Josh leans back against the closet shelves, taking deep breaths. He focuses solely on inhaling and exhaling for about a minute; he cannot fall apart right now, she needs him. As much as he wants to make things better, to take away all of her hurt, he still knows that he needs to first focus on taking care of her while she's sick.

He comes back from the bathroom, changed into his sweats, and takes a seat on her small chair, draping her grandmother's afghan over his legs. Every so often, he gets up and places one of the homemade ice packs to her forehead, doing whatever he can to make sure her fever stays down. And despite his best efforts to keep his mind focused on just her physical health for the moment, the box from the closet taunts him, a reminder that he hurt her deeply.

At some point, he drifts off, but awakes to Donna's whimpering. He's out of her chair and immediately at her side. He puts his hand to her forehead, not surprised to find her burning up. His heart thumps wildly when he takes her temperature and sees that it has crept back up to 102 degrees. He feels the anxiety in the pit of his stomach, but reminds himself that Mrs. Bartlet told him that her temperature would more than likely fluctuate.

He comes back in with another ice pack and finds her thrashing. He places it to her forehead, hoping it will relax her body and cool her off.

"Josh", she calls his name as her body continues to thrash. He's not even sure if she knows he's here, that he's been here all this time, but the way she cries out his name pains him. She sounds scared, like she's looking for him. Her body continues to flail, and she comes close to almost rolling off the bed. He worries that she'll hurt herself, so carefully, he crawls into her bed. But as he's settling in, her body jerks again and his hand comes in contact with her bare stomach. He feels like he's going to throw up when he realizes again how thin she's become. Her ribs feel like they are right there on the surface. He feels her body begin to calm when his hand touches her, so he carefully lays down behind her and pulls her close, keeping his arm wrapped around her. He feels the last bit of tension leave her body as she settles down, resting comfortably. It isn't long before he feels her breathing even out, the rise and fall of her chest is rhythmic. He lays there wide awake, thinking about how skinny she is, he thinks about the box of his things in the closet, and finally he thinks about the words she muttered earlier incoherently:

"Not good enough. . . .

Not professional.. . . .

Not . . ."

He keeps repeating the words, they had pricked his conscience earlier and they were pricking it now.

Then it hits him like a thousand volts of electricity as he suddenly realizes what he did that hurt her. Now he understands why she's been distant, why his box of things is in her closet. He understands why those words pricked at his conscience.

He remembers their conversation in his office over a month ago as if it were yesterday:

"At least Amy is a professional. She seemed to understand. She even kissed me. On the steps. In lightly falling snow. Very romantic. We're off to a great start . . ."

"And I shouldn't even tell you this since you aren't senior staff, but I did work out a deal for Leo with the Republican Wonder Kid. I guess your sleeping with the enemy worked out for us after all, so good job."

He feels sick, he feels like his heart might explode in his chest. He had called her unprofessional, and the lingering anger he had then felt over Cliff and the diary reared its ugly head, destroying what was left of her self-esteem. Of course she wouldn't want to be around him, and of course there would be a box of his things in her closet! He had treated her terribly and said horrible things, things he couldn't take back. He hurt her deeply . . . his Donnatella.

And then he made it worse by throwing Amy in her face for weeks! Asking Donna to send Amy flowers, prattling on about her, and the worst part, asking her to make reservations for them. Here he was having fancy meals at Phoebe's and Marcel's when Donna was barely eating. It was his fault she was so thin. After everything she's done for him, this is how he treats her? This is how he treats the woman he cares about more than anything?"

He feels the tears prick at his eyes as he holds her close. Her body twitches and she moans painfully. He gently rubs her arm, hoping to soothe her. He knows her fever is still high and he's so scared that her body might not be strong enough to endure it. He gets up and returns quickly with another ice pack, holding it to her forehead. He snuggles up behind her just as more words tumble out in her fever sleep:

"I'm nothing . . . not professional, not good enough . . ."

All Josh wants to do is comfort her, to reassure her. He continues to rub her arm as the words fall from his mouth, "Don't say that. I'm sorry Donna. I didn't mean it, none of those things are true. You are important, you are valuable, and you are loved."

He freezes when he realizes what he just said:

Love. He loves Donna. He stops rubbing her arm and takes a moment to look at her. She's perfect, absolutely perfect, and she's been right there in front of him for years. Hell he's probably been in love with her since the day they met, but he never let himself see her that way. But now he was absolutely seeing her that way, and he's already broken her heart before he'd even realized that he's in love with her.

"I'm so sorry Donna. Please forgive me, I haven't had the chance to show you how much I love you yet." He knows she's asleep, but he whispers the words to her anyway, hoping that she somehow hears him. Hoping that her heart can hear his.

He lays there for what feels like hours, letting his heart show his mind how much he loves the woman in his arms. He's overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings in the best possible way. Loving Donna feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He can only hope that she will forgive him..