A/N: Hey guys! I've got a little one-shot for you today. It was originally supposed to be part of my CJ POV chapter, but I like it better as a one-shot, because I get to alternate perspectives.

I wrote it today, after hearing 'Hungry Heart,' lmao.

Anyway, I hope you like it! Prodigal Son is still priority one, I just needed a little break. Chapter ten will be up this week.

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If CJ could pick one story to summarize why she hated her job as Bartlet's press secretary, competition would be fierce. There was the day of her root canal - an obvious one. There was the month she'd debated handing in her resignation for a major slip up in the briefing room. There were the years she'd been kept apart from the love of her life.

But though it would later pale in comparison to these tales, for a long time, CJ's "worst night" story was of a night on the first Bartlet for America campaign, the end to a warm July day in Kentucky.

They weren't in a big city like Lexington (the stop they'd discussed), but in a small town, as they'd thought the appearance might add to Bartlet's folksy appeal. They were in a small auditorium, and after the Governor had given a short speech, a local Bruce Springsteen cover band took the stage to give the evening a wholly down-home, Americana feel. The audience was a mixture of potential donors (old money, Southern dynasty donors - the kind with thousand acre farms and stock in race horses), and a few simple hicks to round out the atmosphere. CJ probably would've used a nicer term for the locals who'd been given free entry, but Toby had used the term 'simple hicks' earlier, and it stuck with her.

The staff wasn't exactly on its A game. Bourbon was free and bountiful, the place was warm and dark, and what good America-lovin' political operative didn't love some Springsteen?

Needless to say, those that were sober enough to stand were doing exactly what the simple hicks and big donors were doing - dancing.

While CJ could've been putting out a million fires that night (Toby arguing belligerently with an elderly southern belle was the least of her worries), the one she kept getting distracted by was on the dance floor. It seemed the Josh and Donna saga was finally coming to a head.

They were dancing together, too closely. Too honestly. There wasn't anyone in the world who could look out at them without understanding exactly what it was they felt for each other. In a sea of drunk simple hicks and even drunker millionaires in seersucker, they only had eyes for each other.

CJ hadn't seen him look that way in a while. Not since his dad died.

He looked happy. Carefree. He looked like someone who was very successfully forgetting everything tonight.

Donna looked almost as loose. The girl had a massive smile, one that lit up rooms, and that night it was all for him.

'Hungry Heart' came on, which was a little too on the nose, and he pulled her closer. If closer was possible. His hands were in a place that wasn't entirely appropriate. He leaned in close and said something into her ear, and she giggled.

CJ knew she had to act. And as she set her drink down on the bar, and wended her way through the hot crowd, she really hated her job.

But if she was totally honest with herself, her reason for intervening wasn't entirely professional.

After throwing a couple elbows, she finally reached them. They didn't notice her at all until she'd tapped them both. She stepped closer, smiling widely.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Josh looked as though he'd been doused in a bucket of ice water. Donna, flushed, smiled slightly and removed herself clumsily from Josh's arms.

"Go for it." She said. "He's already stepped on me twice."

Josh didn't bite back with his usual retort, but watched her wend her way away from him, slow and wobbling a little.

CJ allowed her smile to fade. "Okay. Let's dance."

"Why?" He looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, which was an analogy CJ didn't want to think too deeply into.

"I need to talk to you about something, idiot boy. Now make like we like each other and come closer."

For his part, Josh had been having one of his best nights in months. He was buzzed, he'd scored a major donation earlier in the night, and he'd dragged Donna out to dance with him, though not much persuasion had been required.

He knew what he was doing. It had just been fun, at first, but then things had slowed down. She was beautiful, in the dim lit, dusty bar, and he could feel the heat reverberating between them in the cloying, bourbon scented air. The way she looked at him made him feel something. He needed someone to look at him like that; like he was everything.

It helped. She helped. She always did. And then it clicked: he could ditch his grief for a night. He knew exactly how.

He was going to sleep with her.

The desire was there, that much was obvious. There'd been tension crackling between the two of them since day one. And it would be easy. He would keep dancing with her, allow the space between them to shrink. He would make her laugh. He would put his hands on her; not in a sleazy way, but in a way that held meaning. Potential. Promises.

He wouldn't kiss her inside the building, surrounded by sweaty, drowsy idiots. He wasn't that kind of guy. No, he'd lean in close. Ask her if she wanted some air. She'd say yes, he'd pull her by the hand outside, into the balmy Southern evening.

And then he'd kiss her. He'd start slow, and then he would press her against the brick wall outside. He'd make her melt in his hands.

He wouldn't undress her. Not outside, that would be cheap. He'd only start to skim his hand under her shirt, to tug at her waistband. And then he'd pull back. He'd ask if she wanted to go back inside, or walk the few blocks to their hotel, even though he knew what her answer would be.

He'd take her to his room. He'd take his time with her, be reverent. He'd be perfect. He would fulfill every schoolgirl-crush fantasy she'd had about him. He would forget everything except his name, which he'd have her saying over, and over, and over again.

And he wouldn't need to feel anything else.

His whole world felt like it was falling apart. But he knew one thing he could still do right.

Unfortunately for him, CJ saw right through him.

After she ordered him to dance with her, and chased off the only good thing he had going, he reluctantly put his hands on her waist, and allowed her to put hers on his shoulders. He hated that she was wearing heels; she had at least two inches on him.

He felt like a little kid. The conversation that followed didn't make him feel any better.

"Josh, if you need me to transfer her..." She started.

"I don't." He said immediately. "I don't need you to do that. Please." He couldn't fathom coming into work and not being with her. Not having her sharp quips and quirky stories, her reminders to eat.

She gave him a dubious look. "You don't?"

"No."

"So then you're telling me that I was imagining what was just happening over here?"

"What?"

"Josh."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He denied flatly.

"Your hands were on her ass, Josh."

"No they weren't."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must be blind."

"I don't know. She's tall, okay? So what's a safe place on another woman is suddenly..."

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm tall."

"Yeah."

"Do you have any trouble keeping your hands off my ass?"

"No." He said sheepishly. He wished he could let go of her. He wished he could find Donna. She had disappeared into the crowd, probably to be bought a drink and talked up by some farm boy.

CJ looked down at him with sympathy. "I know you broke up with Mandy last week."

He didn't look at her. "She broke up with me."

"You ignored her for weeks and then called her 'Molly.' I'd say you're at least partially responsible."

"So what?"

"So, I get it. Your dad died. Everything sucks. But this isn't the way to feel better."

"Again, I don't know what you're-"

"You shouldn't sleep with her, Josh."

He couldn't do this. He couldn't be close to her, and talk about this. He couldn't let her guide him like he was her lost little brother. He let go of her, and took a step back. "I wasn't going to."

The look she gave him was distinctly sad. "Josh."

"And what if I was? What's your point? It wouldn't have been a story, everything would've been fine-"

"You care about that girl, Josh."

He glowered at her. "So what if I do?"

"So you're not ready for this."

"For what?"

"For her. For this. For someone you care about." She shouted over the music.

"How do you know that I'd-"

"In two weeks when you're ignoring her and calling her 'Diane,' it won't be like it was with Mandy. You're going to hate yourself."

He swallowed. He had no idea how she did it - reading him like that. Was he that much of an open book? It was true, there was no better saboteur of relationships than he. And he knew that, as much as he liked Donna - her quips, her quirks, her dorky enthusiasm - CJ was right. He'd push her away. He'd lose her, and make himself miserable. Sleeping with her, however appealing, was the last thing he needed.

"CJ..."

"And if you hurt that girl? If you destroy the way that she looks at you-" he winced. "-and the love she has for politics, the trust she has in you and the world? You'll never forgive yourself. And you know what? I'd never forgive you either."

Josh's shoulders sagged. She was right. She was starkly, strikingly right. And in the dim light, she looked a little like Joanie. "Okay."

"Oh... Kay?" She furrowed her brow at him, unsure that she'd heard him correctly.

"Okay." He repeated, more strongly. "You're right."

"I am?" She squinted at him. She realized herself quickly and straightened up. "I mean, of course I am."

That made him smile a little. "Thanks, CJ."

She blinked in surprise. "You're welcome."

"You're good at your job."

"I'm not doing my job."

Again, the ghost of a smile. "I'm gonna..." He gestured toward the bar in the back.

"Wait." She said. She took a step closer to him, as the chorus to 'Secret Garden' drifted through the crowd. "Finish our dance?"

He rolled his eyes, looking more like the Josh she knew. "Okay."

She pulled him closer this time, almost like a hug. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm just sorry you feel this way, that's all. I'm sorry about your dad."

He let her hug him. "Thanks."

Back at the bar, Donna was idly sipping her drink, chatting with some guy who was either very rich and trying too hard not to look it, or quite poor. Either way, he was confident. And he wasn't bad looking.

Eventually, Josh emerged from the crowd, CJ nowhere to be seen. His carefree joy of earlier was gone, and her heart sank. Something had been happening with them, sure, but what she was most invested in was his smile. The way his grief had taken leave of him for the night.

Evidently, it was back. He didn't look gloomy, but he was serious again. On edge. He barely looked at her as he stalked to the bar, and took the stool beside her. He ordered a drink.

"Hey." She greeted, concerned. "What did CJ want?"

"A dance." He gave her half a smile.

"That's all?"

"Sure."

The man she'd been talking to, whom she'd all but forgotten, stepped in front of her. "Speaking of which, care to dance with me?"

Donna wasn't looking at him, but from beside her, she felt Josh gently place his hand on her back. It didn't have the same heat of earlier, but it was almost possessive. She chanced a glance over at him. He didn't look at her, but took a long sip of his drink.

She understood. He didn't want her, tonight; at least, not like that. But to watch her leave would kill him.

"No, thank you." She said politely, and swiveled on her stool toward Josh, indicating to the man that he was dismissed. He walked away from them. Donna continued to watch Josh. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

She hesitated. "Do you want to hear the story of the time they played this song at my prom?"

She finally earned a smile. "Yes."

She knew what was happening between them, earlier. She wasn't as naive as she looked. Josh was going to sleep with her - and God, she would've let him. She would've been more than willing. Even then, thinking of his intimate smile, his body heat and his hands on her, she almost melted off her stool.

But this was better. This was how he needed her.

And if she was honest with herself, this was how she needed to be too. She didn't need a fling, or even a relationship. She'd had her fill of those. She needed a friend. She needed her boss, and the things he taught her. She needed this job, and her future.

For many years, this was what they needed to be. It didn't matter what they wanted; this was what they needed.