Title: The Ball
Author: Eve Karma
Spoilers: None, if I recall correctly.
Rating: PG-13 because I say so.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, you would know.
Other: This is my first actual JD fic, so don't expect too much. Except for the few pictures I've seen, I don't know too much about the Smithsonian Ball, so bear with me. FB makes me dance. Enjoy! :)

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**2002 Inaugural Ball, The Smithsonian**



He was trying to decide whether or not he wanted another drink when he saw her. Even from across the room, she was stunning in her sky blue gown.



He decided to pass on the drink and instead made his way over to where she was sitting, talking to Margaret. The band started a new song--At Last, by Etta James...or was it Ella Fitzgerald...he wasn't sure.



She smiled as he approached. "Hey, Josh, I haven't seen you all night," she greeted him.



"Hey. You want to go out there?" he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the dance floor.



"Okay," she replied, "I'll talk to you later, Margaret."



He led her out into the crowd, where he slipped his arms around her waist. She responded by draping her arms around his neck.



"We look like we're in college," she giggled, glancing at the other couples.



"Where do you *think* I learned this trick from?" He asked.



"Zoey," they said simultaneously before bursting into a stifled fit of laughter.



"And there were those couple of episodes of Dawson's Creek..." He added. Donna wasn't sure if he was kidding or not.



When they had calmed down, she leaned in and murmured, "I love this song."



"I know," he stated simply.



"You do?" She cocked her head and looked at him.



"Yeah. You always hum it when you file."



"Hm. I never realized that," she admitted.



"You look gorgeous," he said," I didn't get the chance to tell you before."



"Thank you, Josh. You look pretty good yourself. Of course, it wouldn't have happened without the tie-fixing talents of Don--ouch!"



"What? What is it?"



"Nothing, I'm fine, you just stepped on my toes."



"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly while she lifted her skirt a few inches and stuck out her foot, as if to make sure it was still there.



"Where are your shoes?" he asked, watching as she wiggled her toes within a pair of gray socks.



"I left them under a table somewhere," she said with a wave of her hand. He looked at her, confused. "My feet hurt!" she added, and he mirrored her smile.



"You really *have* been hanging around Zoey too much," he said as they resumed dancing.



He studied her-how her eyes glistened beneath the chandeliers; how her silver necklace lay on her collarbone just so; how, during the course of the night, a single strand of hair had come out of her French twist, and she hadn't noticed. He was blinded by her.



As the song neared its end, he pulled her close and whispered into her ear, "I love you Donna."

She tried not to jerk back in surprise, but he could feel her tense up.



"Josh...I think it's time to go home," she said, leading him off the dance floor as the band played the last few chords of "At Last."



"But it's only 12:15," he protested, checking his watch.



"It's 12:45, your watch sucks. You should know that by now. Go say goodbye to your friends, Josh," she instructed as if she were speaking to a child. Donna began to rummage under tables for her purse and shoes.



He did what she said, wondering if she always acted so stern after someone told her how they felt about her.



They reunited several minutes later, and she led him to her car.



"Why do you have to drive?" he asked, not realizing how his words were slurring together.



"Gee, maybe it's because I drove you to the Smithsonian in the first place," she replied.



"Oh. That makes sense."



"Plus, I don't trust you to be able to find your way home, anyway."



He didn't know what to tell her.



"Thanks," she said during the drive as she cranked up the heat.



"For what?" he held his hands in front of a vent and rubbed them together.



"For dancing with me. I thought you were hiding from me all night."



"How could I not dance with you?" he asked incredulously.



She didn't have time to answer, because he said, "Hey, I don't live here," as they pulled up to Donna's apartment.



"No, you don't," she reminded him. "But I would feel responsible if you went home alone tonight and ended up dying because you choked on your own vomit."



"Oh. That makes sense too." he mused.



She unlocked the apartment door and led him inside. He stood in the middle of the living room for a minute, looking around him. "What happened?" he asked. "No roommate? No cats? You live by yourself now?"



"Yes," she told him through the large blanket she was carrying out of her bedroom, "Which is surprising, considering--"



"I know, I know, conshidrun whai pay you, whare'vi 'eard that one b'fore?"



Don't worry, she didn't understand a word of that either.



Translation: "I know, I know, considering what I pay you. Where have I heard that one before?"



He slumped onto the couch, and she felt obliged to get his shoes, jacket, and tie off before he started snoring. She covered him with the blanket and made sure he was laying on his side. Just in case.



"Goodnight, Joshua," she whispered softly. Then she crept into her bedroom, changed into her pajamas, and fell into bed.