"We should go ice skating."

Josh frowned. "Ice skating?"

"Yes, ice skating."

"Why?"

"It'll be fun."

"Strapping blades of steel on our feet and attempting to steer ourselves in circles on frozen water when it's 30 degrees outside is fun?"

"Yes."

"I'm really not much of an ice skater, Donna."

"You're from Connecticut. "

"So?"

"So, you had to have grown up ice skating in the winter time."

"I grew up building snow forts and organizing the attacks for my team's snowball wars."

"You never went ice skating with a girl just so you could hold hands with her when you were thirteen?"

He puffed his cheeks out. "I may have done that once. With Susie Peters."

"And?"

"And Susie didn't really have a lot of interest in holding hands with me after I tripped and sent her flying into the nacho cart on the other side of the wall."

"Josh?"

"Yes?"

"I really want to go ice skating."

He regarded her with a critical eye. "You're going to pester me incessantly until I agree, aren't you?"

She smiled. "Joshua, I would never pester you."

"Uh-huh," he said, not buying it.

"I may, however, provide you with many fascinating pieces of trivia about the fine sport of figure skating in an attempt to persuade you of the merits of ice skating."

He groaned. "Fine, we'll go."

"Great!" she hopped up and pulled on his hand to get him off the couch.

"What, now?" he said, alarmed.

"No time like the present."

"It's 10:30 at night!"

"So it won't be so crowded."

"Where are we going to ice skate at 10:30 on a Thursday night?"

"The ice skating rink in the sculpture garden at the National Gallery. It's right in front of the National Archives—it will be so pretty at night."

"It's freezing outside!"

"I'll get your hat and scarf. Your gloves are in your coat pocket."

****

"It's closed."

"No, it's not. That guy over there is running the Zamboni machine."

"The what?"

"The Zamboni machine. Invented by Frank Zamboni in the 1940s to resurface his ice skating rink in Southern California, now used at nearly every major ice skating event in the world to ensure a smooth and safe surface for skaters."

"Whatever, Sonja Henie, he's only using that thing because it he's wrapping up for the night and it's closed."

Donna nodded. "Three-time gold medal winner at the Olympic Games for Norway, also star of several ice-skating themed movies of the thirties and forties. Nice reference."

"Okay, well, this has been fun, but since he's obviously about done for the night, we should just go home and forget the whole thing."

"You should go talk to him."

"I should go talk to him?"

"Please?" She batted her eyes at him. "What if I told you this is my Christmas wish?"

He squinted at her. "Ice skating in the dead of night in the sculpture garden is your Christmas wish?"

"No, but finding George Clooney in a Santa hat under the mistletoe isn't going to happen, so this could be my best shot."

"What is it with you and Clooney?" he said.

"I can't help it. His time on ER coincided with my formative years."

"Oh, my God, please don't tell me you became a surgery resident because of a fictional television character."

"All right, I won't tell you."

"Seriously?" he screeched.

She gave him a look that meant he was being an idiot. "Josh, I want to go ice skating."

He glanced at her, then sighed. "How I let you talk me into these things…" he grumbled, heading over towards the Zamboni guy.

The Zamboni guy was just getting down from the machine as Josh approached him.

Josh cleared his throat. "Hey."

The Zamboni guy eyed him warily. "Hey."

"Ah—any chance you're still open?"

The guy shook his head. "Sorry. We close at eleven."

Josh checked his watch. Five minutes to eleven. "Could you let us on for just a few minutes?"

"Sorry, man, I just ran the machine and everything."

Josh looked over at Donna, who was standing just out of earshot, the light from the National Archives illuminating her face in the darkness, her hair blowing softly in the breeze, and cursed himself for a damn fool. "I'll give you fifty bucks if you let us on for fifteen minutes."

The guy considered. "You got your own skates?"

"What? No."

"I'll need ten bucks on top of the fifty for the skate rental. Each."

Josh bit his tongue to keep from yelling at the highway robber in front of him masquerading as a Zamboni man and took out his wallet. Jeez, did he even have that much cash on him? He counted out the bills. "I can give you sixty-three dollars and forty-seven cents."

"Deal. What size skates?"

Josh told him, and next thing he knew, he and Donna were laced up in their skates and Donna was tugging him towards the rink.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, as she tried to pull him into the middle of the glassy, frozen emptiness, grabbing hold of the railing and hanging on for dear life. "Why do we have to go out to the middle? Can't we just stay here?"

She rolled her eyes. "It isn't called ice standing, Josh, it's ice skating."

"Thanks, that really clears up a lot of things for me," he snarked. "I just mean… can we take it slow, here? I haven't done this in over twenty years."

"All right, but if anyone's going over the railing into the nacho cart, it's not going to be me. You know that, right?"

Josh ignored her and concentrated on staying upright. He wobbled slightly but he didn't fall. He congratulated himself on this achievement. Now all he had to do was combine the not falling with forward movement and he would be all set.

Donna, in the meantime, had set off without him, gliding gracefully around the rink with smooth, confident strides. He watched her for a moment, envying her ease with the motion. And then he fell on his ass.

What the hell? He hadn't even moved. Stupid ice. He pulled himself up with some difficulty, wincing as he tried to discreetly rub his backside. He focused everything he had on staying upright. That had hurt.

This couldn't be that hard, right? Little kids did it all the time. Surely a powerful political operative was equal to the task of getting around one little ice rink one time without falling. Okay, he was no Wayne Gretzky, but he had brains, didn't he? He just had to apply his brain power to the problem of staying upright on two thin blades while simultaneously moving forward.

Maybe he could use the rail. He bent his knees slightly and made sure his toes were both pointing forward, and experimentally pulled himself forward along the rail.

It worked! He was moving.

Sort of. He wasn't going to break any land speed records, or anything, but he had definitely gained a few inches. Maybe even a foot.

Donna appeared in front of him, skating backwards. "How ya doin'?"

He closed his eyes. "Could you please not do that in front of me?"

"What, skate backwards?"

"Yes. It's very disorienting."

"Me skating in front of you is disorienting? "

"Yes, it's making me dizzy."

"Oh, Josh, relax. What's the worst that could happen? You might fall, big deal. You'll never have any fun if you just cling to the railing the whole time."

"I'm having fun," he said stubbornly, hauling himself forward another few inches.

"Come on, I'll help you." And with that, she grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the railing.

He yelped, flailing wildly with his free hand until she grabbed that one too and started skating backwards again, this time pulling him along with her. Oh, dear God.

"See, isn't this better?" she said, grinning, the rink doing loop the loops behind her.

He closed his eyes, pretty sure he was going to be sick. "Much better," he said through gritted teeth.

"Just look at my face," she instructed, squeezing his hands and continuing her deathskate backwards.

He exhaled deeply and obeyed. She was right, focusing on a single point made the dizziness much better. Still, did she have to go at such a breakneck pace? "Can't we slow down a little?"

"Josh, we're going like two miles an hour."

"This rink isn't that big, why do you need to cover so much ground so quickly?"

"Honestly, Josh, sometimes you are so overdramatic." She slowed to a stop, however, and let him go. They'd made it once completely around the rink.

"Oh, thank God," he exhaled as she released him. "Can we go now?"

"No, now you have to do it by yourself."

"What?! Why?"

"Because. That's the only way you'll get better."

"Why do I need to get better? I'm never going to do this again."

"Fine. I'll help you." She took his hand again and looked at him expectantly. "Ok. Go ahead."

He cast a sidelong glance at her. Apparently, she was serious. She actually expected him to gain forward momentum on his own. He looked down at his feet. Still pointing the same direction, that was a good sign. He kept his knees bent- that strategy had served him well when Donna had taken it into her head to haul him around the rink at such an unreasonable pace.

Tentatively, he inched one foot forward. Only that threw off his balance. He scrambled to get his other foot back even with the first before he fell, holding Donna's hand in a death grip.

"You need to push off from the ice and let yourself glide, Josh. Not just shuffle your feet in hopes of possibly moving forward if you're lucky."

"How?"

"Pick one foot up—"

"Pick one foot up? You mean balance on one razor thin piece of metal instead of two?"

"Yes, and push off with your back foot."

"You're a doctor- shouldn't you be encouraging me to pass the time doing something that isn't certain to lead to a massive injury of some kind?"

"Just try it."

Well, he wasn't picking up one foot off the ground, that was for sure. But he let more of his weight rest on his back foot and tried what she suggested. He was so surprised when it worked that he almost fell again.

"That's good, Josh! Now the other foot."

His balance wasn't as good on that side, and he definitely wobbled, but he still managed to move forward a couple of feet without falling. God, he hoped there were no reporters out here. The press would have a field day with pictures of him out on the ice, moving forward like an old grandmother.

Come to think of it, this would be much easier if he could have some kind of ice-appropriate walker to help him keep his balance. Maybe he should call some of the lobbyists at AARP and find out if such a thing existed.

"You're doing really well, Josh. You're definitely making progress."

Emboldened by his success so far, he tried pushing off a little harder, to see if he could go further before having to switch feet again.

Okay, that time he nearly fell again, but Donna caught him, so it was all right. This wasn't so bad. He kept his eyes ahead of him, watching out for, he wasn't sure, bumps, or something, and kept moving. Ok. If Gretzky could do this, he could do this. Though truth be told, he wasn't much of a hockey fan. The fact that the only pro hockey player he could think to reference had been retired for ten years was probably evidence of that.

They were about three quarters around the rink by this point. Donna squeezed his hand. "Want to try by yourself?"

Not really, but he figured he didn't really have a choice. She'd just nag him til he did what she wanted anyway. "Sure."

"Don't worry, Josh, you're doing fine. You're a regular Tara Lipinski."

He frowned. "Who?"

"Seriously, you know Sonja Henie, but you don't know Tara Lipinski? She won the gold medal at the 1998 Olympics for figure skating. She was the youngest ever to win in that category at the age of fifteen."

He paused. "You're comparing me to a fifteen year old female figure skater?"

"Well, she's not fifteen now."

"Ah-kay." He pushed forward once again. Sweat broke out on his brow despite the cold as he continued on, accompanied by Donna's low murmurs of encouragement until-

"You did it!"

He looked up, startled. "What?"

"You got around the rink once without falling."

"That, Donna, is because I am a man of superior athletic prowess."

"Uh-huh. Come on, we'll go around together again."

He sighed in relief. "Oh, thank God." He took her hand again and they went slowly around the rink once more, hand in hand.

By the time he got around that time, he was feeling a lot more confident. "I think I'm getting the hang of this," he announced.

She eyed him critically. "Well, you're not going to win any prizes, but I think Susie Peters probably doesn't have anything to fear these days."

"Hey! Susie Peters would be lucky to ice skate with me right now," he said, shoving her playfully.

She stumbled slightly and he belatedly realized that pushing his partner while they were both still on the ice probably wasn't the best idea. "Oh, shit! Sorry," he cried, trying to grab her.

She recovered herself and shook him off. "Josh! Stop, you're going to make me fall."

He let his hands fall to his sides uselessly. "You ok?" he asked anxiously.

She straightened and took a steadying breath. "I'm fine."

"Oh, g—ahh!" he yelped, as he suddenly lost his footing with no explanation he could think of. He flailed wildly and grabbed hold of Donna's wrist in desperation as he scrambled for purchase on this god forsaken patch of ice.

"Josh, no, you're going to pull me down with y—oof!" Donna gasped as he fell flat on his back and pulled her down with him. She landed hard on her bottom. She made a face. "Ow."

He still had hold of her hand, so he tugged on it again, thinking he could pull himself up, but all he succeeded in doing was pulling her the rest of the way down.

"Josh! What the hell?" she shouted, shaking him off her.

"Sorry, I'm just trying to get up," he panted.

"And pulling me down helps you do that how?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. "It's all about the laws of physics, Donnatella. Leverage, and physics."

"Oh, God, if you start using this little ice skating adventure as evidence of how you're an outdoorsman, so help me—"

He couldn't help it. He started to laugh. "Donna, you know Sonja Henie would be so hot for me right now, if she could see me in all my outdoorsman glory."

She started to giggle. "Yeah, she'd probably throw Susie Peters into the nacho cart herself to get rid of the competition."

They collapsed on the ice in a fit of giggles. He reached over and took her hand again, and they lay there, side by side on the ice, shoulders shaking with laughter. He turned his head and watched her for a moment, as she lay there laughing, tethered to him by their joined hands: her big toothy grin, her pink hat, her hair soft in the moonlight.

She turned her head towards him and smiled at him, her eyes sparkling at him brighter than the stars. "We should probably go. The Zamboni guy probably wants to get going."

He gazed at her. "Marry me."

Her smile disappeared. "What?"

"Marry me," he repeated.

"You're asking now?" she asked, panicked. "Just on the spur of the moment, in the middle of a conversation about the Zamboni guy?"

He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and wordlessly pulled out a black jeweler's box. Her eyes dropped to the box and flew back up to meet his again. "I was going to wait until Christmas," he explained. "I was going to do something special in between episodes of the `I Love Lucy' marathon and ask you then. I've been carrying the ring around for weeks."

"Oh, my God," she whispered, her eyes falling to the box again.

He picked up her hand and examined her gloved fingers. "These hands saved my life, you know."

She pressed her hand to his heart, suddenly overwhelmed by the how close she had come to never having had him in her life. "This heart saved mine."

"Remember when you told me you held my heart in your hands during my surgery?" he said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Here's the thing…" he said, keeping his voice from shaking through only the strongest exercise of will. "You know me, and you know I don't… I don't often say things like this. But Donna, I swear every word is true, so just… hear me out. When you saved me… when you held my heart in your hands… well, the thing is, I'm pretty sure you left your fingerprints all over it, and now it won't work for anyone else."

Tears stung her eyes. "Josh."

He opened the box, and took out the ring. He lifted her left hand and tugged off her glove. "I just thought—Donna, I absolutely hate ice skating. There is no one else on earth who could convince me to come down to the national mall and beg a grown man to let me go ice skating in the middle of the night on a cold December evening. But you look at me—and I find myself here. Falling flat on my backside, the ice soaking through the back of my coat, freezing my ass off, and yet, while I'm holding this hand," he said, tracing the outline of her fingers, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be. And I'd just… I'd be so happy if you would say you'll be with me always."

"Yes." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. "Yes, yes, yes. Give me the ring. Yes, yes, yes."

He laughed, and obliged, sliding the ring onto her finger. He picked up her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. Then he laid it on his chest, just over his thumping heart, and covered it with his own. They lay there in the stillness, the ice below them and the stars above, and in that moment, time stood still, and the world was perfect.