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“Hold on just a minute, he's on the other line but they're wrapping up.” Donna breathed a sigh of relief as the tasteful hold music began to play. “Sure, no problem.” Any surprise in Terri's voice was well-concealed.
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“Um, no, actually,” Donna admitted, “I was hoping to talk to Sam myself, if he had a free minute.” No shake there, and the um was excusable, she decided. “Do you have Josh on the line? I can put him through.” Donna spent more time talking to the assistants of Josh's colleagues than she did most of her own family members, and she suspected she wasn't alone.
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“Oh, hey Donna,” Terri replied, her voice warming from professional friendliness. “Hi Terri, this is Donna Moss,” Donna began, and hated the quiver she could hear in the edge of her own voice. “Carrington, Schuster and Hawthorne, Sam Seaborn's office,” came a pleasant female voice after the second ring. Sitting down at one of the rickety little tables, she took a deep breath, put on a smile and her most winning phone personality, and made the call. It was a good place to take a break, quiet and generally untenanted by Washington insiders, and the coffee wasn't half-bad. While Josh was away at a meeting she slipped out to the metro and down a couple of stops, ducking into the coffeeshop at the National Building Museum. She didn't wait till after work to make the call, even with the time difference that would've been rudely late. She went to the original, the only person she knew who really, truly understood what it was like to suffocate inside the White House, to feel trapped and helpless and useless, to work yards away from someone you loved who would never love you back. So when Donna couldn't face staying in the White House for one more month, let alone the rest of the administration, she skipped Will entirely. That was where all the hostility came from: Will had taken away and replaced the person they'd wanted to have. The problem with Will was that, even in Donna's head, he was just a substitute. Donna sometimes felt like she and Will had more in common than she'd like to admit. He'd treated his new deputy as just one more body to yell at or foist assignments onto, but apparently leaving was an immeasurable betrayal. Toby's wrath at Will's departure had surprised Donna. She'd gone out of her way to be nice to him, hoping to offset the hazing till it passed, but he still hadn't stayed very long.
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She'd felt sorry for the wall of subconscious resentment he'd had to scale, sorry for the hostility that nobody could talk or think about, but that manifested itself in petty vandalism with condiments and an office full of bicycles. They'd become friends, of a sort, during his short sojourn in the West Wing. When the time came that she absolutely had to leave, Donna thought of Will Bailey first.
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