Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, though I'd love to be brilliant enough to. Alas, they belong to the brilliant Aaron Sorkin and all those involved in one of the best shows in history, THE WEST WING.

JOSH POV

"Donna!" I bellow, leaning back in my chair as far as it will go without dumping me on the ground.

My office is dark, save the desk lamp, and we're some of the last here. It's only 6 pm on a Friday, and normally I wouldn't consider leaving this early, but my mom is coming into town this weekend for the first time in over a year, and I've been sitting here realizing how drab my apartment is going to appear to the woman who already worries about my lack of a life outside the White House.

I hear Donna's heels clicking on the floor just before she appears in the doorway. "You beckoned?"

"What are you doing tonight?" I ask, standing up and making my way around the desk toward her. I gesture toward the chair and gently push her into it before sitting next to her in the other chair.

"Going home and soaking this day off in a bathtub," she sighs and leans back in her chair, reaching up to pull her hair into a ponytail. She blows me away, far too gorgeous to be fair to a guy who is trying desperately not to notice. "Why? What do you need?"

"My mom's coming in tomorrow morning."

"Yes," she nods because of course she helped make the travel arrangements and cleared my schedule tomorrow and Sunday as much as she could.

"My apartment could use some sprucing up. You know, to make it look like I spend more time there than I do. Like it's not just a rented space I crash in for three hours a day."

"But that's exactly what it is."

"But Mom doesn't need to know that. I've managed to convince her I have a somewhat normal life."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Target trip? Help me pick out some things. I'll buy you something nice…"

Donna doesn't often turn down the opportunity to have me swipe my credit card for her. And since I seem to be forever in a spot of owing her for asking her to go above and beyond the call of duty, I don't often mind doing so.

"And dinner?" she asks, eyebrows going up as she turns her puppy eyes on me.

Works every time. "Of course."

"I suppose. Can you give me thirty minutes to wrap up your notes for today?"

I smile and nod, and she stands up to leave. Her hand lands on my shoulder as she does so, and lingers there just a second past what it should, and a shiver goes down my spine. I clear my throat, hoping she didn't notice. Twenty-eight minutes later, I'm standing with my coat on and briefcase in hand, just beside her desk, tapping my foot impatiently.

"I have two minutes, Josh," she says, typing furiously. "And if you hadn't interrupted me so many times today, I wouldn't need them."

I sigh loudly, reaching for her coat. She ignores me as I stand there, though her very presence makes my heart race. I often wonder if I have the same effect on her, and if I do, how come she's so good at hiding it.

"Donna," I whine.

"Just a second," she commands, and I shut up. She types a few last lines, and I know she's close to the end. It's my report she's typing up after all. With a few final words, she's finally done and as she rises to her feet, I hold her coat out for her. As she pulls it on, I automatically reach up to pull her hair out from under the collar and I'm reminded once more why everyone always assumes we're together. Because we are in every way except the ways that matter.

I bend down and grab her purse, handing it to her, and then I usher her out of the building as quickly as possible.

"I didn't drive today," she suddenly announces. "My car is in the shop. Can you drive?"

"Donna!" I complain. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have picked you up."

I hate when she rides public transportation, and we bicker about it often enough she should know that. And now, she seems uninterested in having the conversation and just shrugs.

"It's not safe. Maybe it's fine in the morning, but I don't like you doing it at night. It's too long of a walk back to your apartment."

"I have pepper spray. And high heels. Good luck to whoever takes me on."

But it's the thought of her having to use those things that makes my stomach roll, so I pull her close by the waist as we cross to my car.

"You promised you'd let me know if you needed a ride," I remind her.

"I didn't need a ride. I rode the bus."

I glare at her. She glances at me and then pats my hand where it sits on her hip.

"Alright, Joshua. Calm down. I'll let you know next time."

She's said this before, which I remind her as I open up my passenger side door and she slides in. I throw my briefcase in the back seat. She's silent as we make the drive to Target, and I realize she's been quiet all day, only saying what needs to be said.

"You okay?"

She flinches at the sound of my voice breaking into her silent reverie and then offers me a soft smile.

"You'd tell me if you weren't?"

"Yeah," she nods, but her voice sounds sad. "I will. Just not now. I need to decompress from work for a minute or two."

But she doesn't offer more explanation as we park and walk into Target. I find myself yearning to take her hand because clearly she's a little down and I want to make her feel better. Instead, I make my hands busy by grabbing a cart. She immediately sets her purse in the cart in front of me.

We make our way to the home decor section, and I see her brain immediately start putting pieces together.

"Do you have a color preference?" she asks me. "Something masculine but still with color?"

I shrug, overwhelmed by the number of throw pillows currently in front of me. "Could you maybe give me some options?"

"Red?" she suggests. "Navy Blue?"

"Definitely not red," I say, immediately thinking about Republicans.

"Blue then?"

I agree and she steps back to take in the options in front of her before selecting three navy blue pillows of different shapes and textures.

"For the living room," she announces, and then takes off walking. I follow behind her and stop as she studies the wall art next. But my brain is still caught up in trying to identify where in the week I may have done something to make her so quiet. When I don't come up with anything out of the ordinary, I start making a list of things that could be wrong in her personal life, and I'm in the middle of deciding if there is someone I should put on my kill list when she turns to me and says "CityScape or water?" and I'm standing there caught with the same expression I always have when I'm not at all present in the moment.

"Josh?"

"Huh?"

"Cityscape or water? For over your bed."

I scan the options she's pointing to, but my eyes settle instead on a little print the says 'And so together they built a life they loved,' and decide I'd much rather have that. And I'd much rather that be true than the facade I'm going to try to pull over on my mother tomorrow. My mother adores Donna and very much wants us to be together and will mercilessly pester me about it all weekend.

"I dunno," I say lamely. "Is the bedroom going to have blue too?"

"It can," she shrugs, "But I kind of like the black bedspread you have in there now. It's very masculine, and I don't think your mom is going to expect anything feminine in your apartment. Since you're single, anyway."

She says it so flippantly that I feel a twinge of anger. She's not talked to me about her own love life since everything went down with Jack Reese almost two months ago, but I'm aware that she's just as single. Why does she point out my own love life status as if she's rubbing it in my face?

"Then the cityscape I guess. It's black."

And then she's reaching for it, up high where it hangs, and I can tell it's going to be heavy, so I'm lurching forward.

"Donna!" I bellow, my tone equally filled with warning and chastisement.

"What?" she jumps as I gently push her out of the way and reach for it myself. "Relax, Joshua. It's not like I'm pregnant or something."

I'm placing the piece in the cart, and I freeze, my eyes flying to her face just in time to catch the shock roll across her features because clearly, she can't believe she just said that out loud and I'm not the type of person who is going to let an out of the blue remark like that slide.

"Where did that come from?" I ask.

But she's already turned on her heel and marching away from me, so I grab the cart and wheel after her.

"Donna!"

She whirls around. "Can you just….just give me a second?"

I skid to a halt and nod and watch as she turns again to keep walking off. I still follow but at a much slower pace. She turns around a corner, and it takes a minute before I lay eyes on her again. When I do, she's frozen in a spot, her eyes pointing straight ahead. I look past her to where she's looking, my eyes landing on a nursery display, and more confused than ever I leave the cart and sidle up next to her. My arm goes around her shoulders, pulling her closer and I study the side of her face.

"Donna. I don't know what's going on, but I'd like to. I'd like to help if I can."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

I see her giving in, head and shoulders falling, but she can't help one more plea for me to let it go. "Josh."

"Donnatella. I'm here. I want to be here for you. I promise I won't tease you or anything. Just talk to me."

She sighs. "I thought I was pregnant."

Okay. I have got to remember to sit down before making this woman tell me what's bothering her because as usual, it's not what I was expecting and I don't like what I'm hearing. I remain still, hoping she will go on because I'm not sure I'd have a voice if I tried to talk.

"I'm not. The test was negative this morning."

"Aren't those tests wrong sometimes?"

"I had a blood draw at the doctor this morning. That's where I was. Not the dentist. My period was so light last month, and only lasted a day, and hasn't happened at all this month so I was convinced that's what it was. Obviously, my body is just playing tricks on me, and the doctor said it's probably just stress. But for a couple of days, I really thought I was pregnant. And while that scared the hell out of me, because obviously, I'd be doing it alone, I guess finding out I wasn't was a bit of a blow."

She turns, pulling back to look at me, her eyes soft. She's aware that I don't know what to say, and she didn't expect anything else.

"I guess I'm grieving a bit. Which is crazy, because I'm grieving something I didn't even have. Something I didn't know I wanted."

"I'm sorry," is all I can croak out.

Donna sighs, offering half a shrug. "I'll get over it."

She heads to the cart and starts pushing it forward until I catch it and take over. She falls into step beside me, and as I glance over at her, she returns the look. I don't know what this is between us, this magnetic pull, but she's moving closer to me, tucking her arm through mine. We put a few more things in my cart, saying nothing else about pregnancy. She informs me I need a new set of bath towels and I acquiesce easily. There's not a thing I wouldn't do to please her, and I think she knows that. She holds all the power here, and I think that's what keeps our relationship, as unprofessional as it gets at times, from feeling inappropriate. Never in a thousand years would I hold my power over her head, and she never pushes her power, different as it may be, past the point of taking advantage. We have a good balance. So I try to push my desire for more to the back of my mind every second of the day. And usually, I'm successful. Until she drops bombs about wanting to have children, and I feel my resolve start to crumble.

I'll just be honest with myself here. I want them too. But only with her.

And if I ever had to stand back and watch her have someone else's child, I think it would tear me apart.

So right now, in the middle of Target, with the awareness that she's grieving the fact that she's not pregnant with Jack's baby, I'm a mess inside. I don't know what to make of it. I thought she was past him. Maybe a tiny part of me thought she was beginning to return the feelings I had for her. And now, clearly, none of that is true.

She ends up asking for a pack of gum, much to my chagrin, even though I tried to buy her a purse and a couple of other things, and I'm still grumbling about it as we get back in the car.

"At least let me take you somewhere decent for dinner," I say, pulling out of the parking lot, my trunk full of things I hope will ease my mother's mind.

"I'm not really in the mood to eat out," she says, her voice quiet. "It's been a long day, Josh."

Right. Because she found out she's not pregnant.

"But that was the deal!" I remind her.

"We can order takeout at your place," she suggests, pulling out her phone to call it in. "I'll help you decorate."

That satisfies me, and forty minutes later she's settling on my couch as I dump the bags on the floor. I watch her for a moment, dumbfounded, as she stretches out the length of the sofa, eyes closing as her head lands on the arm of the sofa, and her hands landing across her middle.

"Donna," I say, but she doesn't move. "What are you doing?"

"Resting. I'm out of fuel and not moving a muscle until the food gets here."

I make my way toward her and sit on the coffee table, staring down at her, because it's only 8:30 and normally she's still got hours of energy left.

"Joshua, you're staring," she says, not opening an eye.

"Why are you so tired?" I ask.

"Because my boss is a slave driver," she teases.

"And you're sure you're not pregnant?" It slips out. Total idiot move. And her face pales ten shades as she sits up, looking broken.

"I'm sorry," I immediately say. "That was a stupid thing to say. I'm just not used to you being so quiet and run down."

Her legs swing toward mine, and she's not making eye contact.

"Alright," she says, sounding defeated. "Out with it, Joshua."

"With what?"

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad."

"You only say nasty things to me when you're upset about something. So let me hear it."

I stand, putting some space between us. She's on to me. And now she's staring me down, holding steady eye contact with me as I remain silent.

"You didn't like him. Didn't matter that I was finally happy, you didn't like him. So you're mad I would even consider wanting his baby."

Well. So far she's nailed it.

"And really, Josh, as I've told you before, I used to think it was sweet that you were concerned about my safety while I went on dates. But that relationship was different. I obviously was safe with him. Yet you still never loosened up on your critique or stopped giving me an attitude every time I asked off to go out with him. So what was it, Josh? What did you not like?"

"It wasn't him. He was a great guy, I'm sure."

"Yes, he was. And he treated me better than most. So why? Why were you mad about it then? Why are you mad about it now?"

I look away from her.

"Are you really so unhappy that you can't stand the thought of me being happy while you're not?" she asks. "Are you really that miserable that the thought of me having what I want is unbearable to you?"

"No," I shake my head, hating the light she's painting me in. Of course, I want her to be happy. I'd sacrifice anything to have it be so. But at the end of the day, all that would bring me is a bit of contentment. My own happiness would only come from her being with me. And in my worst moments, I get jealous. Or repulsed by the thought of her with someone else. And I don't always hide that well. Never, actually. "Of course I want you to be happy, Donna. It breaks my heart when you're not. You deserve only the best."

"Then why do you hate all of them so much?"

The doorbell rings and my eyes break away from hers as I move to the door and pull out my wallet. When I come back in with the food, she sitting on the couch again. I set the food aside and move back toward her.

"Let me ask you this," I say, "Why do you hate all the women I date?"

"Because you choose literally the pettiest and most manipulative of all women," she fires back without hesitation.

I can't argue with that, but that's not the point I want to pursue anyway. "But if I'm happy with them, isn't that what matters?"

Her beautiful round blue eyes look up at me and I hold her gaze as I sit on the coffee table again, right in front of her.

"Maybe…" I start, reaching for her hands. "The answer to your question about why I hate the men you date, is the same answer you'd have for me."

"I don't think so," she says, looking down at our hands. "Because my reason is that I love you, Joshua Lyman, and I hate them because you're with them and not me."

My heart is beating so rapidly I'm afraid I might pass out, and I have to ignore the pain in my chest. I should have known it would be her to put it out there first. And I can't describe the elation I feel at finding out I hadn't imagined the feelings behind all those looks and comments and stolen touches over the years. So now, when she's so obviously doubting that I'll say it back to her, and I can't find my voice, I instead squeeze her hands three times. She looks up at me again, and I smile.

"Exact same answer," I whisper.

She lets out a surprised gasp and we just stare at each other, letting this revelation settle in around us.

"What are we doing, Josh?" she asks.

"I don't know," I admit. "But I think we hit the crossroads where we had to name the thing between us."

"But what do we do about it?"

That I definitely don't have an answer for. Or rather, I do, but I don't like it. It's the same fact that's kept me from voicing anything all these years.

"We don't have to figure that out yet," I tell her. "I've loved you for a while now, and that isn't going to change. There's no rush to figure it out. But there's an assurance that it's real."

I'm trying to placate her. To let her know we have to be careful. That acting on this could end our careers. And everything I see on her face tells me we're on the same train of thought.

"I want you," I tell her, moving a hand up to caress her face. "I want you more than I'll ever want anything. But we have to do this right."

"So we have to wait four years. Or I have to quit my job."

I hate that those are the options. But they are the only ones.

She sighs and stands, moving toward the counter where I set the food. I follow her, silence reigning between us as we divide out the food onto plates. My shoulder brushes against hers, and then our fingers, and then my hand is on the small of her back and she's looking up at me with her eyes filled with tears. My heart breaks.

"There's another option, there has to be," she says. "Because I don't want to give up the White House, or working for you, and I don't want to wait either."

"I don't either. But-"

"You don't understand, Josh," she tells me, turning to put her hands on my chest. "A desire was awakened in me this week that I didn't know existed, and I don't think I'm going to survive if I have to bury it and my desire to be with you inside of me for the next four years. Something's gotta give, Josh."

She's talking about having a baby again, and my knees go a little weak, though she'll never know that.

"Can't we be together, and hide it?"

God, I have to tell her no. It would be crazy, and if we were found out, more dangerous to our careers than just being honest about it. But it's the only way to have everything at once.

"Donna," I plead, realizing we've opened Pandora's box here. "We can't."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"Say it. Tell me why we can't."

"It's too risky. We'll get caught."

"No we won't," she argues. "We'll be careful. No dates outside the apartment. We'll never arrive to work at the same time. And we'll make sure cameras aren't following us when we spend the night together."

"That sounds like prison."

"It's just for four years. And then the world will open up to us."

"Those aren't the only risks," I tell her. "You know they aren't. Your scare this week is case-in-point."

"We'll be careful. I wasn't always careful with Jack."

"Donna. We'll both get fired. I'll be cut out of Washington for sexual harassment, manipulation, maybe even assault, faster than it takes CJ to cross from her office to mine. I'm your boss. We cannot have sex until that's not the case anymore."

She's so close to tears that I think I'm going to break, and despite everything I just said, my mouth is on hers the next second.

Shit. If I thought Pandora's box was open before, I know without a doubt it is now. I'm kissing Donnatella Moss, and her fingers are tugging my shirt out from under my belt and pants. My desire for her is not deniable any longer, my body betraying me as she presses closer against me. My hands are in her hair for just a second longer and then they're moving dangerously around to her front and up under her shirt. I'm just about to place my hands where I absolutely shouldn't when an alarm mercilessly sounds in my head, and I yank back, gasping.

"We can't," I pant out. "Donna. We can't."

I'm walking away from her and yanking my shirt off before I can think, disappearing into the hall bath to hop in a cold shower faster than I ever have before. When I come out, fully dressed again, I half expect her to have disappeared on me, grabbing a taxi or something, but instead, she's placing the throw pillows on the sofa and cutting off the tags.

"We need ground rules. Because clearly, we can't go back after that," I announce.

"Okay," she agrees, turning toward me. "Here's number one. No waiting."

"Donna," I sigh.

"No. We've done this dance long enough. I've practically dated you for five years, Josh. I know everything about you. And I love everything about you. And I want to have everything with you."

She's good at giving these speeches, I'll give her that. With her one-liners over the years, such as "I wouldn't stop at red lights," I should have known I was in for a doozy. And if that shower I just took did anything, it cleared my head.

"Okay. I want that too. I want dates and one apartment, and an engagement ring and a wedding, and way more babies than a sane person could possibly want. And only with you, Donna. Only you. But-"

Her hopeful eyes are full of tears again, but I see the flicker of anger or disappointment or something in-between flash across them as I utter that word "but."

"If we don't do this right it will destroy us. You know it will. So we have to go through the proper channels. We have to tell Leo, and we have to do whatever he tells us. If that means moving you to a different department-" she moves to argue but I place a finger over her lips, "then that's what we'll do. Because you'll still have the White House, but more importantly, we'll be together."

She nods in agreement, sliding her arms around my waist.

"And we're not sleeping together until after we talk to Leo next week."

I've remained stiff and unmoving toward holding her until after my speech, because I had to get through it. But now I wrap my arms around her and drop my face to kiss her forehead.

"And can I add something?" Donna asks.

"Of course."

"As much as the thought of having all those babies with you thrills me, I think we should try our best to do things in the correct order because as much as I think Leo and CJ will be willing to defend our relationship, I don't think there is much they'd be able to do about White House Deputy Chief of Staff having a baby out of wedlock with his former assistant. The Republicans would have a field day."

I can't help but grin at the thought. "Deal."

She rests her head against my chest, and I revel in the feeling of holding her in my arms. This was definitely not how I imagined the night going, but I'm not in the least bit tempted to complain.

"Now…" I say, "What do you say we get some food in you so you have enough fuel to help me hang that picture over my bed?"

"Great idea," she nods and begins to walk off. Before she can get away, I grab her hand and pull her back toward me.

"Hey," I say, my free hand caressing her face. "Thanks for helping me decorate to convince my mother I have a life outside of work."

"Well," she smiles. "Now, that's at least true. But I think maybe we should have picked a different picture for over your bed."

"Which?" I ask.

"The one that said 'And together they built a life they loved,'" she says, "because that's exactly what we're going to do."

She blows me away, have I ever mentioned that?

"I love you," I tell her, pressing my lips to hers, knowing I'm going to be having that conversation with Leo very first thing on Monday morning.