Title: Shattered Innocence 2/6
Author: Amber (ambino1111@prodigy.net)
The smell of pancakes wakes me up. Or maybe it's the question of why I am smelling pancakes that wakes me up. Either way, I suddenly find myself lying on my back in a room that looks strange, yet familiar, the nauseating smell of pancakes wafting through the air and the memory of a sweet dream of Donna slowly slipping from my mind.
I sit up and realize, for the first time, that I'm naked. Well, almost naked. 'Mostly naked,' I decide. I look across the room and see my suit hanging up on the closet doorknob. The room begins to swirl. "What the-?" I question out loud.
Moaning, I lay back in the bed, focusing on the ceiling and trying to ameliorate the sudden pounding in my brain as I piece together the previous night.
I let Donna leave early. Then I stopped at the bar on the way home... took a cab to Donna's... made her sad... then we sat on her bed and I kissed her and-
Oh my God.
OH MY GOD! I'm in Donna's room!
I suddenly have a horrible sinking feeling that has nothing to do with the hangover. I'm in only my boxers in Donna's bed. Donna's in the kitchen making pancakes. I...
I only remember kissing her.
Dammit! Leave it to me to ruin what was probably the best night of my life. I've fantasized about telling Donna for years, and when I finally pluck up enough courage (okay, have enough drinks) to do it, I don't remember it.
Oh, but that kiss was amazing. And if that's any indication, then why the hell can't I remember the rest?
Donna's going to be mad. Pissed. CJ's going to kill me when she finds out, as will Leo and maybe even the President. And oh God, Mrs. Bartlet.
I need an ally. Sam, maybe? Yeah, Sam. He'll be my back-up, he'll support me. He will be disappointed that I messed everything up and I don't even remember a damn thing, but he'll be there for me.
Oh God. Donna.
I've crossed a line. I've crossed THE line. I hope she feels the same way about me that I feel about her, because if not, I will have the biggest sexual harassment lawsuit in the history of humanity on my hands. But, most importantly, I will have lost the most essential part of my life.
Stupid alcohol!
I jump out of bed, groan at the sudden movement, then stumble over to her closet, where I quickly throw on yesterday's suit.
I take a deep breath before leaving her room and heading, ever-so-slowly, to the kitchen.
"Donna?" I ask quietly, uncertainly. There's no one in the kitchen.
"Donna?" I repeat, a little more loudly this time. Still no response.
It's at this point that I notice the note on the kitchen table sticking out from a plate of -yes, they're cold- pancakes. I walk over and pick it up, unsure if I want to read it.
I can't help myself. I have to know how badly I've wrecked our lives.
"Josh, I couldn't sleep. I made some breakfast, then went for a jog. I didn't want to wake you, so I left without you. You don't have enough in your wallet for a cab. Don't worry- I left you some money on my dresser. Also, don't forget, you and Toby have that meeting with Senator Shayle at ten thirty, and Sam said something about racquetball at lunch. I'm sorry I left early, but I wanted to get a head start on fixing what you broke last night. Just so you know, I'm still angry about what you did, but I guess, in time, I'll be able to forgive you. In the future, Josh, maybe you could think about how much you take advantage of me when you drink and just stay home and go to sleep instead. Donna."
Oh God. I'm going to vomit.
I sink into a chair at the table and try to catch my breath. Bile rises in my mouth. Oh God. What have I done? I slept with Donna, I don't even _remember_ it, and now she's at the office "fixing" what I broke?
This can't be happening.
With weak fingers, I pull out my cell phone.
"Hello? Sam Seaborn."
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Wait, why are you answering your own phone?"
"Josh, are you okay?" Sam sounds concerned.
"We'll get into that in a second. Didn't you used to have an assistant?"
"Yeah. She's... uh... she's not with us anymore."
"What? Since when?"
"Since she left."
"Oh," I pause. "And you've been answering your phone ever since?"
"No, Josh. We have other assistants, you know. I just happened to be standing by the phone when it rang."
"Oh. Good. Listen, I'm going to be coming in soon, and I'm going to need your help."
"What'd you do?" Sam sighs, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"I don't know. That's the problem."
"My God. You didn't kill anyone, did you, Josh?"
"Of course I didn't kill anyone, you idiot. What kind of question is that?"
"I don't know. I was just... never mind. So you don't know what you did, but you know you did something wrong."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"Is it something to do with Donna?"
My heart stops. "Wh-why- why would you say that?"
"It doesn't take a genius, Josh."
"What?"
"I saw her when she came in this morning and she didn't look happy at all."
"What did she look like?" I ask in a small voice.
"She was wearing a blue shirt and-"
"No, I mean, what did she _look_ like, not what was she wearing."
"Oh. She looked pretty sad. Upset, even."
Great.
"When will you be here?"
"In a little bit. I'm..." I debate telling him where I am. It can wait. "I'm a few minutes away."
"Okay. Well, just stop in my office when you get here. I'll be around."
"Okay. Good. Sam, you're a lifesaver."
"Well, I haven't done anything yet, Josh," He reminds me. Oh yeah.
"Then never mind," I say, half-jokingly, and hang up the phone.
Oh man oh man. This is going to be one helluva day.
**
I have always loved my job, even when the worst things happen, like the possibility of wars, and the President's MS disclosure, and personally coming within two inches of death. I have always loved serving my country.
But as I walk through the sacred hallways of the west wing, I can't help the urge to forget all about my patriotism and love of politics and find some deep, dark cave in which to hide. Forever.
I swallow repeatedly as I approach my office. 'Act cool,' I remind myself. 'Act in control. Act normal.'
When my office comes into sight, I realize that Donna is absent. She is not cheerfully sitting at her desk, as per usual. I quicken my pace and check out my office. Empty.
Where is she?
I didn't make her leave, did I? No, she couldn't have left yet.
I frantically search her desk and mine for a note of some sort, any indication whatsoever that I still have an assistant named Donnatella Moss.
I find none. No coat, no purse, no cup of coffee or half-eaten donut.
Oh God. She's left me! She told CJ what happened, CJ told Toby, Toby told Leo, and Leo told the - oh no. This is horrible. This is catastrophic. This is -
"Josh?"
Toby's voice interrupts me. He's standing in the doorway of my office, an odd look on his face.
I stop pacing mid-step and turn to face him. "Toby. I - I don't... Do you know where Donna is?"
He nods his head and takes a step inside. "Yeah, I know. She just called a few minutes ago. She wanted me to remind you of our meeting with Senator Shayle at ten thirty."
I check my watch. It's only nine twenty eight.
"Toby, I've screwed up. Big time."
He shakes his head and sticks his hands in his pockets. "If this is about what you did at Donna's last night, there's no need to explain. She told Bonnie all about it, and Bonnie told me."
"_Bonnie_ knows?" I squeak, my voice high with incredulity.
"Yeah. By this afternoon, I'm sure everyone will know."
I sink into my chair. "Everyone?"
"Yes. And you know I don't like getting involved in inane office gossip, but there's no excuse for what you did."
"I know. God, how I know."
"You should apologize the very next time you see her, and flowers wouldn't be bad, either."
"But, Toby, I-" I close my eyes, trying desperately to find some inner peace, some understanding. There's none of either to be had.
"I'm going to cry," I mutter, dropping my head in my hands.
"Josh, don't be so overdramatic. Donna's the one who should be crying. In fact, I think she might have been before she came into work."
This information does not exactly make me feel better. "I made her cry?"
Toby rolls his eyes. "Josh, what did you expect? Was she supposed to be grinning and laughing and telling jokes after what happened last night?"
I really and truly do feel sick to my stomach. I launch myself out of my chair and around my desk, grabbing onto Toby's shoulders. It startles him as much as it does me.
"Toby, you have to help me. You have to help me fix it."
He looks at me, startled. "Donna tried. She's been trying all morning. No one can fix it."
"'No one can fix it?'" I repeat, outraged. "What do you mean, no one can fix it? We work with the most skilled minds in the political arena, and no one knows how to fix this?"
Toby takes a step back and smoothes down the lapels I'd been holding. "Josh, I think you can agree that this is a little outside the 'political arena,' don't you think?"
Talking to Toby is not helping me at all. I need Sam.
"Toby, you're not helping me."
"I know," He looks sincerely sorry. "And as amusing as this situation is, and, I can tell, is going to be, I do feel sorry for you. And Donna."
I give him a dejected wave of dismissal and collapse on my couch, gingerly rubbing my temples. "This can't be happening, this can't be happening," I mutter over and over. It is my new mantra.
"What can't be happening?" Sam asks. I sigh and run my hands over my face. Perhaps I should have closed my door.
But I'm glad I didn't. Sam can help me. Sam _will_ help me. Sam is the man.
"Sam, you're the man," I say brightly, sitting up on the couch and facing him. He's lingering in the doorway, holding a file folder. "C'mon in," I gesture to the spot on the other end of the couch. Sam eyes it suspiciously before closing the door behind him and sitting down.
"I thought you were going to come and see me when you came in."
"I was," I say apologetically. "Toby distracted me."
"Oh," He says, playing with the edge of the folder in his hands. "What did you want to talk about? What'd you screw up?"
"Everything, Sam. Everything."
He just stares at me, patiently waiting for the explanation he knows is coming.
"Okay," I take a deep breath. I can do this. I can admit what I did. "You know how I let Donna leave early last night?"
Sam nods his head. "I don't know if you could call it early, but yeah. What about it?"
"Well, you know how I said I was going to leave early, too?"
He nods again.
"I went to a bar and had a few drinks."
"A few drinks, Josh, or two drinks?" Sam quips, knowing I hate being teased about my inability to stomach alcohol.
"Sam, you're supposed to be helping me here," I snap. He puts his hands up, palms facing me.
"Sorry. Please continue."
"That's better." I pause. "So I had a - so I got drunk," I amend, standing up. I need to pace. This is a story that can't be told sitting down.
Sam turns and watches me walk back and forth across my office. "Lemme guess. You got drunk and went over to Donna's."
I look over at him, startled. "How'd you know?"
"Josh, you do that a lot. And now that Bartlet," He stumbles, not wanting to say the words. "And especially now, I can see why you'd get drunk and go to Donna's for her to take care of you."
"Yeah. Except that's not what happened." Sam's look urges me to continue. "I woke up in her bed, Sam. In my boxers. And while I don't remember pretty much _anything_ from last night, I do remember a very serious kiss."
Sam's eyebrows are practically in his hair, and his mouth is opened wide enough to be getting a root canal. His stunned silence, however, only makes me more worried.
"Sam," I lament, running a hand nervously through my hair. Donna's going to be here any second, I have a meeting, and I desperately need Sam's advice.
"You slept with Donna?"
His tone catches me off guard. I don't know if it's awe or humor or disgust in his voice, but it's definitely not a good sign.
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"What'd she say?"
"How am I supposed to know?!?" I ask, flabbergasted. "I haven't seen her since I woke up!"
"Okay, okay. Calm down, Josh. I'm not the one you should be mad at, all right?" He leans forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees.
A few minutes of silence inch by in a painful, slothlike manner. Finally, I can't take it anymore.
"Sam, what are you thinking?"
He looks up, almost surprised that I'm standing in front of him. "I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?" I ask desperately.
"I don't know what to tell you. I'm not sure how to handle this yet. Give me a little time to digest it, all right? And try to talk to Donna when she gets here."
"Talk to Donna?" My voice squeaks. That is the most outrageous idea I've ever heard. Talk to Donna. Yeah, right. She probably won't listen anyway.
"Yeah, talk to her. Gently, you know. I know it's a new concept for you, Josh, but try to be subtle. Gauge her reaction to last night. Maybe it won't be that big a deal."
"Maybe it won't be that big a deal?" I repeat, half-wishing it were true.
"Stop by my office after your meeting. We'll cancel racquetball and come up with a game plan instead."
"That's it? That's all you have to say?"
He shrugs an apology and gets to his feet. "Congratulations?"
I scowl. "You're supposed to be my lifesaver, Sam."
He looks supremely sorry. "I'm sorry, Josh. This goes beyond my superpowers," He says with a sad smile before turning and leaving.
"Wait!" I call after him, coming to the doorway. "Where is Donna right now?"
"I don't know," He says with a shrug of his shoulders. "She said she'd be back after your meeting."
I glance at my watch. Ten oh three. I should go hunt down Toby and go over our notes for the meeting.
I avoid looking at Donna's desk as I leave my office and search for Toby, desperately hoping that the sense of impending doom will dwindle as the day wears on.
End part 2/6
The smell of pancakes wakes me up. Or maybe it's the question of why I am smelling pancakes that wakes me up. Either way, I suddenly find myself lying on my back in a room that looks strange, yet familiar, the nauseating smell of pancakes wafting through the air and the memory of a sweet dream of Donna slowly slipping from my mind.
I sit up and realize, for the first time, that I'm naked. Well, almost naked. 'Mostly naked,' I decide. I look across the room and see my suit hanging up on the closet doorknob. The room begins to swirl. "What the-?" I question out loud.
Moaning, I lay back in the bed, focusing on the ceiling and trying to ameliorate the sudden pounding in my brain as I piece together the previous night.
I let Donna leave early. Then I stopped at the bar on the way home... took a cab to Donna's... made her sad... then we sat on her bed and I kissed her and-
Oh my God.
OH MY GOD! I'm in Donna's room!
I suddenly have a horrible sinking feeling that has nothing to do with the hangover. I'm in only my boxers in Donna's bed. Donna's in the kitchen making pancakes. I...
I only remember kissing her.
Dammit! Leave it to me to ruin what was probably the best night of my life. I've fantasized about telling Donna for years, and when I finally pluck up enough courage (okay, have enough drinks) to do it, I don't remember it.
Oh, but that kiss was amazing. And if that's any indication, then why the hell can't I remember the rest?
Donna's going to be mad. Pissed. CJ's going to kill me when she finds out, as will Leo and maybe even the President. And oh God, Mrs. Bartlet.
I need an ally. Sam, maybe? Yeah, Sam. He'll be my back-up, he'll support me. He will be disappointed that I messed everything up and I don't even remember a damn thing, but he'll be there for me.
Oh God. Donna.
I've crossed a line. I've crossed THE line. I hope she feels the same way about me that I feel about her, because if not, I will have the biggest sexual harassment lawsuit in the history of humanity on my hands. But, most importantly, I will have lost the most essential part of my life.
Stupid alcohol!
I jump out of bed, groan at the sudden movement, then stumble over to her closet, where I quickly throw on yesterday's suit.
I take a deep breath before leaving her room and heading, ever-so-slowly, to the kitchen.
"Donna?" I ask quietly, uncertainly. There's no one in the kitchen.
"Donna?" I repeat, a little more loudly this time. Still no response.
It's at this point that I notice the note on the kitchen table sticking out from a plate of -yes, they're cold- pancakes. I walk over and pick it up, unsure if I want to read it.
I can't help myself. I have to know how badly I've wrecked our lives.
"Josh, I couldn't sleep. I made some breakfast, then went for a jog. I didn't want to wake you, so I left without you. You don't have enough in your wallet for a cab. Don't worry- I left you some money on my dresser. Also, don't forget, you and Toby have that meeting with Senator Shayle at ten thirty, and Sam said something about racquetball at lunch. I'm sorry I left early, but I wanted to get a head start on fixing what you broke last night. Just so you know, I'm still angry about what you did, but I guess, in time, I'll be able to forgive you. In the future, Josh, maybe you could think about how much you take advantage of me when you drink and just stay home and go to sleep instead. Donna."
Oh God. I'm going to vomit.
I sink into a chair at the table and try to catch my breath. Bile rises in my mouth. Oh God. What have I done? I slept with Donna, I don't even _remember_ it, and now she's at the office "fixing" what I broke?
This can't be happening.
With weak fingers, I pull out my cell phone.
"Hello? Sam Seaborn."
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Wait, why are you answering your own phone?"
"Josh, are you okay?" Sam sounds concerned.
"We'll get into that in a second. Didn't you used to have an assistant?"
"Yeah. She's... uh... she's not with us anymore."
"What? Since when?"
"Since she left."
"Oh," I pause. "And you've been answering your phone ever since?"
"No, Josh. We have other assistants, you know. I just happened to be standing by the phone when it rang."
"Oh. Good. Listen, I'm going to be coming in soon, and I'm going to need your help."
"What'd you do?" Sam sighs, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"I don't know. That's the problem."
"My God. You didn't kill anyone, did you, Josh?"
"Of course I didn't kill anyone, you idiot. What kind of question is that?"
"I don't know. I was just... never mind. So you don't know what you did, but you know you did something wrong."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"Is it something to do with Donna?"
My heart stops. "Wh-why- why would you say that?"
"It doesn't take a genius, Josh."
"What?"
"I saw her when she came in this morning and she didn't look happy at all."
"What did she look like?" I ask in a small voice.
"She was wearing a blue shirt and-"
"No, I mean, what did she _look_ like, not what was she wearing."
"Oh. She looked pretty sad. Upset, even."
Great.
"When will you be here?"
"In a little bit. I'm..." I debate telling him where I am. It can wait. "I'm a few minutes away."
"Okay. Well, just stop in my office when you get here. I'll be around."
"Okay. Good. Sam, you're a lifesaver."
"Well, I haven't done anything yet, Josh," He reminds me. Oh yeah.
"Then never mind," I say, half-jokingly, and hang up the phone.
Oh man oh man. This is going to be one helluva day.
**
I have always loved my job, even when the worst things happen, like the possibility of wars, and the President's MS disclosure, and personally coming within two inches of death. I have always loved serving my country.
But as I walk through the sacred hallways of the west wing, I can't help the urge to forget all about my patriotism and love of politics and find some deep, dark cave in which to hide. Forever.
I swallow repeatedly as I approach my office. 'Act cool,' I remind myself. 'Act in control. Act normal.'
When my office comes into sight, I realize that Donna is absent. She is not cheerfully sitting at her desk, as per usual. I quicken my pace and check out my office. Empty.
Where is she?
I didn't make her leave, did I? No, she couldn't have left yet.
I frantically search her desk and mine for a note of some sort, any indication whatsoever that I still have an assistant named Donnatella Moss.
I find none. No coat, no purse, no cup of coffee or half-eaten donut.
Oh God. She's left me! She told CJ what happened, CJ told Toby, Toby told Leo, and Leo told the - oh no. This is horrible. This is catastrophic. This is -
"Josh?"
Toby's voice interrupts me. He's standing in the doorway of my office, an odd look on his face.
I stop pacing mid-step and turn to face him. "Toby. I - I don't... Do you know where Donna is?"
He nods his head and takes a step inside. "Yeah, I know. She just called a few minutes ago. She wanted me to remind you of our meeting with Senator Shayle at ten thirty."
I check my watch. It's only nine twenty eight.
"Toby, I've screwed up. Big time."
He shakes his head and sticks his hands in his pockets. "If this is about what you did at Donna's last night, there's no need to explain. She told Bonnie all about it, and Bonnie told me."
"_Bonnie_ knows?" I squeak, my voice high with incredulity.
"Yeah. By this afternoon, I'm sure everyone will know."
I sink into my chair. "Everyone?"
"Yes. And you know I don't like getting involved in inane office gossip, but there's no excuse for what you did."
"I know. God, how I know."
"You should apologize the very next time you see her, and flowers wouldn't be bad, either."
"But, Toby, I-" I close my eyes, trying desperately to find some inner peace, some understanding. There's none of either to be had.
"I'm going to cry," I mutter, dropping my head in my hands.
"Josh, don't be so overdramatic. Donna's the one who should be crying. In fact, I think she might have been before she came into work."
This information does not exactly make me feel better. "I made her cry?"
Toby rolls his eyes. "Josh, what did you expect? Was she supposed to be grinning and laughing and telling jokes after what happened last night?"
I really and truly do feel sick to my stomach. I launch myself out of my chair and around my desk, grabbing onto Toby's shoulders. It startles him as much as it does me.
"Toby, you have to help me. You have to help me fix it."
He looks at me, startled. "Donna tried. She's been trying all morning. No one can fix it."
"'No one can fix it?'" I repeat, outraged. "What do you mean, no one can fix it? We work with the most skilled minds in the political arena, and no one knows how to fix this?"
Toby takes a step back and smoothes down the lapels I'd been holding. "Josh, I think you can agree that this is a little outside the 'political arena,' don't you think?"
Talking to Toby is not helping me at all. I need Sam.
"Toby, you're not helping me."
"I know," He looks sincerely sorry. "And as amusing as this situation is, and, I can tell, is going to be, I do feel sorry for you. And Donna."
I give him a dejected wave of dismissal and collapse on my couch, gingerly rubbing my temples. "This can't be happening, this can't be happening," I mutter over and over. It is my new mantra.
"What can't be happening?" Sam asks. I sigh and run my hands over my face. Perhaps I should have closed my door.
But I'm glad I didn't. Sam can help me. Sam _will_ help me. Sam is the man.
"Sam, you're the man," I say brightly, sitting up on the couch and facing him. He's lingering in the doorway, holding a file folder. "C'mon in," I gesture to the spot on the other end of the couch. Sam eyes it suspiciously before closing the door behind him and sitting down.
"I thought you were going to come and see me when you came in."
"I was," I say apologetically. "Toby distracted me."
"Oh," He says, playing with the edge of the folder in his hands. "What did you want to talk about? What'd you screw up?"
"Everything, Sam. Everything."
He just stares at me, patiently waiting for the explanation he knows is coming.
"Okay," I take a deep breath. I can do this. I can admit what I did. "You know how I let Donna leave early last night?"
Sam nods his head. "I don't know if you could call it early, but yeah. What about it?"
"Well, you know how I said I was going to leave early, too?"
He nods again.
"I went to a bar and had a few drinks."
"A few drinks, Josh, or two drinks?" Sam quips, knowing I hate being teased about my inability to stomach alcohol.
"Sam, you're supposed to be helping me here," I snap. He puts his hands up, palms facing me.
"Sorry. Please continue."
"That's better." I pause. "So I had a - so I got drunk," I amend, standing up. I need to pace. This is a story that can't be told sitting down.
Sam turns and watches me walk back and forth across my office. "Lemme guess. You got drunk and went over to Donna's."
I look over at him, startled. "How'd you know?"
"Josh, you do that a lot. And now that Bartlet," He stumbles, not wanting to say the words. "And especially now, I can see why you'd get drunk and go to Donna's for her to take care of you."
"Yeah. Except that's not what happened." Sam's look urges me to continue. "I woke up in her bed, Sam. In my boxers. And while I don't remember pretty much _anything_ from last night, I do remember a very serious kiss."
Sam's eyebrows are practically in his hair, and his mouth is opened wide enough to be getting a root canal. His stunned silence, however, only makes me more worried.
"Sam," I lament, running a hand nervously through my hair. Donna's going to be here any second, I have a meeting, and I desperately need Sam's advice.
"You slept with Donna?"
His tone catches me off guard. I don't know if it's awe or humor or disgust in his voice, but it's definitely not a good sign.
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"What'd she say?"
"How am I supposed to know?!?" I ask, flabbergasted. "I haven't seen her since I woke up!"
"Okay, okay. Calm down, Josh. I'm not the one you should be mad at, all right?" He leans forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees.
A few minutes of silence inch by in a painful, slothlike manner. Finally, I can't take it anymore.
"Sam, what are you thinking?"
He looks up, almost surprised that I'm standing in front of him. "I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?" I ask desperately.
"I don't know what to tell you. I'm not sure how to handle this yet. Give me a little time to digest it, all right? And try to talk to Donna when she gets here."
"Talk to Donna?" My voice squeaks. That is the most outrageous idea I've ever heard. Talk to Donna. Yeah, right. She probably won't listen anyway.
"Yeah, talk to her. Gently, you know. I know it's a new concept for you, Josh, but try to be subtle. Gauge her reaction to last night. Maybe it won't be that big a deal."
"Maybe it won't be that big a deal?" I repeat, half-wishing it were true.
"Stop by my office after your meeting. We'll cancel racquetball and come up with a game plan instead."
"That's it? That's all you have to say?"
He shrugs an apology and gets to his feet. "Congratulations?"
I scowl. "You're supposed to be my lifesaver, Sam."
He looks supremely sorry. "I'm sorry, Josh. This goes beyond my superpowers," He says with a sad smile before turning and leaving.
"Wait!" I call after him, coming to the doorway. "Where is Donna right now?"
"I don't know," He says with a shrug of his shoulders. "She said she'd be back after your meeting."
I glance at my watch. Ten oh three. I should go hunt down Toby and go over our notes for the meeting.
I avoid looking at Donna's desk as I leave my office and search for Toby, desperately hoping that the sense of impending doom will dwindle as the day wears on.
End part 2/6