Author's Notes:

It was a toss-up between finishing tedious assignments and a research project for my class or working on this story. I decided school comes first. In other words, I am sincerely sorry I did not submit this earlier.

This story is a sequel to Donna Falls Into A Hole.

The West Wing and all its characters belong to the genius Aaron Sorkin and whomever they belong to at this time.

Sadly, I must commemorate John Spencer's passing, but not in this particular fic. That will come later down the line. For now, Leo McGarry is alive and well.

Thank you to my betas. Muffins and bagels are on me.

Previously, on The West Wing …

Office of the White House Chief of Staff

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Morning

"There is an unmarked sedan waiting outside to escort you to Andrews," the President said. "You are going to board a plane headed for Sierra Tucson. …"

"What if I don't?"

Josh answered her question reluctantly. "I'd have to let you go." He ignored her snort. "You can't work here, not while you're like this."

"You know what, Joshua?" She yanked her White House ID badge from her neck and tossed it at her boss. "Screw you!" The sound of the slamming door reverberated throughout the room.

She felt like she was out of her body; it was someone else running down the corridor of the West Wing, someone else the shouts of "Donna!" "Donna, come back here!" were directed at. She wondered briefly if President Bartlet would order the Secret Service to stop her at the door. In all honesty, she could give two shits right now.

They were traitors. They ganged up on her. And for what? She was fine. She was dealing with things in her own way. They can't touch me. I'm impervious.

Josh and Leo Jump Into The Hole

Chapter I

Office of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff of Strategic Planning

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Morning

Josh Lyman sat in his office, impatiently waiting for someone to pick up on the other line. He had come this close to yelling Donna's name and asking her to patch through a call from his office. But then he remembered – she was the reason for this particular phone call in the first place.

"Stanley Keyworth," the familiar voice greeted him.

"Stanley, Josh Lyman."

"Josh? Everything okay over there?" He was touched – and a bit confused – by the psychiatrist's immediate concern.

"Not exactly. You missed one helluva party, Stanley."

"Did the Christmas music get to you?" Donna's words echoed in his brain: I'm supposed to take advice from someone who can't tell the difference between Christmas music and sirens?

"Believe it or not, this actually has nothing to do with me." Four years ago, you put your hand through a window, remember? He made a mental note to check the law archives for any rulings mandating breakdowns of either himself or members of his staff during Christmas. "My assistant developed an addiction to her pain meds," he explained to the therapist. "We had an intervention in CJ's office – didn't go too well."

"Donna?"

He wrapped the phone cord around his arm. "Yeah. Donna."

"Did she ever see anyone after the CODEL explosion?" Stanley inquired.

"I sent her to see one of your ATVA guys. I … I assumed she saw a therapist after. At least, that's what she told me when I asked." Shit, Josh! She was probably saying "yes" to shut you up.

"Maybe she was able to hide her addictions from her therapist."

"Yeah. Maybe." But she shouldn't have been able to hide them from me.

"How did you figure out Donna had a drug problem?"

"Margaret."

"Margaret? The redheaded woman I always saw hovering near Leo McGarry's office?"

"Yeah, that's her." Josh let out a chuckle. "She and Donna are pretty close; they kind of took over leading the assistants after Mrs. Landingham died."

"Leo McGarry overcame an addiction to painkillers, right?" Stanley asked.

"Yes."

"I remember seeing the press conference when that story broke. Did Margaret work for him when he was Labor Secretary?"

"She's always been with Leo. The only assistant who'd been with their boss longer was Mrs. Landingham and the President."

"So Margaret knew what to look for."

"Leo came to me yesterday," the Deputy Chief of Staff told the therapist. "Flat out told me Donna had a problem."

"Did you believe him?"

"Not at first," he admitted. "Just because someone's having a nutty doesn't mean they have a drug problem."

"What kind of 'nutty' was she having?"

"She's been moody lately. Irritable. I left a mug on – according to Donna – the wrong side of the desk. I should have known!" Josh blurted out. "Out of all the people here, I'm the one who should have known something wasn't right."

"What about Leo? Isn't he the recovering addict? Shouldn't he have been able to detect the warning signs?"

"He doesn't know Donna like I do."

"From what you've just told me, it sounds like nobody knew Donna these last few months."

"When she first came back to D.C., I made her see one of your ATVA guys. And I promised to keep a close watch on her – and step in before she pulled a Josh Lyman and stuck her hand through glass or something."

"Some people are better at hiding it than others." Stanley's attempts at placating his guilt were working miserably.

"She threw her ID tag at me and bolted. We have people looking for her. No one's been able to get a hold of her. Listen, do you think you could sit down with her – when things settle around here?"

"I can't. If I meet with Donna, she might be hesitant to talk with me," he explained. "She might think you're going to hound me with questions."

"But I can't do that – patient-doctor confidentiality."

"That won't stop you from trying."

"Yeah," he admitted.

"I'm going to give you the name of an old colleague of mine," Dr. Keyworth said. "Someone who specializes in treating trauma victims with chemical dependencies."

Streets of Washington, D.C.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Morning

Donna Moss wrapped her arms around her chest and paced down another street. She had no idea where she had wandered; the buildings and signs had ceased to be familiar. A shiver coursed through her body. In her rush to escape "that place," she had accidentally left her jacket on her chair. She trudged through piles of snow, stopping every few minutes to lean against a building or a crosswalk pole. Her rational mind ordered her to go back to the White House and get your coat before you catch cold. She pushed the idea out of her head – I'm never going back there.

She could hear Grandma Moss's voice in her ear; almost feel the spittle shooting out of the old woman's mouth. The sins of the father are visited upon the son, she hissed.

I don't believe that, Donna shot back.

Don't you dare be impertinent with me, young lady!

An angry driver blared his horn. She jumped back on the sidewalk. "Why don't you watch where the hell you're going!" the man shouted.

Donna flicked him the bird and continued walking. The words of her former boss and coworkers kept reverberating in her fogged-up mind: We're worried about you … violent mood swings … used to have such drive … almost got Charlie killed … over the edge … worried about your health … nothing to be ashamed of … came to me because she cares. She vaguely remembered snarking about Josh's post-traumatic stress disorder episode from four years prior – in front of the entire senior staff. She had half-expected him to get angry and take the bait. Hell, she wanted him to get angry. This was a fight, wasn't it? You were supposed to trade barbs, and if you were lucky, a fist or two. But Josh was nowhere near angry. What was it, exactly? Disappointment? Fear? Worry?

Again, Grandma Moss's incessant criticism: You were always a disappointment, girl.