Chapter Text
Josh met Donna in the winter. February, to be exact. It was New Hampshire, which meant that snow had piled up outside the headquarters and clouds were draped across the sky overhead, temperatures low and biting. As he walked her to the campaign bus that very first day, she pulled her puffy jacket tight around her body and buried her face in her scarf.
“You are from Wisconsin, right?” he asked.
“I am,” she said, muffled.
“And isn’t it, like, cold there?”
She looked at him from beneath the rim of her hat. “Your point being?”
He grinned. “Shouldn’t you be used to this?”
“Yes, which is why I’ve dressed appropriately,” she said. “You have to guard against the temperature, Josh. Frostbite is no joke. ”
“Yeah, but—” Josh blew into his hands. They were standing outside the bus now, waiting even though no one else was going in. “You don’t have any sense of, I don’t know, Midwestern pride or something?”
She rolled her eyes. “Midwestern pride means not acting like a baby about having to wear a coat, that way you can keep your dignity instead of bouncing up and down to stay warm.”
Josh made himself stop bouncing. His mouth may have fallen open a little.
“See,” Donna said, “that’s the problem with you—where are you from?”
“Connecticut.”
“—you Connecticut people,” she continued without a breath. “Your pride makes you do dumb things like coming outside without a jacket or scarf; my pride makes me take my mortality seriously.”
“I take my mortality seriously!” Josh scoffed. “Case in point, I’m flying to Charleston when the skies clear, instead of driving on icy roads in a bus for fifteen hours, like some people.”
“And whose fault is it that I’m on the bus?” Donna asked.
“Yours!” Josh answered, nonplussed. “You literally showed up to work the campaign today, of course you’re going on the bus and not the plane. And not for nothing,” he added, “but a lot of bosses wouldn’t have put you on that bus at all.”
“And I’m very grateful that you are not those bosses,” Donna supplied, a faint smile showing above her scarf. Josh tried not to notice that the tip of her nose had turned pink. “Does this mean I’m officially working for you?”
“It means—” Josh sputtered for a second. “I mean, I gave you my campaign badge, so—” Not that he had the authority to hire someone without campaign finances officially knowing—how was he going to get out of this one?
The doors of the bus swooshed open. Thank god; otherwise Josh would’ve hired her on the spot for the second time that day.
“We’re heading out in a minute,” the driver called down. “Already arriving late as is. Are you getting on or not?”
“I am!” Donna said. She turned back to Josh, pulled the scarf off from around her neck, and held it out to him until he grabbed it, blinking dumbly. She smiled. “See you in Charleston.”
Josh watched as she climbed the steps into the bus and disappeared down its aisle without looking back.
“Sir?” the driver prompted.
“Yeah, I’m staying here,” Josh said. He breathed out, shook his head, then turned on his heel and walked back towards the office, scarf still clutched in his hands.
They’d spent countless winters together since then. Although that’s not true, actually—Josh counted every single one.
Sometimes, in D.C., she would borrow his coat, slipping it on to go outside. “It’s warmer than mine,” she told him, and once he responded, “You can’t buy your own warm coat?”
“I can,” she said, gathering up papers from her desk and bringing them to his to sort.
Josh followed her. “So why don’t you?”
“Because I like wearing yours,” she answered, then set the papers down. “I’ll be back soon with lunch.”
“I want a hamburger,” Josh told her, again trailing behind her as she left his office.
“I know,” she said over her shoulder. “Extra burnt.”
“Hey, I like ‘em well done,” Josh said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Donna replied. “Positive thoughts, champ.”
“Okay, now you’re making me feel dumb.” Josh swung in front of her, stepping into the doorway so that she couldn’t cross.
“I wonder why,” she said blandly.
“I’m just saying—”
“Excuse me, you’re in the way of our lunch,” she interrupted. She pressed a hand to his chest and he moved aside accordingly, his mind suddenly empty of thoughts or faux-annoyance, washed of everything except hand hand hand and the fact that she smelled like a mixture of her shampoo and the cologne from his coat.
“Right,” he breathed, already feeling out of earshot as she went on down the hallway. He lingered in the doorway a minute, giving his brain a second for necessary recalibration before glimpsing Toby hustling by.
“Hey, Toby!” Josh called out, intercepting him.
“If Ashman doesn’t get his act together, I swear to god I’m this close—this close—to finding a primary challenger for him,” Toby muttered, pinching his fingers together.
“Yeah,” Josh said.
“I mean it,” Toby continued. “We don’t need any of that wishy-washy stuff right now ‘cause what some people might not realize is that we’re actually trying to run a country here!”
“Okay,” Josh agreed, walking with him. “Donna’s getting me lunch.”
“Well, I’ve got three more meetings before lunch,” Toby said, “one of which is with Ashman’s idiotic co-conspirator.”
“She’s wearing my coat right now.”
“Who is?” Toby glanced at him.
“Donna.”
“And what am I supposed to do with that information?” They were at Toby’s office now, and Josh hovered by the doorframe as Toby scanned a file on his desk.
“I dunno,” he said honestly.
“Ginger!” Toby shouted. “Ginger, I need the—the thing!”
“She has her own coat,” Josh said.
“What are you—Ginger, the NEA thing!”
“She said she likes wearing mine.”
“Honest to god, Josh, do you have work to do?” Toby asked.
“Yeah.” Toby stared at him, and Josh exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I’ll go do that, then.”
“You guess? Swear to god—Ginger! The NEA! My guy’s coming in two minutes, I need the—” Josh pushed himself off the doorframe and headed back to his office. Behind him, he heard Toby shout, “Real country we’re trying to run here!”
Winters were dreary, sometimes. Gray skies and short tempers, new congresspeople to get used to and, always, the feeling of another year slipping them by. But then—then—there was this:
Holidays with Donna, Christmas morning phone calls that fell into nights together with takeout Chinese, blinking lights strung up around all the doorways but his. Drinking together on New Year’s Eve, sprawled out on couches at one staff member’s place or another’s; dancing closer than they ever mentioned come morning. Some years they exchanged gifts, wrote inscriptions in antique books; others, Donna gently turned the radio down outside his office, tugging him past lines of carolers warbling beyond.
There was the way Donna’s cheeks flushed in the cold. How, once, when they were leaving work together, he put his arm around her and she slipped her hand into his pocket. The days when snow had fallen too high, too fast, so he drove her home, waiting until she’d gotten safely inside before pulling away. The second inauguration, snowballs exploding against the window, the cramped car ride to the ball. There was winter, and there was Donna in winter, and always, tucked away somewhere, was the fact that as each winter passed and passed, Josh only fell for her harder.