Wow! Thank so much for the reviews. I had no idea there were still people out there who love West Wing as much as I do. I am not sure how far I am going to take this story. This being my first ever fanfic, I am just trying to find my voice (and Josh's voice). I am planning on sticking pretty close to cannon and not trying to create an alternate universe where things take a happier course for Josh and Donna, but I really like the idea of adding in extra scenes that I feel are compatible with cannon (i.e. the phone call from Sam in chapter 2). Anyway, here is the next chapter. Enjoy.

Chapter 4

As they approached the door to Donna's room, Colonel Leahy stopped and turned around.

"You sure you can handle this? You still look a little . . ."

Josh wasn't sure of anything. He hated hospitals. He hated the sterile smell and the repetitive beeping of monitors, but mostly he hated how they reminded him of Rosslyn. Blood and guts aside, it was the constant reminders everywhere he looked that were making him light headed and nauseated. But he hadn't come this far to give up now.

"Yeah." He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"It sometimes takes the anesthesia a little while to wear off. She'll probably be out for a few more hours, but you're welcome to stay."

Colonel Leahy held the door open waiting for Josh to come inside. But Josh couldn't move. He could barely breathe.

Nothing could have prepared him for the scene that met him behind the door. If it wasn't for the blonde hair, he wouldn't have recognized her. She was hooked up to a series of wires that led to flashing monitors. An oxygen tube was attached to her nose and one leg was elevated. And even from the hall he could see that her face was badly bruised and cut up.

After what must have been a few seconds, or maybe a few hours, Josh found himself entering the room and cautiously approaching the bed. He was vaguely aware of Colonel Leahy leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or the lack of food, or the jet lag, or the fact that he was in a hospital, but Josh suddenly realized he was fighting back tears. She looked so . . . helpless, so fragile. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch her, to assure himself that she was really there and that she was still alive. But another part of him was afraid of breaking her.

He settled for just watching her breathe, watching her chest rise and fall. The only tangible sign that she was more than a corpse.

Suddenly it was as if everything that had happened in the last 24 hours caught up to Josh all at once. He was relieved to find a chair behind him as his legs gave way and he collapsed into it. He swallowed hard trying to ignore the burning behind his eyes and the pulse beats in his ears.

"I just want to grow in my job. I only have one career and I want it to matter."

"Well, Donna, look where that got you." he said quietly, more to himself than to her. He leaned forward, threading his fingers into his hair.

She wanted to go to Brussels, and Josh had sent her to Gaza. Gasa! What the hell was he thinking? He should have sent her to Rhode Island. Nobody ever got blown up on a trip to Rhode Island. But then again, she should have been safe in Gaza with Admiral Fitzwallace and a handful of congressional delegates. Nobody could have seen this coming.

Josh didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about retaliation against Palestine or Israel. He didn't want to think about the hundreds of calls he would have to make when he got back to Washington. He didn't want to think about recovery times or physical therapy or what he would do without his assistant who he had come to rely on over the last seven years. He cast about for something unrelated, something to take his mind off of everything.

Donna let out a soft groan. "Josh?"

Josh jumped to his feet, holding onto the bed railing to steady himself. Her eyes were closed and he realized she was still sleeping. He saw her body tense up and her breathing quicken. She was trying to move around, but the wires and tubes and bandages prevented it. She was panicking, probably having a nightmare. Josh remembered the nightmares that had continued to haunt him for months after being shot. He shuddered. That feeling of inescapable helplessness . . .

One of the monitors above Donna's bed started beeping. Some kind of alarm.

"Hey . . . shhhhhh." Josh reached down and carefully took her hand. He felt her fingers respond to his touch. "Shhhhhhhhh."

The door opened and a nurse walked in.

"I didn't . . . she just . . ." Josh stammered quietly as the nurse walked over to the bed. He quickly let go of Donna's hand.

"It's all right. Her body has been through a lot of trauma in the last 24 hours." said the nurse pressing a button on the side of the monitor to stop the beeping. "This is perfectly normal. I'm going to give her something to help her sleep."

She unlocked a drawer and pulled out a syringe which she injected into the IV bag. "You might want to consider getting some sleep yourself, Mr. Lyman. We can wake you if anything changes."

"I'm fine," said Josh, not taking his eyes off of Donna. He watched her face relax as the medicine kicked in.

The nurse gave Josh a pitying look before exiting the room and closing the door again.

Josh waited until he was sure Donna was asleep again before he spoke.

"Donna, I . . ." Josh stopped, unsure of what to say. I'm here? I'm sorry? I've missed you? I need you? Nothing sounded right. Josh brushed a strand of hair away from her face, being careful to avoid the many cuts and bruises, and tucked it behind her ear. He caressed her cheek with his thumb, feeling reassured by its warmth. "Stay with me, Donatella."