NOTE:Women's thoughts are placed in between 
these { } This story is told from Josh's POV


    I discovered an equally amazing and terrifying thing about myself today.

    You're not going to believe me when I tell you this.

    You'll think I've gone crazy.

    I'm willing to concede that I have.  We all knew it would happen one of 
these days.

    Even so, I think you'll still find my little discovery incredible.

    Ready?

    Sit down or stand...Whatever you're comfortable with.

    Okay, here it goes:

    I can hear women's thoughts.

    So, who burst out laughing?  

    Come on, you can tell me.  I'm a big boy.

    If you snickered though, kindly keep it to yourself.  I've always found 
snickering aimed at me to be a real ego bruiser.

    Anyway, I don't blame you if you don't believe me. 

    I nearly had a coronary the first time it happened.

    So now I ponder this whole situation.

    Men have long wondered what women think.  They feel that uncovering this 
mystery can somehow lead to them discovering what women want.  

    Personally, I haven't tried to guess what women want since I was six 
years old.  

    My mother had mentioned that she really wanted some new hose.

    So I, in all my childhood innocence, saved my allowance for weeks and 
bought my mom a sparkling new garden hose for Hanukkah.

    I didn't realize until I was eight that it was *panty* hose that she 
wanted. 

    No wonder mom looked at me so strangely as I dragged the damn thing out 
of my room and plopped it on her lap.

    Thus, I have never again tried to guess what women want, in concrete or 
abstract terms.  

    It went against all of my principles to even buy Donna that skiing book 
for Christmas last year.  That was quite a risk.
    
    I am certain that my lack of attempts to try to understand what women 
want is directly related to my string of failed relationships.

    However, in my defense, had I attempted such a thing, I am quite sure 
they still would have failed, only sooner.

    So, imagine my horror now.  I am now privy to women's most intimate 
thoughts.

    What the hell am I supposed to do with that kind of power?

    I suspect a more clever man would devise a way to use this to his 
advantage.

    Unfortunately, I've never been described as clever.  

    And, one time, when I referred to myself as clever, Donna snickered.

    I need not tell you that was a bad day for my ego.  

    So, I have decided to simply listen to what women are thinking and not 
let it affect me at all.  

    In any way, shape or form. 

    This decision, however, did not come about without much reflection and a 
disconcerting initial incident.


* * * Flashback: Two hours ago * * *

    
    "Donna!"

    She appears in my doorway looking very annoyed, "What have I told you 
about shouting, Joshua?"

    "That you are not particularly fond of it."

    "And yet you insist upon doing it."

    "Looks that way, doesn't it," I say with a slight grin.

    She rolls her eyes.

    {Jerk.  Insensitive, disrespectful jerk.}

    My eyes widen and I stammer in confusion, "How...how did you do that?  I 
didn't even see your mouth move?"

    "What?" she says in a perplexed voice.

    "Are you a closet ventriloquist, Donna?"  I ask with a strange 
fascination.

    She shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest, "Have you been 
drinking, Josh?  I mean really, it's only 9 am."

    "I have not been drinking!"  Have I been drinking?  No, I would have 
remembered if had been...I think.

    I suddenly realize what Donna said about me.  I say in a voice tinged 
with anger, "I am not an insensitive, disrespectful jerk!...An insensitive 
jerk, yes, but I resent disrespectful!"

    Donna's eyebrows raise at me and I sense a bit of shock.  However, there 
is no trace of this in her words, "Whoever said you were?"

    My eyes narrow at her.  I am very, very confused.  

    Actually, I am beyond confused.  

    Is there a word that describes what I am?  I don't believe so.  

    Let's just say I am hugely perplexed.

    I stutter, "People...Just people...You know, who don't know anything." 

    She offers me a strange look...One that I cannot define or accurately 
describe.

    {He's gone insane.  I always knew it would happen.}

    My mouth drops open.  

    There it is again!  

    Her lips did not move, but I clearly heard her voice.

    And she was, once again, thinking less than flattering thoughts about me.

    This registers and I say very eloquently, "Hey!"

    Donna jumps a little and then tilts her head at me, "Hey what?"

    I realize that I am making more of a fool of myself with each passing 
moment.  

    I attempt to respond nonchalantly, "Hey...Jude...Don't make it bad...Take 
a sad song and make it better."

    Attempt has failed miserably.

    What the hell was I thinking?

    Donna is studying me like I call a padded room my home.  

    Her smile indicates a hint of sympathy. "The Beatles, Josh?  You are now 
reciting Beatles' lyrics?"

    I shrug and try to grin, "Sure, why not?  What better way to start a day 
than with a tune from our boys from Liverpool."

    "You hate The Beatles."

    "I don't hate The Beatles, Donna."

    "You said they were an overrated, talentless bunch of stoned guys with 
bad haircuts," she counters.

    I smile awkwardly, "Now that can be construed a number of ways."

    "You hate The Beatles, Josh."

    I smile, "I'm a changed man, Donna.  It's amazing what a bullet can do to 
you.  Makes you smell the roses, appreciate the finer things in life and 
develop an overwhelming love for The Beatles."

    "I've never heard that," she replies with a hint of a smile.

    "Well, you've never been shot.  I speak from experience."  I smile 
inwardly at my solid argument. 

    Her brow furrows at me.

    {He is such a freak.  I mean, I always knew he was a bit odd, even 
endearingly so, but I now realize he is an honest-to-goodness freak.}

    My eyes practically fall out of my head.  I try to speak, "I...I...I-..."

    This isn't one of my more articulate attempts.

    Donna shakes her head at me and speaks slowly and softly.  "Why don't you 
put your head on your desk for a while, Josh?  Rest a bit."

    I simply nod and place my head on the desk, unable to think of anything 
else to do.

    Donna tiptoes out and quietly shuts my door.

    I began to assess everything that just happened.

    Okay, I can hear Donna's thoughts.

    This is completely disturbing.

    I fleetingly ponder whether I'd be so disturbed had Donna's thoughts been 
heralding me as smarter than Einstein and sexier than Cruise.

    I decide that I would still be disturbed, but also pleased.
    
    How the hell can I hear Donna's thoughts?  

    Was I struck by lightening and failed to notice?  

    I'm not known to be very observant, but I don't think that one could have 
escaped me.

    What else?  How else could have developed such a power?

    A frightening thought enters my mind.

    Maybe I have a brain tumor.  You know like Travolta in that movie, 
"Phenomenon".

    He could do all of this cool crap and it ended being because of a brain 
tumor.  

    Or, I rationalize, maybe I am remembering the movie incorrectly.  

    Yeah, that's it.  His powers had nothing at all to do with a brain tumor.

    Therefore, neither do mine.

    Maybe I've been strangely blessed by God.

    If so, I'm thinking he misinterpreted my many pleas of, "Please, God, 
help me."

    This wasn't what I meant.

    And it sure as hell isn't a blessing.

    My ego has shrunken at least two sizes in the last twenty minutes.

    I begin to wonder if I am supposed to use my powers for good.

    Maybe I have been given a gift to help change the world.

    And, best case scenario, I will use my powers to transform the world in 
some way and will be canonized as a saint.  I guess I'll have to throw in a 
few miracles, too.

    Saint Joshua.  I wonder if there is a Saint Joshua yet?  

    In passing, I wish I was actually a practicing Jew.  I have absolutely no 
idea whether or not we believe in saints.

    If not, then I think I might start by changing that.

    My thoughts come to a screeching halt as I begin to wonder how the hell I 
am supposed to use my power to hear women's thoughts to change the world.
    
    Then, suddenly, it comes to me.

    I know!  I'll just change the women's world!
    
    I suppose I could start small.  

    I could figure out why women insist on wearing control top panty hose, 
when they know they're just going to be yanking them up all day.  

    Once I figure that out, I could convince them all to do away with control 
top panty hose forever.  

    I'll be hailed as a women's liberator.

    I might even lead the burning of a few bras in my spare time. 

    Next, I'll figure out why women always get upset when their man responds 
to the question, "Does this outfit make me look fat?" with the answer, "I 
love you no matter how you look, honey."

    That's a brain teaser right there.   A thinker for all men.  

    The male has wisely chosen to assert his unconditional love and has even 
added in a term of endearment for good measure.

    Yet the female will, generally, become angry at the confused, 
well-intentioned male.

    Trust me, I've been there.  Only I didn't answer quite so wisely.  

    So, if I figure out this mystery, then I will improve the lives of both 
men and women.

    I'll be a legend.  A hero.  A demigod.  

    My idealistic aspirations suddenly hit a brick wall with a thud.  

    I can't change the women's world.  I am Joshua Lyman.  I am hopelessly 
confused when it comes to women. 

    Hopelessly.  Without hope.  That means no God-given gift can help me. 

    If I tried to understand women via their thoughts and then tried to apply 
my knowledge, I'd probably set the whole gender back a couple of centuries.

    Unintentionally, of course.

    Nope, it's best that I do not try.

    A new thought enters my mind.

    Can I hear all women's thoughts or just Donna's?

    I am pondering this when CJ enters my office.

    She looks at me with my head down on my desk with an amused expression.  
"Ah, I see Donna's finally trained you to put yourself in a timeout when you 
misbehave."

    {She's got him trained like a circus monkey.}

    My head shoots up at that.  

    "What did you call me?" I spit out.

    CJ looks confused, "I didn't call you anything, Josh.  Would you like me 
to call you something?"

    "No, no," I respond absentmindedly.    

    "Are you okay?"

    "I'm fine," I try to say convincingly.

    CJ doesn't look convinced.  

    "Did you do something wrong?  Did you do something that I am going to be 
cleaning up all day tomorrow?" she asks accusingly.

    I manage a grin, "Not that I recall."

    {Tell me he didn't screw up again.  The man invents a secret plan to 
fight inflation and my life is miserable for days on end.  He's the only man 
in the world who can be seemingly very smart and dumb as a doornail all at 
the same time.}

    My eyes narrow menacingly at CJ.  I open my mouth to speak and then catch 
myself.

    I realize I have to stop doing that.

    So, CJ also thinks very little of me.  

    True, she thinks I am very smart, but the dumb as a doornail thing kind 
of ruined it for me.

    Apparently, CJ has become bored with my silence and has taken to studying 
her nails.

    {I wonder what "Dawson's Creek" is about tonight.}

    I let out a small laugh and then accidentally blurt out, "You watch 
Dawson's Creek!"

    CJ's looks up at me startled.  I snap my mouth shut, realizing my mistake.

    I try to recover and I say weakly, "I mean...Do you watch Dawson's Creek? 
 I hear it's very good."

    Nice save.

    CJ studies me with a strange expression, before responding firmly, "No, I 
do not, Josh.  I do not go around watching teenybopper shows."

    I shrug, "Just wondering."

    CJ suddenly looks flustered, as I smile at her.  She begins to backpedal 
out of my office.  "I...I have to go...Somewhere...to do a...thing."

    "What did you come in here for?"

    She waves her hand dismissively, "Doesn't matter.  It can wait."

    I nod and watch as she leaves.

    A slow grin spreads across my face.  

    This could be fun...This could be incredibly fun.

    And disturbing...Let's not forget disturbing.


* * * Present * * *

    So, here I am.  Two hours later and I am just as confused as before.  All 
I know is that I will not, I cannot, use my powers for good.

    But whoever said I couldn't use them for evil?

    I smile devilishly.   

    I then get up from my seat and quickly leave my office.

    I am immediately assaulted by a barrage of thoughts from the women in the 
bullpen.

    I can't even try to make sense of all of them, but I too hope that 
someone's rash clears up soon.

    I clamp my hands over my ears and move from my office.

    This, of course, gains me strange stares from all of the employees, as 
well as a worried look from Donna.

    I quickly make my way to the area outside Sam's office and stand behind 
Cathy.  

    She doesn't notice my presence and that's just the way I like it.

    I listen attentively, as Cathy furiously types.

    {Damn that man!  Would it kill him to use some punctuation in his memos?  
How about legible handwriting?  You know, he lives on that damn laptop, but 
when he needs a memo typed, he carelessly scrawls it on a notepad and then 
it's up to me to decipher it.  He couldn't type it out himself?  No, no, no.  
Cathy will do it.  She doesn't have anything better to do than clean up after 
the village idiot.}

    Bingo.

    I turn on my heel and enter Sam's office.

    He looks up at me and smiles, "Hey, what's going on?"

    I try to adopt a serious expression. "What did you do to Cathy?"

    Sam's eyes dart nervously and he practically jumps out of his seat. "Why? 
 What did she say?  Is she angry with me?  Is she going to deny me lunch 
again?"

    I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.  I nod, "Oh, she's 
angry...Hopping mad."

    "What did I do?" Sam asks weakly.

    I shrug, "Something about illegible handwriting."

    Sam frowns, "It's not my fault.  She refuses to allow to be dictated to, 
like a normal assistant would do."

    "She says you should type it yourself,"  I pause and then add in a 
whisper, "And she called you the village idiot."

    Sam's eyes widen, "What?!  We don't even live in a village!"

    "The gist is she thinks you're a moron," I clarify.

    "Well, she always tells me that, but I didn't know she went around 
telling other people," he mutters.

    "So what are you going to do about it?" I ask.

    Sam's eyes meet mine questioningly and he asks, "What do you mean what am 
I going to do about it?"

    "Aren't you going to speak to her about it?"

    "Sp...Speak to her...to Cathy?"  He takes a deep breath and then shakes 
his head, "No...No, I don't think so.  She is a considerably frightening 
woman.  She makes me sweat."

    "So you're just going to let her walk all over you and badmouth you to 
your colleagues?"  I ask with a slight grin.

    "Yes," Sam says too quickly. He then studies my disapproving look and 
shakes his head, "Or no...I am most certainly not going to do that."

    I smile and step forward.  I slap him on the back and then help him up 
from his chair.  I push him toward the door. "Go get 'em."

    "Will you come with me, please?" Sam asks meekly.  

    I nod.  He reaches for the doorknob and then pulls his hand back. "If she 
tries to hurt me, you'll step in right?"

    I nod again.  I really, really want to laugh right now. But I force 
myself to maintain my composure.

    Sam reaches for the knob and begins to pull back again. I roll my eyes 
and say agitatedly, "Just go!"

    Sam jumps slightly at my voice and then nods.  He slowly reaches for the 
doorknob and opens the door.  I have to practically shove him out the door.

    We reach Cathy's desk and Sam assumes what he believes to be a safe 
distance away from her.  

    He stammers, as he looks down at his feet, "Um, Cathy, I...I...well, 
I...think that you need to show...should consider showing me some more 
respect...and you should not speak ill of me behind my back."

    Cathy finally raises her eyes to his figure and asks sharply, "Do you 
want lunch today, Sam?"

    "Yes, please," Sam says weakly.

    "Then get out of my face," she responds.

    Sam nods and begins to walk away, "Okay, I'm glad we had this discussion. 
 I, for one, feel much better."

    I shake my head disappointedly at him, as we head towards his office.  
"Way to be a man.  You really showed her who's boss."

    Sam smiles, "I'll be having lunch today and that's all that 
matters...Yes, she may spit in it, but I *will* be having lunch today."

    With that, he disappears behind the door.  

    I grin triumphantly. 

    That was ridiculously fun.

* * *

    I enter my office feeling very good about myself and my new application 
of my powers.

    So, I won't be making sainthood.  

    Who cares?  I wouldn't be able to enjoy that while I'm alive anyway.

    This, however, I can enjoy immensely while alive.

    I am thrown out of my thoughts when I notice that Donna is filing some of 
my papers and wiping away tears as she does so.

    I approach her slowly, "Donna?"

    She turns to me with a startled expression and then looks embarrassed.

    I am completely ignoring her thoughts now, I only care about how I can 
help her.  

    And I want her to trust me enough to help me do that.

    She looks down, "I'm sorry."

    "What happened?"

    She wipes away another tear and responds softly, "My cat died."

    I sigh and offer her a sympathetic smile, "I'm sorry."

    She continues, "She wasn't really my cat.  My roommate brought her and 
the other one when she came to live with me.  But we grew really attached to 
each other.  I never formed a bond with the other one, but I fell in love 
with her."  She pauses and takes a deep breath, "My roommate just called to 
say that she somehow got outside and was hit by a car." 
    
    She takes another breath and then meets my eyes.  

    I try not to remember that I am always awful in these types of 
situations.  

    Instinctively, I open my arms and take a step forward.  

    She hesitates a moment and then slowly enters my embrace.

    I wrap my arms around her and hold her close.

    She places her head on my shoulder and sniffles a little.

    A few moments pass and then she pulls back.  

    She meets my gaze, smiles and then whispers, "Thank you."

    {And that is exactly why I can't help but love this man...For these few, 
incredibly sweet moments that he offers me every so often.}

    My eyes widen.  I take a step back.

    I am stunned beyond belief.

    Donna loves me.  

    And I can tell it's not in a brotherly kind of way.

    Damn, this is more than I bargained for.

    I finally recover enough to meet Donna's eyes.  

    I look into them and am amazed at the strength and frailty that is 
present in them all at the same time.

    She's an incredible woman.

    I realize I am very lucky to be trusted by her in this vulnerable state.

    I realize that I am very lucky to be loved by her.

    Maybe it's mutual.  I'll have to give that some more thought.

    But, as I look into her eyes in this unguarded state, I realize that we 
men have been going about trying to understand women all wrong.

    The key to a woman's heart isn't understanding what they want.

    It's understanding what they need.

    I smile to myself, as I look at Donna.  

    Who knows?  Maybe, someday, I will change this woman's world.

    Or, perhaps, in my own small way, I just did.




THE END

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