Saying Goodbye to The Beast

Author's Notes: This is set 5th season not long after the NASA chick hit on Josh and has 12 chapters.

I've been working very hard today. Josh has a meeting later on 453, followed immediately by a meeting with the Vice-President. Tomorrow morning he has a meeting on the hill on 737 and being that tomorrow is Saturday, my goal is to not be here for that. God knows he's not able to get the things he'll need for those meetings ready on his own, so like I said, I've been busy today.

This is why I don't feel guilty for playing FreeCell on my computer while eating my turkey sandwich on whole wheat low-carb bread with no condiments, my seven celery sticks and seven carrot sticks with no vegetable dip, and my pear. Did I mention I'm trying to lose five pounds? I am. And no, I'm not one of those freaky women who will never be happy with their bodies because no matter how little they weigh, they need to lose five more pounds. It's just that I bought a gorgeous dress at a consignment shop a few weeks ago, and I really need to lose a few pounds to you know, be able to breathe while wearing it. Of course, at the state dinner I'll be wearing it to next week, there will no doubt be some hoity-toity prima donna who will recognize it immediately and make some sort of remark in a not-quiet voice about how wonderful it is that her dress could be worn again. Bitch.

I'm sorry, I've gotten off-track. So, I've been really busy today and I decide that while eating my not fabulous lunch, I should be able to take a small break and play FreeCell. I like to keep track of the game number I'm on and I refuse to move to the next game until I've won the current one, being that according to the game description, every game is winnable. So I keep a post-it on my computer, and I'm on number 4,328. That might sound sick to you, but I've been doing this for about 6 years, so it's not as bad as it sounds. It averages out to what… about 3 games a day? Ok, so I obviously could've used my time more wisely. Let's not dwell on it.

I've gotten off-track again, haven't I? What were we talking about? Right… I'm eating my not-delicious lunch and playing FreeCell when Josh walks in front of my desk and stops, waiting for me to look up at him. I don't. He sighs loudly and then some booklet type things land in front of me on my desk, on top of my pear, which let's face it, is the only edible thing I'm having for lunch.

Without looking down at them, I say, "Not now, I'm too busy for you."

Being that he's my boss, you'd think he'd be offended or at least taken back by this statement, but he's not. I can only assume he's used to it and is as impervious to me as I am to him. "FreeCell?"

"You taught me to play, it's your fault," I mumble, still not taking my eyes off the screen. I've got to get to the cards under that seventh row, I've got to. Oh, and he did teach me. It was during the first campaign and he had a laptop and very little knowledge of how to use it or what he might use it for. On my third day with the campaign, we were on a bus to who knows where and he was in the seat behind me. When I woke up at 2:15 in the morning, the only glow in the bus was from his seat, so I looked back through hole between the top of my seat and the head rest and saw him concentrating on his computer screen. Positive I was seeing greatness in the making, I watched him for a few minutes until he glanced up and caught me. He raised his eyebrows and stared at me for a few seconds, then proceeded to scoot over from the aisle seat to the window seat and motioned with his head for me to come back there. Excited at the prospect of learning from the great and powerful Josh Lyman, I hurried out of my seat and sat down next to him, where he showed me his screen and said, "Help me with this game." Ahh… brilliance…

"How was I supposed to know you'd form an unhealthy obsession with it? I'd just met you."

Yes! I pull up a red eight in row one and am finally able to move the pile of cards ending in a black seven to it, freeing the seventh row. Trust me, it makes sense. Seeing that this game is all but won, I finally look up at him. Damn he's cute. "Did you need something?" I ask in a bored tone.

Instead of answering, he nods towards whatever it was he tossed on my desk a minute ago. I look down and tilt my head to see what they are. "Where'd you get these?"

"I've been collecting them for you," he says proudly, flashing me the cutest smile and his dimples.

"Mmm hmm…"

"You promised."

I look up at him. "I don't remember that."

He smirks. "Lucky for you, I do."

"But you could be making it up."

"True, but in this case, I'm not."

"How can I be sure?"

"You'll just have to trust me."

I scoff at him. "Trust you? The man who poisoned my innocent mind and got me hooked on FreeCell like a coke dealer would a first-time buyer? I think not."

His eyes widen while I go off on my little rant, but unfortunately I'm unable to deter him from his mission. "Donnatella, you promised."

I look down at the top brochure again. "You haven't come through on your end of the deal, and therefore I don't have to come through on my end."

"Untrue," he says triumphantly. "Have you checked your checking account today? Your direct deposit should have been more than it was two weeks ago."

I nod. "It was…"

"Ah ha!" he says almost accusingly.

"Ah hah," I mimic. "You caught me! It was me in the Billiard Room with the Rope."

He gives me an evil eye. "I picture you more as an in the library with the candlestick sort of girl."

"Don't be ridiculous, Josh. That candlestick's from Tiffany's. It's worth a lot of money."

"Funny," he says, walking towards his office. I go back to my game with a smile because I've won, but I'm too quick in my celebration, because he gets just inside his door before he remembers what he was doing and turns around, coming back up to my desk, and sitting on the corner of it.

"You promised."

I groan and spin around in my chair to face him. "Josh, you didn't get me that raise. That was my yearly raise. My 1.24 raise that amounts to all of $16.68 per check after taxes."

"Less than that after you add a half a percent to your 401K deduction."

"I'm not…" I pout. "I hate you."

He smirks. Bastard. "Hate me or not, you still promised."

I grit my teeth and grip my armrest to keep from strangling him. "You didn't get me that raise."

"You need a new car."

I look towards the wall defiantly. "The Beast's fine."

"See, that's how I know you need a new car. For one thing, your current car has a name. Adults don't name their cars. That means you got it when you were in high school or college. For another, its name is 'The Beast', which means its quality was poor even when you named it."

I stick my tongue out at him. "For your information, we named it that because of its size."

"Because it's huge."

"It's not huge."

"It's huge. It's an old lady car."

"Well my grandmother sold it to me, so there."

"How many miles does it have on it?" I cross my arms and refuse to answer. "How many, Donnatella?"

"64,000."

"I think you're forgetting the two times it crossed from 99,999 to 0."

I shrug. "I'm just reporting what my odometer says."

"Your odometer that stopped working a year and a half ago."

I make a pff sound. "That's hardly the point."

"No, of course not, that's the least of its problems. How much have you spent in repairs on The Beast in the last six months?"

I give him an evil eye. "I haven't kept track."

"How could you? That'd take technology to which only NASA has access."

How dare he bring up NASA after last week's star-gazing with the NASA tramp! "You're not funny."

"Oh but I am."

"Are not."

Without taking his eyes off me, he says, "Larry, tell Donna I'm funny."

I turn around and see Larry walking through the bullpen. "Josh is funny, Donna," he mumbles without looking up.

"Larry's your humor witness?" I ask once he's out of ear shot.

"Larry's a very funny guy."

"Yeah, he's about as funny as my last date." See how he likes it.

His jaw sets and I smile wickedly. It takes him a few seconds to recover. "You said you'd buy a new car when you got a raise."

"No, I said I'd buy a new car when you got me a raise."

"I didn't fire you or give you a poor review, preventing you from getting that raise; therefore I got it for you."

"How kind of you," I deadpan.

He stands up and starts walking towards his office. "I'm sweet like that. Look over the brochures. You're buying a car."

"You're not the boss of me," I shout after him. He chuckles and keeps walking.