FIC: Confetti (TWW, 1/1) by Maidenjedi
Jun. 16th, 2005 01:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maidenjediSo I wrote some The West Wing fic tonight. It was inevitable. I've been immersed in it for a week or two now, and I found myself treading back over the same ground tonight, and finally gave in. I had to write something of my own.
I think, though, that writing anything at all has more to do with my recent reintroduction to X-Files season five than anything else. As anyone who knows Maidenjedi is aware, that season always does force me to write *something*.
But, yeah, this isn't XF, it's TWW. And it's unpolished and it's probably not done. But I thought I'd share anyway, since it's late and I'm itching to do something with it other than pick at it.
TITLE: Confetti
AUTHOR: Maidenjedi
RATING: PG
KEYWORDS: Donna, maybe a whisper of J/D if you're so inclined
DISCLAIMER: Not mine and I'm not selling.
SPOILERS: season six finale
SUMMARY: The end and the beginning; Donna after the convention.
*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*
The convention is over, and someone else has won.
There is confetti all over the floor of the convention hall and in the corner there is a discarded "Bartlet for America" button that had seen better days, days when Bartlet himself was running and accepting and speechifying. That's one of the things about political conventions; they are as much reunions for those who recall old victories and the one time they are really able to ignore old defeats.
Stuck to the floor not too far from the Bartlet button is a "Texans for Santos" sticker.
Yes, she thinks, not quite feeling a stab of regret. Texans, and New Yorkers, and Californians. And so many in between.
She's willing to bet there was never a "Texans for Russell" sticker.
She starts walking, not really going anywhere because there isn't anywhere to be. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not for at least a few more days. She can breathe, make decisions, clean up. She is tied to nothing.
That thought doesn't linger, though maybe it should and maybe she should enjoy this moment of freedom, of calm, of independence. Her fingers itch to do something, however, and she knows she won't stay idle for long. She never could bear it and she knew tomorrow she'd be looking for the next big thing.
Confetti is sticking to the soles of her smart black heels, the heels she bought with the last White House paycheck she would ever get. She had gone shoe shopping, she told herself, to celebrate the end of one part of her life and the beginning of the next. Isn't that what women do? Celebrate by shopping?
Is celebrate another word for mourn?
A few volunteers linger in the hall, some picking up discarded signs, some on walkie-talkies organizing the clean-up.
Donna stops just near a Connecticut delegation's marked section, stooping to pick up a handmade "Bob Russell - Our President" sign. Her lips tugged apart in a reluctant grin. It was pretty funny. Bingo Bob, the President.
The campaign had been pale. Even the guy in the chicken suit seemed to have emerged from a fog and the Donna who had given the pundits something new to laugh about was the mistress of that fog.
Bartlet's campaign was conducted in the sunlight. It was vivid and it was alive. Donna had forgotten what that felt like. She saw it tonight, in Josh's eyes. He was his old self and he was somewhere right now enjoying this as he ought. She thanked him silently for not gloating, for not rubbing it in.
She'd picked another gomer, this one coming with better money and more prestige and Will Bailey buying her dinner. This thought, too, brings a grin, even a short laugh.
It might have been catching. Somewhere in the hall a volunteer finds a "John Hoynes - Tomorrow's Leader" sign and laughes over it with a friend.
Donna leaves the Russell sign on one of Connecticut's chairs and walks out of the hall, and when she gets outside it is dark and there are people still celebrating and not quite ready to leave. She still has confetti on her shoe, and it looks impossibly bright. Tiny pieces of colored paper, the Oz to her
Kansas appearing without the blessed warning of a twister.
"Hey, Santos is going to run with Leo McGarry, can you believe that?!"
A young woman (impossible that she was probably 23, 24....Donna remembers 23 and had she really been that effusive, that eager?) is beaming expectantly and Donna feels she should answer.
She has no words for this ghost before her, however, so she just nods and turns to walk away.
She almost doesn't hear Josh's voice, and she almost doesn't turn around.
But she does, and she will, and this is the real new beginning.
============
I think, though, that writing anything at all has more to do with my recent reintroduction to X-Files season five than anything else. As anyone who knows Maidenjedi is aware, that season always does force me to write *something*.
But, yeah, this isn't XF, it's TWW. And it's unpolished and it's probably not done. But I thought I'd share anyway, since it's late and I'm itching to do something with it other than pick at it.
TITLE: Confetti
AUTHOR: Maidenjedi
RATING: PG
KEYWORDS: Donna, maybe a whisper of J/D if you're so inclined
DISCLAIMER: Not mine and I'm not selling.
SPOILERS: season six finale
SUMMARY: The end and the beginning; Donna after the convention.
*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*
The convention is over, and someone else has won.
There is confetti all over the floor of the convention hall and in the corner there is a discarded "Bartlet for America" button that had seen better days, days when Bartlet himself was running and accepting and speechifying. That's one of the things about political conventions; they are as much reunions for those who recall old victories and the one time they are really able to ignore old defeats.
Stuck to the floor not too far from the Bartlet button is a "Texans for Santos" sticker.
Yes, she thinks, not quite feeling a stab of regret. Texans, and New Yorkers, and Californians. And so many in between.
She's willing to bet there was never a "Texans for Russell" sticker.
She starts walking, not really going anywhere because there isn't anywhere to be. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not for at least a few more days. She can breathe, make decisions, clean up. She is tied to nothing.
That thought doesn't linger, though maybe it should and maybe she should enjoy this moment of freedom, of calm, of independence. Her fingers itch to do something, however, and she knows she won't stay idle for long. She never could bear it and she knew tomorrow she'd be looking for the next big thing.
Confetti is sticking to the soles of her smart black heels, the heels she bought with the last White House paycheck she would ever get. She had gone shoe shopping, she told herself, to celebrate the end of one part of her life and the beginning of the next. Isn't that what women do? Celebrate by shopping?
Is celebrate another word for mourn?
A few volunteers linger in the hall, some picking up discarded signs, some on walkie-talkies organizing the clean-up.
Donna stops just near a Connecticut delegation's marked section, stooping to pick up a handmade "Bob Russell - Our President" sign. Her lips tugged apart in a reluctant grin. It was pretty funny. Bingo Bob, the President.
The campaign had been pale. Even the guy in the chicken suit seemed to have emerged from a fog and the Donna who had given the pundits something new to laugh about was the mistress of that fog.
Bartlet's campaign was conducted in the sunlight. It was vivid and it was alive. Donna had forgotten what that felt like. She saw it tonight, in Josh's eyes. He was his old self and he was somewhere right now enjoying this as he ought. She thanked him silently for not gloating, for not rubbing it in.
She'd picked another gomer, this one coming with better money and more prestige and Will Bailey buying her dinner. This thought, too, brings a grin, even a short laugh.
It might have been catching. Somewhere in the hall a volunteer finds a "John Hoynes - Tomorrow's Leader" sign and laughes over it with a friend.
Donna leaves the Russell sign on one of Connecticut's chairs and walks out of the hall, and when she gets outside it is dark and there are people still celebrating and not quite ready to leave. She still has confetti on her shoe, and it looks impossibly bright. Tiny pieces of colored paper, the Oz to her
Kansas appearing without the blessed warning of a twister.
"Hey, Santos is going to run with Leo McGarry, can you believe that?!"
A young woman (impossible that she was probably 23, 24....Donna remembers 23 and had she really been that effusive, that eager?) is beaming expectantly and Donna feels she should answer.
She has no words for this ghost before her, however, so she just nods and turns to walk away.
She almost doesn't hear Josh's voice, and she almost doesn't turn around.
But she does, and she will, and this is the real new beginning.
============
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 08:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-17 01:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 11:55 am (UTC)I'm missing my show today. :(
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-17 02:00 am (UTC)You know, you're the entire reason I'm even writing WW. Thank you for being my inspiration :-)
(One of these days, Ainsley will speak to me, and it'll be all over!)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-20 07:13 am (UTC)I'm thinking I'll buy them on DVD. Season five is already out over here and I guess season 6 will follow shortly. *Sigh*
you're the entire reason I'm even writing WW. Thank you for being my inspiration
Uh - don't mention it. Although I've no idea what I did... I'm glad I inspired you to West Wing fic though. I must be doing something right...;)
One of these days, Ainsley will speak to me, and it'll be all over!
Oh - that would be fantastic. But you know, I'm desperate for good TWW fic so if Josh/Donna is more your thing why not just write that? I like J/D - it's just that there are very few writers who write J/D in the way I like. I would read your J/D if you wrote it. You have a lot of insight and subtlety and I think J/D needs that.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-20 07:23 am (UTC)I do need to write some J/D. I'm just not sure what it'll be yet. Watch this space, though.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 12:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-17 02:01 am (UTC)(love the icon, btw! oh, and evan's film....he swears it'll be done in time for the fall and it should play at the AFR if they pull it off this year)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-17 11:54 am (UTC)The film will be playing at AFR? Oh, my bank balance.... ;P
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 01:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-17 02:03 am (UTC)I agree, she did what she had to do. I couldn't help feeling like the explosion in Gaza and Josh having been shot at Rosslyn were eeriely similar experiences, and Josh took one route and Donna took the other. I think, though, that she had to get away to come full circle.
Dude, Bingo Bob....there's a man who is utterly vanilla.