A/N: Surprise! I'm back! Over the past six (or so) years, I've always been pleasantly surprised to see reviews for this story—a random fic I started as a side project during grad school—still showing up in my inbox. Six years later, I'm still getting messages asking if I'm ever going to finish it, and I guess the answer is . . . YES! There are so many half-finished, abandoned stories out there, and it kills me to think they will never be resolved. So I decided that if anyone still wants to read this story, I still want to write it. And even if nobody wants to read it, I owe it to myself to finish what I started. I've been revisiting it and working on it again and there is still so much story left to tell.
So to everyone who followed and reviewed and asked for more . . . this is for you. Sorry for the long wait. I promise I won't go years between updates this time.
Josh didn't know how long he sat there staring off into space. Colin had gone and Josh didn't have the energy to wonder if he would be back. He knew he should try to get some sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he saw her lying on the table with that look of terror on her face. No, sleep was not an option.
A vibrating in his pocket jolted him back to reality. Josh pulled out his phone. He was surprised to see the President's direct line.
"Hello?" Josh asked tentatively.
"Josh. This is President Bartlett."
"Yes sir. How are you?"
"I'm fine. How is Donna? Leo tells me she had some trouble with her leg."
"Yes sir. And a punctured lung."
"Well that doesn't sound too bad. Nothing a bandaid and a lollipop won't fix." Josh knew the President was trying to lighten the mood and make him feel better, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.
"Josh?"
"Yeah"
"How is she doing now?"
"Huh?"
"I asked how Donna is doing now?"
"Actually, sir, there were some complications. She is back in surgery." Josh was relieved to hear that his voice was steady.
"What kind of complications?" A stern feminine voice broke in. Mrs. Bartlett was obviously on the call, too.
"A pulmonary embolism."
"They're removing it now?" Mrs. Bartlett asked, sounding worried.
"Yeah. Emergency surgery."
"Well, we've got good people over there in Germany. I am sure they are doing everything they can." President Bartlett responded with confidence.
"That's what Leo said, too."
There was a long pause. And then . . .
"Josh, didn't your father die from a pulmonary embolism?" It was the same fatherly voice that had comforted him in a lonely Illinois airport the night his father passed away.
"Yeah." Josh answered softly.
"Is there anyone there with you? Anyone you can talk to?"
"I'm fine. Really, sir. I just need to get some sleep. Donna will be out of surgery in a few hours and her mom is on her way here now."
Josh said goodbye and hung up his phone. He had no intention of sleeping. But he didn't want to think or talk about his dad right now, not even with the President.
He checked his watch and then made his way back downstairs where Colin was now sprawled across one of the benches that lined the hallway, apparently fast asleep with his jacket as a makeshift pillow. Josh took the bench opposite him and directed his attention to the tv that was still broadcasting news on the inevitable American response to the terrorism in Gaza. He welcomed the distraction, but after a few minutes found that he wasn't really paying much attention.
His mind was wandering, still trying to make sense of the last 48 hours. As if he had read his thoughts, a heavy Irish accent spoke up in a sleepy voice from the other side of the hallway.
"So you fly halfway around the world at a moment's notice to rush to a woman's bedside when the White House is facing off a biblical Apocalypse?"
"We work together," Josh stated simply. What was with everyone today?! What was Collin implying?
"Past dalliance gone bad?" Collin supplied a possible explanation to Josh's unasked question. "Or tragically unconsummated love kept at arm's length by puritanical American workplace ethics?"
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about." Josh muttered, his eyes flickering away from Collin to stare at the clock on the wall. He was too tired to try to explain his relationship with Donna. And besides, he didn't owe this guy an explanation. It was none of his damn business.
"There was this girl when I was 16–no, 17," Collin began.
"So you were a bagman for the IRA?" Josh's attempt at snark went unnoticed.
"She was mad about me. Worshiped me, really." Collin continued as though there had been no interruption. "And I liked her. But I was off to University in Dublin and she was goin' to stay in Belfast, work in her Da's shop."
"This is taking too long. Isn't this taking too long?" Josh said under his breath to nobody in particular, peering down the hallway and wishing a surgeon would suddenly appear with an update on Donna's condition. Or anything, really, that would get him out of listening to The Many Sexual Exploits of Collin the Irish Wonderboy.
"She wrote to me every single day, and she called weekends, and she . . . she was always there," Collin said, giving Josh a meaningful look. "And I took her for granted, you know?"
What was that supposed to mean? What was Collin trying to say? Josh was about to make another snide comment when he heard the familiar voice of Colonel Leahy calling his name.
Both men immediately jumped to their feet.
"How is she?" Josh asked. He tasted adrenaline in the back of his mouth, as if some part of him already guessed what the surgeon was about to tell him.
"We encountered a few difficulties during the procedure." Colonel Leahy explained. "She lost a substantial amount of blood. We had to transfuse and call in a vascular surgeon to repair the tear."
"Is she gonna be alright?" Collin asked, a note of worry in his voice that matched Josh's own fears.
"She's still unconscious. As soon as she stabilizes we'll send her off for an MRI. Between the anemia and the low blood pressure, she may have suffered hypoxic brain injury," the surgeon answered, the slightest note of worry creeping into his normally confident voice. "Decreased oxygen delivery can result in brain damage."
Josh tried to process what he was being told. Blood loss. Anemia. Pulmonary Embolism. And now potential brain damage? This couldn't be real. This wasn't happening. He felt the blood drain from his face and realized that Colonel Leahy was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to respond.
"Okay," Josh said finally, his mouth going dry. "Okay. When will we know if . . . ?"
"Not until she wakes up," the doctor answered. "Could be hours, could be longer. With the amount of trauma her body has sustained, she'll probably still be out for a while."
"Yeah, okay. Thank you," Josh mumbled, reaching for his cell. He needed to update the President and Donna's parents. He stumbled backwards until he felt his legs give out and was glad to find a bench beneath him.
Colonel Leahy was giving him that same worried look he'd given him when he'd first arrived at the hospital. "Mr. Lyman, are you sure you're alright?"
"Huh?" Josh said, scrolling through his phone.
"When was the last time you ate anything?"
"I'm not hungry," Josh replied evasively. He'd barely touched his meal on his foreign relations top secret mission, and other than that he'd been living on bad coffee and vending machine snacks.
"You should probably eat something anyway," the doctor advised, reaching out to put a hand on Josh's shoulder. "It's going to be a long night. The best thing you can do for Donna right now is to take care of yourself."
Josh nodded distractedly, and heard Colonel Leahy's footsteps retreating back down the hallway. He knew the doctor was trying to help, and he knew he was right. But Josh was feeling too queasy at the moment to eat anything.
Collin was sitting on his bench with his head in his hands. He looked tired and worried. Josh imagined he must look about the same, if not worse.
Brain damage.
The words kept echoing in his mind until he thought he would explode. He needed fresh air and he needed a distraction and he needed the damn sirens to stop! He rose shakily to his feet, already dialing Leo's number as he walked toward the exit.