, holding her possessively against me. She really has amazing skin; it's actually glowing, but that may have something to do with the activities of the previous night, or even this morning— and shit! My pagers beeping; the noise is waking her up.
"Morning." For some reason, I'm exceedingly calm for a guy who just woke up in a hotel room with a strange naked woman beside him and no recollection of the previous night.
"Hey." Her voice has a gravel like quality to it, almost as if it's been put through the ringer over the past few hours. I don't think she realises where she is right now.
It's strange when you can tell the exact point at which someone is about to get hysterical, and yet you can do nothing to stop it. Like now, as she jumps from the bed, taking the silk sheets with her, wrapping them tight around her amazing body and chanting 'Oh God' and 'What the hell have I done' over and over again. It takes her exactly two seconds to turn on me by which time I manage to secure the remaining sheets around the lower half of my body.
"Who the hell are you!"
"Ok, not so much with the shouting," I state, willing my head to stop pounding as her shout reverberates through my head.
"Who are you?" Her voice is deadly calm.
"I could ask you the same question," I shoot back, sitting up.
"I asked first." She's flushed and the contrast of the crimson sheets against her pale skin only makes her look more beautiful.
"Yet we're in my room," I point out once I stop myself from staring at her exposed skin.
"I... well... who the hell are you?"
I should tell her that we can work out whatever happened last night. I should tell her that I'm a good guy who wouldn't intentionally do anything to harm her. I should tell her that I'm currently suffering from a massive hangover so anything that happened last night is really not my fault. Most importantly, I should tell her that. Instead, I say, "My pagers beeping. I should get that."
"Uh yeah," she nods, looking dazed.
"It's—my pager is near your foot." God she has amazing legs. In the back of my mind I'm remembering snapshots of those long, smooth legs wrapped around...
"Oh, right. Here." She tosses me the pager, along with my cell phone. "I should... I should probably put my clothes on."
"Yeah, me too." There's an awkward silence as we both stare at each other trying to figure out how we got here. In my room. Naked. With at least four condom wrappers on my nightstand.
I performed at least four times last night? In my drunken state? Wow.
"Shouldn't you answer that?" she interrupts my thoughts, pointing at the pager.
Ok, no wait, I remember experiencing... some... technical difficulties. It took a couple of tries to remember how a condom actually worked.
It figured that of the short-list of things I actually do remember about last night, that would have to be one of them.
"Yeah," I sigh. I can't help but watch her as I dial out on my cell. She's trying to avoid my gaze while looking for her clothes, which for some reason have ended up in every corner of the room. She seems to have everything but is still looking for something else.
"What's wrong?" I can just hear the thought, 'Besides the fact that I woke up with a strange guy in his hotel room and apparently had sex with him?' running through her mind.
"Nothing—well, I can't find my underwear," she admits hesitantly.
"We took that off in the cab," I answer immediately. Wait...
We did? I remember kissing her in a taxi, and I remember-- Ok, not going there.
She gulps. "We did?" That came out in a squeak. "You took my underwear off in a Goddamn taxi?" That, not so much. My head is about ready to explode. "What the hell were you thinking!"
"Well, I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one there." She looks mortified, her expression now miles worse than the one she had only seconds before. I mentally review everything I just said and realise how it could be interpreted to mean something else entirely. "No, I meant that you were there too, not another person. I didn't mean there was a third party involved." I'm rambling, I know." I just meant that whatever happened between us, you consented to--"
"You know, if you don't want to get your ass kicked I suggest you shut up now."
I'm about to argue but I can't seem to find the energy so instead I just say, "Yeah."
A moment goes by, in which we both contemplate what the proper etiquette for the morning after a one-night stand with a complete stranger is. The last time I did this was before Mandy, and things have changed since then. I'm not sure what was acceptable then, is acceptable now.
"Your phone's talking."
"What?"
"The phone, in your hand, someone's talking." She seems flustered.
"Oh. Oh, Sam?" I say into the phone.
"Hey, do you have a woman there? Am I interrupting something? It's not the stripper from the bachelor party, is it? Cause, CJ might have something to say about that."
"No, it's just room service," I answer, giving the woman whose name I have yet to discover an apologetic look as she goes into the bathroom to dress. "You paged me," I tell Sam.
"Yeah, you were supposed to call in for staff, but you didn't and Margaret couldn't get a hold of you on your hotel line--" I reflexively look at the phone and realise that sometime during the night it must have gotten knocked off the nightstand, "—and you weren't answering your cell phone either."
"Oh."
"Yeah, 'Oh.' Anyway, Leo wants you to check in. Congressman Rippon is in Vegas-- he's actually staying in your hotel right now. He checked in this morning-- and Leo's arranged a lunch meeting for you."
"Is this a formal meeting?"
"Nah, his fiancé is gonna be there too. This is just an off the record introductory thing."
"Ok."
"Are you sure you're alone?"
"Sam, I don't have a stripper in my room. I can't even remember if we had one last night."
"It was Mike who organised the bachelor party right?"
"Yeah." Sam knew this one already so I answer as if I'm stating the obvious.
"You had one."
"You're probably right."
I hope to God she's not the stripper. She's not acting like one—although how one acts is not something I'm well versed in.
"Anyway, how was it?"
"It was good..."
"And?"
"Mike hooked up with someone." And he wasn't the only one.
"Really? What was she like?"
"That I can't remember," I answer as my mystery woman comes back in dressed in an amazing long ivory dress that makes her look... I'm not sure if she looks better with her clothes on or off. "Look Sam, I need to take a shower and get some coffee if I want to at least appear awake before I meet with this guy." I also need to find who I slept with last night.
"Yeah, sure. Talk to you later."
"Yeah," I answer as I hear the phone click on his end.
"So," she starts.
"Yeah?"
"You should get dressed."
"Um, yeah, that would be a good idea." Since I'm currently naked underneath the sheets.
"Do we need to talk about...? I mean, I've never done this before and I can't believe this happened. So I... we... you won't tell anyone, right?"
I'm pretty sure she's not a stripper and I'm about to tell her that many women would love to wake up with me after a night full of what I'm sure was passionate, mind blowing, earth shattering sex, but I notice a look of fear in her eyes and I find myself needing to calm her rather than sell myself as a lover.
"No. I promise, whatever happened last night, or even this morning, stays between us."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"Ok," she nods. "Ok." She's quiet for a moment and then, "How could I have let this happen! I'm not the one night stand type, and I can handle my alcohol, and I don't go off having sex with strangers!"
"Well--"
"Wait, are you sure we," she gestures with her hand back and forth between us, and I'm assuming she's asking if we actually had sex as opposed to just ripping each others clothes off and falling asleep. I don't answer but look at the nightstand where the empty condom wrappers lay as evidence. Her gaze follows mine.
Resigned, she sighs, "Yeah, stupid question."
"Aren't you hung over?" Don't ask me why I feel the need to ask this. "Don't you have a headache at least?"
"I'm sorry?" She's confused.
"I'm pretty sure a lot of alcohol was consumed last night and I know I have a migraine coming on. I'm also pretty sure I look like death warmed over. You, on the other hand…"
"'I, 'on the other hand' what?" she challenges.
"I meant you look--" You look gorgeous, I think, but stop myself from saying the words just in time. She looks scared enough already. I think that admission would only make her more scared. "You don't look like death warmed over."
"Oh. You should put your clothes on," she repeats.
I spot my boxers lying on the bed and pick them up. "Could you," I make a motion with my fingers for her to turn around.
"Oh yeah, sure."
"Thanks."
"So," she starts again, once her back is turned.
"So?"
"Have you done this before? The one night stand thing." Is she making conversation?
"Not for a while now, no." I can see the tension increase in her shoulders ten fold and I feel the need to alleviate some of her worry. "I mean... this isn't something I do every day either." For one thing, I don't have the time to pick up women.
"When was the last time?"
"About... eight years ago."
Boxers on, I find the rest of my clothes and hastily don them.
"Oh. Do you remember what happened last night? I mean, you remembered the panty thing with the taxi."
"No, I just—that was a fluke."
"Me either," she breathes.
We both become silent again and for the first time I take in her appearance. She's tall and willowy, with long, blond hair. She has an incredibly innocent looking face and her skin is just so... I find myself with a problem I've never faced before; I can't find the words to describe her.
"I shouldn't be here," she announces suddenly. "I should go. We've said that we won't talk to anyone about this. It was a lapse in judgement that no one need ever know about," she prattles on while I walk past her to retrieve my watch from the dressing table. The scent of sex still permeates my skin, and if I want to move on with the day I need to take a shower. Otherwise I won't be able to think of anything but her and what we did, or didn't do. I smile at her and watch as a blush rises in her cheeks. I'm pretty sure I'll be thinking of her for a while to come, regardless if her scent clings to me or not.
"No one needs to know," she repeats to herself slowly.
I pick up my watch and notice a credit slip and piece of paper on the dresser.
Oh no. This can't be happening.
"Is your name Donnatella Moss?"
I read the sheet of paper once again and, catching a glance at my hands, I'm pretty sure what's written there isn't a mistake.
"Yes," she stretches the word.
Leo is going to kill me. And then CJ will bring me back to life to kill me again. Of all the stupid, harebrained, reckless, cockeyed things I could've done.
My stupidity really does have no bounds.
"Not anymore," I joke. If I don't laugh I'll cry. This can't be happening. Leo is going to throw a fit, and my mother—
Well...
"What do you mean?" Apprehension is radiating off of her in spades.
"It's now Donnatella Lyman. We got married last night."