This Josh

A fanfic by Pheep

Pairing: J/D

Rating: T

Author's Note: The concept for this fic is based off of a scene from The Short List, in which Donna cautions Josh against getting his hopes up by saying that "because when it doesn't work out, you end up drunk in my apartment in the middle of the night and yell at my roommate's cats." (It should also be noted that said cats, while they are mentioned, do not make an actual appearance in this fic – cos, y'know, I forgot about them. Let's assume they got wise and are hiding. Cats do that. So, if there's anyone who was planning to read this solely for the feline feel-good, then I'm sorry, but it looks like this isn't your night. Everybody else: enjoy.)

"Donna."

"Mm?"

"Donna."

"Josh?"

"…I like your hair."

"Well thank you, Josh, I like yours too."

Josh rolls over and looks at her dazedly. "Yeah?"

Donna gives him a look. It doesn't seem to affect him much.

"...Y'know, this is something that you don't really get to say very often," Josh says after a pause. "There's never a good…there's never a proper context. But, I figure why bother, you know, with...with context. You--" …he blinks, then looks her over, seeming to have forgotten the exact compliment he was discussing.

Josh is drunk. Josh is drunk and in her apartment and he's giving her this look. This- this looking sort of look. It's making her kind of nervous. A little.

Actually more than a little, um. "Um." Josh's eyes snap to her face, forgetting their previous wanderings. Josh isn't too drunk right now. He's come here in worse shape plenty of times. He's slammed his fist on hard surfaces and bitten back shouts and yelled at the cats and vented about things not even remotely close to home, and that she's gotten used to. That she can put up with. It's when he comes in like this, when he's not that drunk because there wasn't that much to get away from; when he's just loose, and out of it, and doesn't know what he's saying. It's this Josh that she's always been unsure about.

And he's still watching her face. Why hasn't he asked her why she ummed? Because he's drunk. Okay. So why hasn't she said something yet? Like anything? It's hard to talk with this Josh. Their usual way of talking seems to just fly out the window, like there's no way to apply it. There's no banter when he's like this, and Donna doesn't want to risk trying it, either. It seems like a bad idea somehow. There aren't any jokes with this Josh. It's just this…honesty. It's just this honest, random conversation that's so completely bizarre, coming from him, in her apartment, in the middle of the night— and it just really makes her sort of uneasy.

And it occurs to her now that they have a very strange relationship. As boss-assistant relationships go. As they're supposed to go, anyway. Supposedly. Anyway. Just how many times has he done this now, actually? And just how many bosses habitually show up sloshed at their assistants' apartments? It's an anomaly. It's a complete anomaly. At least, for bosses who aren't having affairs with their assistants.

Which he's not. Obviously.

Um.

"Um."

Josh starts, as though being snapped out of something – whatever it was he had fallen into while he was looking at her all that time. At her face. Actually, they had just held eye contact for that entire time there, hadn't they? But did it really count since he had sort of zoned out, or…

"Yeah?"

Donna blinks. Josh is watching her expectantly. Oh. Oh, he's waiting for her to say something, okay.

Donna blinks some more. "…Uhhm. Yeah, I'm-" she starts to get up. "I think I'll go make some coffee. Do you want some coffee?"

Josh stares at her for a second; he smiles a little. "Sure, yeah."

Donna pauses. It's a deer-in-the-headlights kind of thing and she doesn't like it. She smiles back a little. Then she stands. "Okay then." Okay! Yes. She's back. She heads to the kitchen; and, to show him just how completely back she is, she glances back at him over her shoulder and says, "And you should know that this is served to you because you are a guest in my home, and not out of any kind of vocational obligation."

Josh raises his eyebrows at her. His expression is vague. "…'Kay."

"Good," Donna replies firmly. Good's a stupid thing to say though. How is this good? She might as well forget the coffee and down a couple bottles herself, at least then she'd be zonked enough to carry out a conversation with the man. Funny how that works. In any case, she still starts the coffee. Because you can't just forget the coffee in situations like this. It is actually very crucial that the coffee is not forgotten. Even if she did make that up just now.

"Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"How come your roommate's not here?"

"She is here, she's sleeping." (Or at least trying to. Or at least, camping out in the bedroom until all drunken men of questionable mentality have left the building.)

"Oh." He pauses. "Did I wake you up?"

"Does it look like you woke me up?" she asks, and takes a step out of the kitchen to display her clothes – still the same thing that she wore to work earlier.

"…No."

"Then no."

"...Okay."

Donna rolls her eyes and walks back into the kitchen. She watches the coffeemaker. She almost never gets Josh coffee at work, so it is unnerving to her that she already knows how he takes it. She could be wrong, though. She could be. She'll have to ask him once it's done.

There is a lull.

"…Hey, what's that music?"

"What?" She listens for it. "Oh. I dunno, it must be a neighbor or something."

"Huh."

There is a pause.

"Donna."

"Yeah?"

"D'you…wanna dance?"

"…What did you say?"

"Come on, it'll be fun."

Donna sticks her head through the doorway. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah!"

She cracks an incredulous smile and ducks back behind the wall. "No way!"

"Why not?"

"Because you suck at dancing," she calls back, while starting a sweep of the cupboard for a pair of mugs. "And you're drunk, so that means you'd probably suck even more."

"So? S'not like anyone'd be watching."

"No one needs to be watching for my toes to get crushed."

"Your toes say no, but your eyes say..."

"How do you know what my eyes say, I'm in a different room."

"It is the..." he pauses, grapples for words, "it is the extent of my power over you. Don't fight it, Donna – there just isn't a point."

She steps out of the kitchen, an empty mug hanging from either hand. "Hey; I'm the one who's sober, I decide what has a point and what doesn't."

"No fair."

"Few things in life are fair," she replies dubiously. The coffee's almost ready. She is about to ask him if he wants the red mug or the blue, then realizes there's no need because she already knows he'll say red - so, red.

Wait. But. "Do- d'you want the red mug or the blue?"

"Red."

"Okay."

-

End