FF: Beyond the Sea (1/6)
Title: Beyond the Sea
Author: Leli
Prompt: #107 - What if Josh and Donna met as teenagers?
Rating: PG
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters/Pairing: Josh/Donna
Warning: Spoilers up to mid Season 3, but blink and you'll miss it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I profit from nothing. All familiar faces are the creation and/or property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, NBC and/or Warner Bros. There’s also a little something ‘borrowed’ from a Stephen King novel, so maybe Aaron and the gang could pass my ‘no lawsuits’ stance on to him. And while they’re at it, George Lucas should probably get a call, too…
A/N: Crack!fic warning. This story is obviously AU and, as such, I have taken some creative license. First off, I have lessened the age gap slightly. Secondly, I am well aware that the kid in this fic is somewhat overly articulate and witty for her age – it had to be done. If she weren’t, it would have read like a nearly-grown man picking on a small child, which is neither amusing nor endearing. If you’d still like to read, come on in and enjoy. There’s a coat-rack by the door – please use it to suspend your disbelief.
A/N2: Thanks to![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=91.7)
caz963 for the beta.
A/N3: Follows the story...
Author: Leli
Prompt: #107 - What if Josh and Donna met as teenagers?
Rating: PG
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters/Pairing: Josh/Donna
Warning: Spoilers up to mid Season 3, but blink and you'll miss it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I profit from nothing. All familiar faces are the creation and/or property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, NBC and/or Warner Bros. There’s also a little something ‘borrowed’ from a Stephen King novel, so maybe Aaron and the gang could pass my ‘no lawsuits’ stance on to him. And while they’re at it, George Lucas should probably get a call, too…
A/N: Crack!fic warning. This story is obviously AU and, as such, I have taken some creative license. First off, I have lessened the age gap slightly. Secondly, I am well aware that the kid in this fic is somewhat overly articulate and witty for her age – it had to be done. If she weren’t, it would have read like a nearly-grown man picking on a small child, which is neither amusing nor endearing. If you’d still like to read, come on in and enjoy. There’s a coat-rack by the door – please use it to suspend your disbelief.
A/N2: Thanks to
caz963 for the beta.A/N3: Follows the story...
Beyond the Sea
Chapter 1
Late morning sun reflects off the storefronts and into the eyes of tourists and townies alike as they shuffle along the Atlantic City boardwalk. Wives point out novelties and knick-knacks in windows as their husbands smile and nod dutifully, waiting for it to be declared ‘late enough’ to hit the slots. Mothers try to corral their children, balancing beach towels, coolers and babies while they embark across the hot sand, looking for a vacant spot to set up camp for the afternoon.
The kid in front of Al’s Diner (est. 1973, the sign boasts) pays no attention to the hustle and bustle of the New Jersey Shore’s answer to Las Vegas. She’s staring through the window, craning her neck to see over the edge of the empty table on the other side. Blond pigtails whisper against the glass as she shifts her position, nose leaving the sleek surface for only the briefest of moments. In this humid July of 1980, air-conditioning is hardly a staple, but Al must be doing well because the inside of the diner is cold enough to keep the glass cool. It could be that Al’s made the money by skimping on staff because there he is, a sweaty but lean man of fifty, constantly on the move behind the Formica counter as his only waitress serves up gyros and greasy burgers at a breakneck pace. Al glances at the kid and glares, causing her to turn her back to the glass but not to run. The ‘NO LOITERING’ sign is clearly visible but she’s willing to bet that it’ll take more than ten minutes of staring before he comes all the way out here to chase off a seven year old in the middle of the lunch rush.
With her shoulders pressed against the window, the kid scans the beach. Her eyes skim past the swimmers splashing around and the parents slathering sun-block on pale children, and alight on a group of three teenage girls over by the lifeguard tower. Their hair-flips and giggles have failed to get the attention of the Adonis holding the ring buoy but that hasn’t diminished their zest for the mission. And oh, wait – it seems that someone has noticed them because, even as the kid is about to look away, an auburn-haired boy of about eighteen approaches from the direction of the snack bar. He is lanky and his hair is too long, curling around the collar of his baby blue t-shirt. He’s clearly nervous, his thin arms crossed protectively over his scrawny chest. He seems to be trying to strike up a conversation with the brunette but an incredulous glance between her two friends tells the kid all she needs to know. She’s too far away to hear the conversation but with two older brothers, she knows an impending rejection when she sees one.
The kid turns back to the restaurant, positioning herself in the corner of the stoop, as far out of Al’s sightline as possible. She hears the girls behind her break into a fit of laughter but doesn’t hear the boy approaching until he is almost upon her. Before she can remove herself from his path, he reaches a hand to the door, flinging it open with an angry-sounding grunt. The corner of the handle jabs painfully into the girl’s arm and she stumbles backward.
“Ow!”
The boy starts at the sound of her voice, fixing her with a surprised look.
“Oh, no - I’m sorry, kid! I didn’t even see you. Did I... you’re not gonna cry, are you?” He looks positively panicked.
“No, actually, I’m not a complete wuss.” The kid rubs her elbow as the look of panic on the boy’s face is replaced with one of curiosity.
“I didn’t say... I mean...” He smirks. “I threw it open pretty hard.”
“Well, clearly you’re not very strong then.” Flashing him a small, almost pitying smile, the kid turns back to the goings-on in the diner.
“What are you doing standing behind a door, anyway? What kind of stupid pastime is that?” His fear of having injured the girl is draining away and he’s reverting to the anger that held him as he fled the brunette’s rejection.
“I wasn’t standing here for fun, I was looking in there,” she says, her voice full of exasperation as she gestures inside the diner with a jerk of her thumb. The boy glances through the glass, trying to see what could be so interesting.
“Parents in there or something?” he wonders, scanning the people in the diner for anyone with a family resemblance to the kid.
“Nope. Pie,” she replies simply.
He returns his gaze to her bluish-grey eyes, unsure if he’s heard her correctly or if he’s actually suffering from sunstroke on top of mortification.
“Um... yeah, what does that mean?”
“This diner has five types of pie. They have apple, blueberry, cherry, peach and strawberry rhubarb.”
The boy is now looking at her like she’s grown another head. Did she intentionally list those alphabetically? What kind of geeky little kid is she? Or wait - is he technically geekier for having noticed it? And in fact, is geekier even a word?
He shakes his head as if to clear it. This kid, combined with the sun, has clearly addled his brain.
“Five kinds, huh? And that fact warrants voyeurism?” he quips and she furrows her brow in confusion.
“I don’t know what that means but…” she shrugs, “I like pie.”
“Well... Okay. I’m gonna go in now. Sorry about your arm.” He pulls open the door and steps into the cool beachfront oasis that is Al’s, the smell of french fries immediately assailing him. He actually makes it all the way to the far side of the long counter and climbs atop a stool before he realizes that the kid has followed him. She takes the stool next to his and smiles, a wide grin that reveals her missing front teeth.
“Look, Cindy Brady,” he remarks with a half-smile, tweaking one of her pigtails lightly, “I think it’s time to go for a walk outside now.”
“I’d like peach, please.”
“Seriously, the summer sun’s calling your name.” He smiles winningly, hoping to distract her from her demand.
“I hear you, now,” she remarks, rolling her eyes as if to say that she both gets the joke and is so very over it.
“And yet you’re still here…”
“Peach is the best kind of pie.” She says it as though she is confiding a great secret in him, leaning in and glancing furtively around the room. The boy thinks, for the first but not the last time, that she is an awfully peculiar child.
“I’m not buying you pie.” He expects her smile to falter but instead, it widens. Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly and he draws back slightly, feeling like a safe whose lock is in imminent danger of being cracked.
“Why not? You almost broke my arm back there. I think the least you can do is buy me a tiny, little slice of peach pie.” She’s rubbing her elbow again, clearly for theatrical effect.
“I thought I wasn’t that strong.” The boy raises an eyebrow and turns on his stool to face her completely.
“I was pretending to be brave. You’re actually very strong. And generous. I can tell.” She’s not smiling now, just looking at him with an earnest expression... or at least a very fair impersonation of one. “I have a sense about people.”
“Well, your Spidy-sense is on the fritz, so why don’t you buy your own pie? And eat it far, far away from me.” He gestures half-heartedly across the packed diner, neither expecting nor wanting her to go just yet.
“Ow!”
The boy starts at the sound of her voice, fixing her with a surprised look.
“Oh, no - I’m sorry, kid! I didn’t even see you. Did I... you’re not gonna cry, are you?” He looks positively panicked.
“No, actually, I’m not a complete wuss.” The kid rubs her elbow as the look of panic on the boy’s face is replaced with one of curiosity.
“I didn’t say... I mean...” He smirks. “I threw it open pretty hard.”
“Well, clearly you’re not very strong then.” Flashing him a small, almost pitying smile, the kid turns back to the goings-on in the diner.
“What are you doing standing behind a door, anyway? What kind of stupid pastime is that?” His fear of having injured the girl is draining away and he’s reverting to the anger that held him as he fled the brunette’s rejection.
“I wasn’t standing here for fun, I was looking in there,” she says, her voice full of exasperation as she gestures inside the diner with a jerk of her thumb. The boy glances through the glass, trying to see what could be so interesting.
“Parents in there or something?” he wonders, scanning the people in the diner for anyone with a family resemblance to the kid.
“Nope. Pie,” she replies simply.
He returns his gaze to her bluish-grey eyes, unsure if he’s heard her correctly or if he’s actually suffering from sunstroke on top of mortification.
“Um... yeah, what does that mean?”
“This diner has five types of pie. They have apple, blueberry, cherry, peach and strawberry rhubarb.”
The boy is now looking at her like she’s grown another head. Did she intentionally list those alphabetically? What kind of geeky little kid is she? Or wait - is he technically geekier for having noticed it? And in fact, is geekier even a word?
He shakes his head as if to clear it. This kid, combined with the sun, has clearly addled his brain.
“Five kinds, huh? And that fact warrants voyeurism?” he quips and she furrows her brow in confusion.
“I don’t know what that means but…” she shrugs, “I like pie.”
“Well... Okay. I’m gonna go in now. Sorry about your arm.” He pulls open the door and steps into the cool beachfront oasis that is Al’s, the smell of french fries immediately assailing him. He actually makes it all the way to the far side of the long counter and climbs atop a stool before he realizes that the kid has followed him. She takes the stool next to his and smiles, a wide grin that reveals her missing front teeth.
“Look, Cindy Brady,” he remarks with a half-smile, tweaking one of her pigtails lightly, “I think it’s time to go for a walk outside now.”
“I’d like peach, please.”
“Seriously, the summer sun’s calling your name.” He smiles winningly, hoping to distract her from her demand.
“I hear you, now,” she remarks, rolling her eyes as if to say that she both gets the joke and is so very over it.
“And yet you’re still here…”
“Peach is the best kind of pie.” She says it as though she is confiding a great secret in him, leaning in and glancing furtively around the room. The boy thinks, for the first but not the last time, that she is an awfully peculiar child.
“I’m not buying you pie.” He expects her smile to falter but instead, it widens. Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly and he draws back slightly, feeling like a safe whose lock is in imminent danger of being cracked.
“Why not? You almost broke my arm back there. I think the least you can do is buy me a tiny, little slice of peach pie.” She’s rubbing her elbow again, clearly for theatrical effect.
“I thought I wasn’t that strong.” The boy raises an eyebrow and turns on his stool to face her completely.
“I was pretending to be brave. You’re actually very strong. And generous. I can tell.” She’s not smiling now, just looking at him with an earnest expression... or at least a very fair impersonation of one. “I have a sense about people.”
“Well, your Spidy-sense is on the fritz, so why don’t you buy your own pie? And eat it far, far away from me.” He gestures half-heartedly across the packed diner, neither expecting nor wanting her to go just yet.
He finds the kid demanding, but their conversation has been quick and easy, a welcome recourse from the beer-and-booty drenched musings of his two best friends, his companions on this trip. A weekend in Atlantic City to celebrate the end of their high school careers had sounded inspired at the outset but once they’d arrived, his ‘it’ll be a men’s weekend’ buddies had found a pair of sisters staying nearby and effectively commandeered the motel room. Lacking a girl of his own, the confidence with them necessary to pick one up and the requisite three additional years he’d need to get into a casino, the boy had resigned himself to a lonely day with no concrete plans.
Then there had been the incident with the trio of harpies by the guard tower. After that ordeal, the kid is something of a welcome distraction. If nothing else, maybe she can keep him from brooding over the rejection. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s going to bend to her every whim.
"I can’t buy my own pie. I don’t have any money,” the kid is saying, “But if that’s what makes you happy, being so mean to a little girl…"
She drops her gaze to the floor, sticking out her lower lip in a pretty convincing pout.
Wow, the guy thinks, that probably works on just about anyone. He mentally congratulates himself on being unaffected by her manipulation. Well, mostly unaffected... she just looks so damn sad. Still, he’s not bending. Not... bending...
He turns back to the counter, trying to catch the owner’s eye. The heat out there was oppressive and he’s craving a cold drink. Unfortunately, his wave at Al fails to grab the man’s attention and the boy sighs.
“Why are you hanging around a diner, accosting random men?” he asks and pretends not to notice when the girl snickers at him. “Where are your parents?”
“They went into the city to gamble and see a show. My brothers are supposed to be watching me but they met some girls, so now they’re taking a tour around the boardwalk.”
“And they just let you roam free? What kind of slow-witted gomers...?” he begins.
“No, they said to wait in the hotel room and they’ll come back by three. Mom and Dad should be gone until at least four-thirty, so they figure they’re safe.” She puts her elbow on the counter and rests her chin on her palm.
“Oh well, that’s much better. Your brothers sound like princes among men.” The boy finally catches Al’s eye, but the man is taking an order elsewhere.
“Yeah and you’re so much better? A guy who won’t even buy a poor helpless child a piece of pie?”
He doesn’t dignify the quip with an answer.
“That’s probably why you struck out with that girl, you know,” the kid remarks.
“What?!” His voice cracked a bit there and he glances around self-consciously.
“You’re being selfish. No wonder that girl didn’t want to talk to you.” The kid isn’t even bothering to meet his gaze. Her eyes are glued to the pie-case as if it holds the keys to heaven’s gates.
“How in the hell could... okay, you’re saying a girl turned me down because she knew I wouldn’t buy some kid a piece of pie? Are you mental or something?”
She turns his way. “No, I’m saying she turned you down because of things like this.” She speaks slowly, as though to a small child – which, the boy reflects, is somewhat ironic. “I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve been mean for no reason. You know what happens to people who are mean?”
“Apparently, no play with girls on the beach… at least in your twisted little head.” He turns back to see Al finally approaching.
“Yup. It’s karma.” The boy tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling with a cynical look on his face. But after a moment, his expression becomes thoughtful and he looks over at the girl. Her attention has already returned to the pie-case.
“What’ll it be?” Al’s voice is gruff and brisk, no nonsense. He has his pen to the pad and is watching his waitress rather than the pair on the stools.
“I’ll take a large Coke, please.”
Al takes a quick look at the boy before looking away to the waitress again. “Sure. Anything to eat with that?”
“No, I’m fine,” the boy responds a bit impatiently. The damn kid is singing softly at his elbow.
“Instant karma’s gonna get you... Gonna knock you off your feet... Better recognize your brothers... Everyone you meet.”
Al turns his attention to the girl. “Anything for you, honey?”
"I can’t buy my own pie. I don’t have any money,” the kid is saying, “But if that’s what makes you happy, being so mean to a little girl…"
She drops her gaze to the floor, sticking out her lower lip in a pretty convincing pout.
Wow, the guy thinks, that probably works on just about anyone. He mentally congratulates himself on being unaffected by her manipulation. Well, mostly unaffected... she just looks so damn sad. Still, he’s not bending. Not... bending...
He turns back to the counter, trying to catch the owner’s eye. The heat out there was oppressive and he’s craving a cold drink. Unfortunately, his wave at Al fails to grab the man’s attention and the boy sighs.
“Why are you hanging around a diner, accosting random men?” he asks and pretends not to notice when the girl snickers at him. “Where are your parents?”
“They went into the city to gamble and see a show. My brothers are supposed to be watching me but they met some girls, so now they’re taking a tour around the boardwalk.”
“And they just let you roam free? What kind of slow-witted gomers...?” he begins.
“No, they said to wait in the hotel room and they’ll come back by three. Mom and Dad should be gone until at least four-thirty, so they figure they’re safe.” She puts her elbow on the counter and rests her chin on her palm.
“Oh well, that’s much better. Your brothers sound like princes among men.” The boy finally catches Al’s eye, but the man is taking an order elsewhere.
“Yeah and you’re so much better? A guy who won’t even buy a poor helpless child a piece of pie?”
He doesn’t dignify the quip with an answer.
“That’s probably why you struck out with that girl, you know,” the kid remarks.
“What?!” His voice cracked a bit there and he glances around self-consciously.
“You’re being selfish. No wonder that girl didn’t want to talk to you.” The kid isn’t even bothering to meet his gaze. Her eyes are glued to the pie-case as if it holds the keys to heaven’s gates.
“How in the hell could... okay, you’re saying a girl turned me down because she knew I wouldn’t buy some kid a piece of pie? Are you mental or something?”
She turns his way. “No, I’m saying she turned you down because of things like this.” She speaks slowly, as though to a small child – which, the boy reflects, is somewhat ironic. “I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve been mean for no reason. You know what happens to people who are mean?”
“Apparently, no play with girls on the beach… at least in your twisted little head.” He turns back to see Al finally approaching.
“Yup. It’s karma.” The boy tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling with a cynical look on his face. But after a moment, his expression becomes thoughtful and he looks over at the girl. Her attention has already returned to the pie-case.
“What’ll it be?” Al’s voice is gruff and brisk, no nonsense. He has his pen to the pad and is watching his waitress rather than the pair on the stools.
“I’ll take a large Coke, please.”
Al takes a quick look at the boy before looking away to the waitress again. “Sure. Anything to eat with that?”
“No, I’m fine,” the boy responds a bit impatiently. The damn kid is singing softly at his elbow.
“Instant karma’s gonna get you... Gonna knock you off your feet... Better recognize your brothers... Everyone you meet.”
Al turns his attention to the girl. “Anything for you, honey?”
She looks at the boy and pouts, sticking out her lower lip in a way that he finds maddening yet oddly irresistible. This pout is dialed way up from the one that put in an appearance a couple minutes ago. And - dear Lord, is her lip actually quivering? He knows it’s a show but also knows he’s likely to buy her an entire pie if she can turn on the waterworks on demand - which he does not put past her.
“Oh, fine. She’ll have a slice of peach pie.” The grin is back on her face in an instant and boy, does he feel like a sucker.
“À la mode, please,” she says sweetly as Al turns and heads off to get their orders. The boy sighs. A sucker? Make that played like a violin.
“Oh, fine. She’ll have a slice of peach pie.” The grin is back on her face in an instant and boy, does he feel like a sucker.
“À la mode, please,” she says sweetly as Al turns and heads off to get their orders. The boy sighs. A sucker? Make that played like a violin.
Al comes back lightening quick, dropping the bill in front of the boy along with the Coke and the pie. Both the boy and the little girl are quiet as they each enjoy the first taste of their respective pleasures. The boy, his throat no longer dry and dusty-feeling, turns to the girl with a smug look.
“See, this is where your little theory falls apart.”
“mmHuh?” she mumbles through a mouthful of peaches, pastry and ice cream. She’s more than halfway through the pie already.
“You said the girl - who’s name is Rene, actually, unless her friends were using a fake name when they ushered her away - you said she turned me down because I don’t buy pie for children. But I did, so if your ‘instant karma’ theory holds any water, shouldn’t she be spending the day with me now?” He gives her a triumphant smile. She rolls her eyes, then appears to be thinking something over.
“Actually...” Slipping off her stool, she walks over to the door and peers out for a moment before returning to the boy’s side. He drains most of the remaining Coke in one long sip and looks at her expectantly.
“Actually, I think I can help you with that.”
“Oh, right. How? By giving me dating tips?” He rolls the empty Coke glass between his hands.
“Well, you’re not doing so great on your own. Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to talk to girls when they’re with their friends? You were…” she hesitates slightly, tongue touching her upper lip before her expression clears suddenly, “outnumbered on all flanks.”
The boy stares at her in amazement. “Outnumbered on…” he repeats softly, then lets out an incredulous snort. “Where the hell did you hear something like that?”
She shrugs. “I’ve got two older brothers and they don’t always notice when I’m around.”
“They don’t notice or you hide so that you can eavesdrop?”
“Either way,” she says and once more shows him her gappy grin, “I hear all sorts of stuff.”
The boy looks at his empty glass, muttering, “I bet you do.”
He pulls out his wallet as she continues, seemingly unaware of his last comment. “Anyway, lucky for you, that girl is over there on her towel all by herself.”
“Well, thanks for the recon but I think I can do without another crash and burn today,” he says absently, trying to figure out whether you tip for seventeen seconds of service.
“Don’t worry - I’ll lock it up for you. Count to sixty, then come over to us.” And with that, she’s off the stool and out the door, a blur of red shorts and tie-dyed tank-top, pigtails flying behind her.
“Who’s ‘us’?” the boy begins… then a look of terror plays across his face. He frantically searches his wallet, eventually finding the crumpled dollar bill he knew was there and hastily adding it to the handful of change on the counter. Then he jumps off the stool and runs after the kid.
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“See, this is where your little theory falls apart.”
“mmHuh?” she mumbles through a mouthful of peaches, pastry and ice cream. She’s more than halfway through the pie already.
“You said the girl - who’s name is Rene, actually, unless her friends were using a fake name when they ushered her away - you said she turned me down because I don’t buy pie for children. But I did, so if your ‘instant karma’ theory holds any water, shouldn’t she be spending the day with me now?” He gives her a triumphant smile. She rolls her eyes, then appears to be thinking something over.
“Actually...” Slipping off her stool, she walks over to the door and peers out for a moment before returning to the boy’s side. He drains most of the remaining Coke in one long sip and looks at her expectantly.
“Actually, I think I can help you with that.”
“Oh, right. How? By giving me dating tips?” He rolls the empty Coke glass between his hands.
“Well, you’re not doing so great on your own. Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to talk to girls when they’re with their friends? You were…” she hesitates slightly, tongue touching her upper lip before her expression clears suddenly, “outnumbered on all flanks.”
The boy stares at her in amazement. “Outnumbered on…” he repeats softly, then lets out an incredulous snort. “Where the hell did you hear something like that?”
She shrugs. “I’ve got two older brothers and they don’t always notice when I’m around.”
“They don’t notice or you hide so that you can eavesdrop?”
“Either way,” she says and once more shows him her gappy grin, “I hear all sorts of stuff.”
The boy looks at his empty glass, muttering, “I bet you do.”
He pulls out his wallet as she continues, seemingly unaware of his last comment. “Anyway, lucky for you, that girl is over there on her towel all by herself.”
“Well, thanks for the recon but I think I can do without another crash and burn today,” he says absently, trying to figure out whether you tip for seventeen seconds of service.
“Don’t worry - I’ll lock it up for you. Count to sixty, then come over to us.” And with that, she’s off the stool and out the door, a blur of red shorts and tie-dyed tank-top, pigtails flying behind her.
“Who’s ‘us’?” the boy begins… then a look of terror plays across his face. He frantically searches his wallet, eventually finding the crumpled dollar bill he knew was there and hastily adding it to the handful of change on the counter. Then he jumps off the stool and runs after the kid.
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Epilogue |
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