Work Text:
He’s never usually lost for words. He makes comments, quips, jokes. He keeps thing running and he keeps people entertained. There’s always something waiting to be said with him, something clever, or a strong argument, or a joke that’s almost-flirty. Now? Nothing. There’s nothing he could say that could slow his heart rate or make his mouth any less dry.
Josh is leaning on the doorway, and across the room, Donna Moss has a baby on her hip. Joey’s baby, sure, but it’s all the same to him. His hands are clammy, and the beer bottle he’s holding is losing its chill. They’re gathered in a hotel for a birthday, and he didn’t even want to show his face, but now he’s beginning to rethink his hesitance.
He’s fascinated, and his heart is aching.
The baby, Stephanie or Steffi, he thinks he heard Donna say), is cooing and gurgling, tiny hands wound up in Donna’s shirt. Josh is completely caught in the way she bounces her so slightly, and sways to the music just to make her giggle.
Donna. Donna, who looks so effortlessly beautiful. He swears she’s glowing, but she always looks that way to him. Her hair is falling from her bun, framing her face, and every time she laughs his heart beats just a little faster.
He swigs his beer, but it doesn’t quell the burn.
Donna catches his eye, and her smile doesn’t leave her face. She nods, gesturing for him to come over.
Move. Go. Take her a drink, dumbass. Wine. White. You drink red, she drinks white. Right? Right. Move.
He tosses his empty bottle, grabbing her a drink before exhaling hard and walking to her. The baby blinks at him with blue-green eyes (like Donna’s).
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” she replies. Soft, warm, smiling. He bites his tongue. “Cute, isn’t she? I think I wanna take her home. You think Joey would notice?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
His voice is quiet. He’s never quiet. He smiles, and she smiles, and so he smiles a little wider.
When baby Steffi reaches for Josh’s tie, he has no choice but to step in closer to her. With the glass of wine handed to her, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore.
His eyes flicker down to where the baby with mousey brown hair (like his own) is grasping his tie. For a minute, he lets his mind drift from the party.
Josh can see it all quite clearly. Sunlight in a bedroom, Donna’s perfumes arranged on a vanity, his robe hung over the door. Donna. Donna, again, pale and glowing in the light. Blonde hair, legs for miles. A shirt. His shirt. He’s on the bed, and she’s standing. Standing, and swaying, and laughing. A baby on her hip. Theirs, but even subconsciously, he won’t acknowledge that. Brown hair, and blue eyes. Maybe blonde hair and brown eyes. And holy hell, is he happy. Of course, he’s always known he would be if it worked out that way. Some days, he thinks that’s the only way he’ll be that happy. Donna Moss, a wedding band on that slender hand of hers, and a baby on that slender hip. He smiles, dizzy and stupid and bursting with pride
“Could you hold her a minute?”
“Sure thing, honey”
“Did you just call me ‘honey’?”
His head snaps up, and she’s holding out Steffi.
Fuck his life. His mouth is drier than it was ten minutes ago.
“In case you didn’t know, I like to joke. It’s only fun I reap from life,” he says, voice painfully unsteady.
“Mmhm. I have to get this,” she says, and suddenly there’s a baby in his arms and Donna is leaving with a phone call.
Donna, who is very much unmarried, very much childless, and very much not his. The ache returns. The ache that’s been aching and aching and aching since he met her. Donna, again. He’s watching her back, and he bites his tongue a second time.
“Nice going, dropping me in it like that,” Josh says to the baby, who is still quite fascinated by his tie. “Yeah, I though as much.”