Title: Gravitation is Not Responsible (1?)
Author: Aerial312
Rating: PG-13
Category: Humor/Fluff/Angst/Romance (a little of everything)
Spoiler Info: Post Rosslyn.
Disclaimer: I own nothing…I just borrow.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated. Sure. Just let me know where its going.

A/N: It's not really going to be important whether this is a sequel to "Path" or not, for the first few chapters…maybe by then I'll decide...

"Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love"

Albert Einstein

Donna sat on cold, hard plastic couch, in the general waiting room just outside the Intensive Care Unit. She'd been sitting there for some time, and had retreated into her own little world. So much so that she didn't notice the robed figure sit down beside her at first. He sat silently, observing her.

"He's in there, what are you doing out here?"

"Mr. President!" Donna jumped to her feet.

"Sit down."

She did as she was told.

"Have you been at the hospital this whole time?"

"Yes, sir."

"I ask again: what are you doing out here?"

Donna bit her lip and looked down at the ground. "They won't let me in."

"Why not?"

"I'm not family." Donna continued to resist looking at him, not trusting herself not to cry.

"That's silly." He stood slowly, ignoring the lingering pain of his surgery, and offered out his hand. "Come on."

"Sir?"

"This job has some privileges."

Donna smiled slightly, and took the offered hand. Bartlet led her to the door, but was cut off by one of his secret service agents, who pressed the intercom.

"Intensive Care Unit. How may I help you?"

"Secret Service, ma'am."

"Yes, sir."

The door buzzed open, and four agents strode ahead of Donna and the President. The conducted their sweep, and assumed positions against the corridors.

"All clear, sir."

Bartlet marched right up to the nurse's station, with Donna trailing at a distance.

"Hello there."

The nurse was slow to look up from her chart. "Hi, how may I—President Bartlet! How may I help you, sir? If you're looking for Mr. Lyman's room, its right there across the hall. Number 408."

Bartlet turned, and looked where she was pointing. Donna was pressed against the window staring in. He turned back to the nurse.

"Thank you…" he struggled to read her name tag without his glasses. "Jessica. I have request that I was hoping you might be able to honor before I went in."

"And what is that, sir?"

"Now, I understand that you currently have a family-only visiting policy for Mr. Lyman."

"It…it is standard procedure for patients recovering from such major trauma. Of course, sir, this rule does not apply to you—"

"No, I know that. See that young lady glued to the window of his room over there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, Josh has no family in DC. His mom is coming down from Connecticut tomorrow, but until then, he's got no one. Now, that girl, is the closest thing he's got in the mean time. I would greatly appreciate it if you could amend your policy to include her."

"What is the relation?"

"Donna is his…best friend. She is a co-worker, but she is also his best friend."

"I will have to speak to my supervisor."

She moved to pick up the phone.

"Why don't you let me make the call?"

"Sir?"

"I think I might be more effective."

"Sir, I—"

"Or you could just approve my request."

"Yes, sir. I'll just need to sign the young lady in."

"Donna! Come here for a minute."

Donna walked over to the desk.

"Now, while this fine nurse checks you in, I'm going to stop into Josh's room for a moment. Just a quick visit. Then, yes, I'm going back to my room for the rest of the night, and Josh is all yours."

Donna smiled. "Thank you, Mr. President."

The President retreated into Josh's room.

"I'm just going to need to see a photo ID, and have you sign this log, here."

Donna pulled her White House tag out of the pocket of her jeans, and quickly scrawled her name on the register. The President came out.

"He's asleep."

Donna nodded. "I just need to see him…"

"Go ahead."

"Thank you, again."

He exited the wing, flanked by his secret service detail. Donna stared at the door to Josh's room, slowly walking towards it. She paused, then opened the door. She was struck immediately by how still he was. Sure she'd seen him through the window, but somehow, with no barrier it was more harsh. Josh was never still. Even when he sat resting, he tapped a foot, or twirled a pen. But with the stillness did not come the silence that Donna expected. The room was cacophonous with the beeping and whirring of the various machines he was attached to.

Donna approached the bed to get a better look. He had a tube across his nose, it hooked around his ears and looped back to the oxygen valve in the wall. A mass of wires hung over his left shoulder, powering the leads that produced the image of his heartbeat. Donna took a moment to admire this steady, beeping. Not too long before he'd been all but dead on that operating table. His IV was on his right arm, feeding back to a computerized machine that housed the bag of fluid. There were two bags of fluid hanging off the left side of the bed, by where Donna stood. Each attached to a tube that led up under his hospital gown. One chest level, one lower. On his left hand, his index finger was encased in a device that corresponded to some machine, Donna wasn't sure which. Around his wrist was his hospital bracelet. It was all slightly overwhelming, but Donna was determined not to break down in the room. She wasn't sure when he'd wake up, and she didn't want to be a blubbering mess when he did. She'd be strong for him.

Donna pulled the visitor's chair over to the side of the bed. It wasn't that she wanted to sit just yet, but she had a feeling that once she touched him, she wasn't going to want to let go. She leaned forward, careful not to brush against the bulge of his wound dressing and softly caressed his stubbly cheek. Letting it linger for a moment, she trailed her fingers down the side of his neck. He was warm, not feverish warm, but rather a warm that both surprised and reassured Donna. Given the stark way he looked, she had expected him to be cool and clammy.

Donna toyed with his hospital bracelet, stroking his wrist gently. She kissed his forehead, and settled into the visitor's chair, sliding her fingers through his.

"I'm gonna be right here, Josh. Right here. Whenever you wake up. You gave me quite a scare, I'm not gonna lie. Hell, I'm still scared, but you're here. You're breathing on your own. Your heart is beating nice and steady. And all that make me feel a lot better," she spoke softly and calmly, never losing her composure.

"Just keep…just keep being you. You're stubborn. You are. And fighting against this was no different. Be stubborn, Josh. Don't let this…you'll be strong, I know you will. I know you will... I…"

"Hey…" Josh rasped. It was barely audible, and at first Donna wasn't sure if it was real or in her head. But she jumped to her feet, never releasing his hand, and found herself looking into his deep chocolate eyes.

"Hey! You're awake."

"Yeah…"

"It's okay, you don't have to talk. You don't have to do anything. Just rest. Rest. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere—"

"Was…was…the…president just…here…in…in…a bath…robe?"

Donna laughed. "He was."

"How…is…he doi—?"

"He's fine. He's going home tomorrow morning. It was…it was not bad at all. In and out, clean. It didn't hit anything…"

"Good. When…what…day…is it?"

"It's Tuesday evening. You're doing great, Josh. It hasn't even been 24 hours…you're doing great—"

"Have…you…been here…whole time?"

Donna nodded. "I have."

He squeezed her hand. "Throat's…sore…hurts…to talk"

"You had a tube down your throat during surgery. They took it out a few hours ago, when you started doing well. But you don't have to talk—"

"Did…you…see tube?"

"I…I did. I saw all the tubes."

Josh looked into her eyes, but didn't speak. She remained strong, and stroked his cheek.

"I'm…tired."

"Then sleep. Sleep."

"Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere. I told you that."

"Talk to me."

"Hmm?"

"Talk…about…what…ever…just want…to hear…your…voice."

Donna took a deep breath. His eyes were closed again. She sighed, and settled back into the chair. It didn't matter to her that they'd been talking for less than five minutes. He'd been awake and talking to her.

"Just talk, huh? Do you realize what a scary direction that is? You're telling me that I should just talk and talk. Usually you think I talk too much. Let's see…let's see…we'll start with endearing… Now you know, I'm the youngest in my family, oldest is my sister Julie, then 3 years later my brother Robbie, 3 years later my sister Gabby, 4 years later my sister Nina, then finally 4 years later, me. Now, my father is Irish, but his family has been in the country for several generations. My mom was born here too, but her parents moved over only five years before she was born. Her older siblings were all born in Italy."

"My mom is very proud of her Italian heritage, and is very sad that none of her children speak the language fluently. A fact that her sister loves to chastise her about…'Carmella, what do you mean your children don't speak Italian? You're not proud of who you are?' She used to get this every time we saw her. Zia Lucia would ask us something in Italian, and none of us could answer her. She huff and puff to mom."

"The only thing my mom did right was name us properly. Now, I know you're thinking: Julie? Robbie? Gabby? Nina? You know, my real name is Donnatella, even though I go by Donna, and all of sisters and my brother have a similar naming scheme. Julie is Guiliana. Robbie is Roberto. Gabby is Gabriella. And Nina is Giovanina. The Midwestern Moss kids and their crazy Italian names. Only Robbie and Gabby look like mom. They've got the dark hair, and eyes. Julie, Nina, and I are blond like dad, with lighter eyes. See how crazy my family is?"

"Crazy…'course…"

"You're awake," Donna laughed, standing up.

"Sort of."

"Sleep. Sleep, Josh. You'll have plenty of time to actually listen to my stories, while you recover."

She ran her hand through his hair, and kissed his forehead.

"Sleep."

"Mmm…"

"Just drift off."

"Keep…talking…" He closed his eyes again.

Donna smiled, and squeezed his hand. "Once, when I was five…"