Bright Lights, Quiet Hours and the Fear of Losing

by Elina

"Don't worry about it," she had said. (J/D)

Author: Elina

Title: Bright lights, quiet hours and the fear of losing

Pairing/Category: Josh/Donna, Angst

Rating: PG (Some cursing, nothing big.)

Summary: "Don't worry about it," she had said.

Feedback: Wouldn't kill you if you'd send me some...

Author's Notes: Why did I write this particular story? Pure and simple: I enjoy drama. (Plus I often think that one needs a good hit on the head, be it mental or physical, to make one realize what's really going on around him/her.) (/And yes I know the ending's kinda sobby, but this world needs sobby, its the course of human nature.) Thanks to my bro, who allowed me to use the computer once in a while. Maybe one day I'll let him read my stories. *smiles and winks*

Dedication:To George W. Bush. I hope I could hit him on the head with this one.

Present:

His hands squeezed the wheel, his knuckles all white. Impatiently he sounded the horn, though it didn't help in any way; the line in front of him still wouldn't move before the lights changed. Damn red lights.

It'd been nearly half an hour since he'd got the phone call. Thirty long minutes ticking and ticking away, and he still wasn't anywhere near where he wanted to be. He had been standing in a line half of the time, earlier it had been some minor traffic accident and now... Damn red lights.

He glanced at CJ sitting next to him. She was staring straight ahead with her lips in a thin line, her face white as a sheet. Her fingers were taping nervously on her knee. Probably as her, he had had too much time to think while waiting for the other cars to move. Too much time to consider the different options, possibilities of what might have happened. Too much horrid pictures going through his head... How can there be so much traffic at two am, for God's sake!

He sounded the horn again. Finally, the light changed, slowly, too slowly, it couldn't be more than seconds but it seemed like a lifetime, first into yellow and then into green. The line moved. Thank God.

Don't worry about it, she had said.

Earlier that night, Josh Lyman's office

"Josh, are you done now?"

Josh Lyman lifted his gaze to meet his assistant's. She was looking a bit, mildly said, impatient. "No, not quite. I just have this little thing to do. It won't take long."

"You said that an hour ago."

"I know I did, but this is just a little thing..."

"Does that mean that I can go?" she asked eagerly.

"No."

"Joshua!"

"I'm sorry, but I need you! I need you to get me the EPP-file and copy a couple of sheets from it."

"You know how to work the copy machine, do it yourself."

"If I do it myself it'll take even longer. Besides, you'd have to call the repairman in tomorrow."

"That's a lousy excuse."

"You don't want me to go breaking White House property, do you?"

She grunted slightly. "For once in four years, I'd really like to be home to watch the ten o'clock news. For once, Josh."

"And how exactly are you going to get home? Walking? You don't have your car, remember?"

She went silent, opening and shutting her mouth like a fish, and shifted from one foot to another and back again. "Well...I..."

He smirked at her, shaking his head. "I'll give you a lift. Just give me five minutes." She gave a desperate moan. "I promise, you'll get to watch your ten o'clock news." She threw her hands in the air and walked back to the bullpen, muttering something Josh couldn't quite hear to herself.

"Well, at least the weather," he added to her back.

Present

"Is Leo inside?"

"Probably."

"Did you call him?"

"No, he called me."

The front doors of the hospital swung open as they marched in into the cool embrace of the A&E's waiting room. Only a couple of persons were sitting on the chairs at this hour, neither of them even lifted their gazes as Josh Lyman and CJ Gregg swooped by them to the reception desk, only to find it empty.

"Where the hell is the staff?" he muttered angrily. Then he whirled around as he heard a familiar voice from the corridor behind him.

"Leo!" CJ yelped to the older man. Before he could reach them, they'd already run to his side. No words were said as he led them into a small private room in the end of the corridor.

The door banged shut behind them.

Earlier that night, the bullpen

She could feel his presence even before she saw him. With a tiny smile she turned around to meet him leaning casually against the doorframe. He had his backpack and his coat with him. Thank God.

"Does this mean that you're ready now?"

He gave her a wide Josh Lyman-grin with dimples. "No, but I have to get out of here sometime or I'll grow into that chair."

"That's my boy." She grabbed her coat from the arm of the chair and her purse from the desk, giving him a small smile, and was ready to go. Very naturally, his hand landed softly on the small of her back to guide her through the quiet West Wing to the elevators. Sometimes, she thought, this place is in its most beauty during the night when everything is silent and peaceful. With that thought, she didn't really mind staying late, even though it caused the lack of her social life, especially the lack of her dating life. And there was this little advance in the job that was standing right next to her... Even though he could be a pain most of the time.

But those thoughts are dangerous. No matter how good it sounds, it would be a disaster. She knew that.

They gave a small smile and a 'good-night' to Eric, one of the night watchmen they had both learned to know very well - during these past few weeks especially - , in the lobby as they walked past him and entered the chilly night air. November was persuading its coming everyday more and more as the weather got colder and colder. She pulled her gloves on and wrapped the coat tighter around herself. His hand was still guiding her as they walked through the quiet yard, and now it wrapped around her shoulders, warming her both inside and outside. They didn't have to say anything, the silence was comfortable.

Five minutes later they were in his car heading towards her place. The bright lights from the street lamps blinded her vision from time to time as they drove slowly through the city. She'd never imagined herself living in this place when she was growing up, she'd always imagined herself living in some bigger place though, but DC was different, not to mention working in the White House. Her thoughts drifted off to memories, she didn't know why; maybe it was the atmosphere, the dreamy sensation that had filled the city, or the lack of sleep she had suffered from lately (she really wished she could get a good night's sleep tonight without having to dream about polling numbers and laws and EPP-files). She remembered her schoolyard and the conversations with her friends when she was about eight, how they talked about becoming a nurse or a lawyer or a police. She remember this one boy who had told them that he wanted to be a truck driver, and remembered how they all had laughed at him. She felt sorry about it now when she remembered how hurt he had looked. Who wouldn't if you tell them their dreams are stupid? She also remembered talking to him few years later and what he told her. He'd told her to hang on to what ever it was that she dreamed about, because when you stop dreaming there's nothing left living for. That day she'd thought that he's so wise, but also found him weird in her mind, and frighteningly serious. Soon after that his family had moved away and she'd never heard from him again. Now when she thought about him, she missed him. Now she thought back and realized that he had been absolutely right. Maybe his words had been haunting her since that day, maybe those words were the reason why she ever had the courage to drive all the way across the country to answer Josh Lyman's phones. Maybe she should find out where he lives now...

She awoke from her thoughts as the car pulled up in front of her apartment building. She hadn't realized the time had gone by so fast. Still in her thoughts, she opened the door and started walking towards the door, not even remembering to say 'good-night', just to notice that he had gotten out of the car too and followed her. "What, are you giving me the cold shoulder?" she heard him remarking with a teasingly rebuking voice. She turned around to see his tender wide smile. "Did you go to the other side of the galaxy, Donnatella?"

She couldn't help but to smile back at him. "You don't have to walk me to the door, you know," she shot back at him, as teasingly as his remark had been, though knowing what would come next. And she was absolutely right.

"This neighborhood sucks."

Here we go again. "Well, I think it has character."

"Things happen around here."

"Things happen around everywhere."

"Donna..."

She rolled her eyes. They had had this conversation countless times before, so many times she almost knew the lines by heart. "Josh, don't worry about it. This is a good place. Anyway, as good as I can get, you know I am a -"

"- Girl of a budget," he finished with a small grin.

"Yes, indeed I am." She took a pause and just looked at him with a glitter of appreciation and laughter in her eyes. She reached out her hand to squeeze his briefly and whispered: "Josh, it's like up the stairs and four feet to my apartment. I'll be fine, just go home. Don't worry about it."

He watched her turn away and unlock the door. As she opened the door she gave one last look back at him. "I'll call you in the morning. Good night, Josh."

Her smile made him feel warm inside. This is what he missed, warmth. This is what he missed during the night and when she wasn't around, all the time.

Slowly he walked back to his car, extending the moment in the cool, silent night. He looked up, though knowing he couldn't see her window from here. He wondered what was it that she had been thinking about so... deeply. He had watched her in the car, glanced at her from the side of his eye from time to time. He'd always thought that she looked cute when she was concentrating, with the way her brow knitted.

Four blocks from her apartment he noticed that her gloves were still on the dash. He considered turning around; it could be a perfect excuse for him to just... No, that's stupid. He let them be. There's always tomorrow.

Present

The man next to him was sniffing and sneezing. Five sniffs and two sneezes. Once in a while he dug a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. Then he stuffed it back into his pocket and straightened his tie.

Josh watched him do this over and over again. Five sniffs. Two sneezes. A blow. The tie. Every time, all over again. And he had watched him do this for half an hour now. All over again. Five sniffs, two sneezes, a blow and the tie. There was no one else in the lobby at the moment, just the two of them. Now and then a nurse or two passed by. Earlier a couple of emergency patients had gone through. Otherwise it was silent and calm. Cold. He pulled his jacket tighter around him.

He couldn't stay at the private room. The silence, even though present in the waiting area too, had been suffocating, exhausting. He had to get some air. So he walked around the hospital, didn't dare to, didn't have the courage, to go to the treating areas, though. He stepped outside for a moment, captured the freezing cold wind of the night in his lungs, and then settled himself on a chair in the lobby. Then he'd just waited. Nothing yet.

He'll keep waiting. He can wait all night. Or more.

The main-door swung open and his head jumped up. A young woman with a small baby entered the room, glancing around as if desperate to find something, her face full of worry and fear. Then the baby started crying. Her face melted into a tiny smile as she lulled him. Or her. " 's OK Peter - shhh - 'addy's right - re -" he could hardly hear her muttering under her breath, the words cutting off. It was 'him', he came to the conclusion. She rocked the baby slightly, humming silently, until he eventually stopped crying. The entire time she kept glancing around for something. When she saw a nurse walking further away she run to him. Josh couldn't hear the words that were said, but she recognized the tone. It was the same kind of a tone that he had had when Leo explained to him in the private room what had happened. Scared, panicked even. And he watched her face turn into the same kind of disappointment and frustration as the nurse just pointed for her to go sit in the lobby. She walked, stumbled more like, to the chairs and crashed herself next to Josh. For the entire time, she never stopped rocking the baby. He could see she was swallowing tears. For some time they sat there, side to side, and he just watched her compulsive rocking movement and the happily unknowing face of the child.

He broke the silence. "Your husband?"

Her head turned to him, her eyes round in surprise. "What?"

"Is your husband in there?" he repeated with a little nod towards the treating areas. He added, desperate for something to cut the silence: "I heard you talking to your baby."

First she didn't say anything, just stared at him, not sure about how she should react to this strange man. Apparently, though, she must've decided that he wasn't a madman, because, with a tiny shivering voice, she replied: "Yes. Umm... He and his friend, they... Umm, they had a car accident." He nodded.

"I think I saw them being brought in."

She seemed to grow ten inches. "You did?" she whispered. "What... umm... Did they look all right?" Josh knew that look; it was a look that said she'd do anything for good news. It's a pity that he wasn't the right person to give them.

"I don't know," he said honestly, and her face hardened back to fear. "It was so brief."

"Oh."

They sat there silent, both of them deep in their own thoughts, before she asked what he had feared that she would, he had known when he'd first opened his mouth that the conversation would eventually lead up to it: "Who are you waiting for?"

"My assistant. Friend," he replied with a slight hesitation when he didn't know how to refer to her. He wasn't sure what... He wasn't sure if there could be a right word for what they were to each other.

"What happened to her?" He turned his face towards hers, then to the ceiling, letting all the air slowly escape from his lungs.

Don't worry about it, she had said.

Earlier that night

She grinned to herself as the main door to her apartment building banged shut. That wasn't the first of those conversations and it sure won't be the last, she thought as she whirled the key around in the lock of her mailbox. Nothing but junk mail. Oh, and one bill. Jeez, great. Just what she was hoping for.

The hallway echoed its emptiness, voices bouncing of the walls, as she crossed it to the stairs. The sound of her heels left behind. It had been a long day for her, a long day indeed. But, even though how merciless and tyrannizing her boss sometimes, OK, usually was about her work hours, at least he got the decency of worrying that she got home all right. Actually, she found his worrying kinda sweet. She knows how much he dislikes her living here. Funny though, (hilarious, right?) he still wouldn't pay her more. But she likes the place. The neighbors are nice, the apartment is nice, she likes living there, it's decent. She has no reason to complain.

Her hand reached the handrail of the stairs and she started climbing while reading her mail. Well, the only one she had left; she had left the junkmail into the box since she couldn't be bothered to drag its dead weight up, not even though they weighted practically zero. Anyway, it was the repair bill for her car. She browsed it through. New tires, carburetor, some thing she couldn't even pronounce, the brakes, blah blah blah. Piece of junk... "945 dollars?!" Her mouth snapped slightly open. Shit. That's probably more than the car is worth! Cursing her luck she got to the landing, ready to throw something at something, just to notice that the corridor up ahead was completely dark; usually the light was on night and day. Somehow, from the nearly cheerful, easy and sweet atmosphere, the evening had turned out... less cheerful, easy and sweet in less than a second. Maybe Josh was partly right, she gave him that; this house definitely had some kind of bad karma. Or maybe it was just her crappy car. She flipped the light switch a couple of times. Nothing. This was the third time this month. Don't they know where to get lamps that actually work? She sighed. OK, so she found a reason to complain.

She stumbled up the rest of the stairs to the corridor, too tired to even lift her feet properly. The long day had worn almost all the energy out off her, leaving her legs feeling like two blocks of wood. In the dark the heel of her right shoe slipped on the edge of a stair and she hardly managed to keep herself standing as her foot slid a couple of steps down. "Shit..." With effort she pulled herself straight up again. "Bloody lamp..."she muttered under her breath. All she would need is a twisted ankle right now. She lifted up her purse that had fallen to the floor. Gloves... Where did she put the gloves? Did she drop them somewhere? They were good gloves; she wouldn't like loosing them. But there was no use to search for them in the dark. She tried feeling the ground but they weren't there. She'd get a flashlight from the kitchen drawer and come back again, she decided.

Her hand dived into the purse and searched blindly through it, feeling the artifacts in it looking for a shape of a key. She only found round shapes, pens and lipsticks and more pens. No keys. In front of her door she brought the purse in front of her to search more thoroughly.

Somewhere from deep in the darkness she heard a loud click.

Her head turned to meet the black barrel of a pistol just before the shot rang out.

Present

A green line kept flashing across the monitor in steady rhythm, followed by a pulse of sound.

She looked so peaceful.

"CJ?"

She whirled around to meet Leo. It had been a long, wearing night, and it showed on his face. She wondered if she looked the same. Probably worse since she had been crying. He stopped behind her and looked over her shoulder through the window to the room. He felt her shivering with every breath she took.

"Is he OK?" Leo nodded his head towards a dark figure of a man sitting in the room next to her bed.

"No," she barked with laughter, though she didn't sound humored. "He gave her a lift to her apartment tonight."

She heard him taking a deep breath behind her. She knew exactly what he was thinking; she shared his thoughts. "This is like a nightmare all over again."

"I know." Neither of them spoke a word for awhile. "Have you called Mr. President?" Her voice was silent, almost melting into the background, and Leo had to strain his ears to hear her.

"Yes, but the Secret Service refused to take a trip to the hospital in the middle of the night. Something about minimum security."

"What about the others?"

"I thought it wouldn't be wise to wake up the entire West Wing. The hospital staff probably wouldn't like us crowding the corridors."

She nodded. Yes, he's right. It would be wiser to let things calm down a bit first, she'll tell everybody when she'll get to the office. Anyway, if the entire Senior Staff came marching in, somebody ought to be alarmed, probably somebody from the press, and she wouldn't like her family hearing about this from the morning news.

Somewhere down the corridor a phone kept on ringing. It was a disturbing noise. Shouldn't there be somebody in the reception answering the phones and, well, receptioning? During these hours they had spent there, she hadn't seen a single person, a nurse or anyone, anywhere near the reception. Don't these people know how to do their work? The phone kept on ringing and ringing, and just when she was ready to run it over with a car it stopped. Then it occurred to her: What if it was an accident, someone like Donna, and now, because nobody had answered the phone, that somebody is bleeding to death somewhere? She shook that thought out of her head. Stupid woman, they don't call the hospitals if there's an accident, they call the 911.

Josh hadn't moved for half an hour. It had been an hour since Donna got out of the surgery; the bullet had gone straight through, only harming her right lung and causing this air pocket-thing into her chest - she had forgotten the name the doctor had used about it. Her blood loss had been great though, and she was still critical, but the doctors said it was going to get better. Though, the doctors have been wrong before, so she was still prepared to take what ever was coming. She hadn't opened her eyes yet, and that isn't a good sign, is it? Earlier, when Josh had first got the permission to go and see her, he hadn't been able to sit down, he had been walking all over the room like a nervous animal. She had watched him from the side of her bed and finally told him to sit down. He had. He had sit down next to Donna and took her hand. He had been there fifteen minutes later, still holding her hand, when she had gone out of the room to get some coffee, and he had still been there when she had come back. This time she hadn't gone in, instead she'd just stood outside the room, looking in from this small window. She hadn't known where Leo had gone, she hadn't know whether the President was coming or not, she hadn't known if anyone was informed, she hadn't known if they had caught the guy, she hadn't known anything. She had just stood there, holding this hot paper cup full of coffee in her hands, warming herself with it, feeling it getting cold, until Leo had shown up.

Now she held out her hand to grab his, and he took hers with both of his and held it tight. Like that they stood for some time that could've been anything from two seconds to ten minutes before she sighed and pulled out. The morning had come. The sun was rising. Seven a.m. Time to break the news, first to the West Wing and then to the press.

Sometimes she just hated being the Press Secretary.

Present, the West Wing

Jed Bartlet wandered through the empty corridors of the West Wing, thinking, weighting his thoughts in his head, ditching the less important ones and picking up the more significant ones. He thought about last night, he thought about the phone conversation he had had with Leo earlier. He thought about Rosslyn, about his staff, about Josh Lyman, about himself. He thought about Mrs. Landingham and his MS, he thought about everything that had been going on in the past few years. He thought about stupid mistakes they had made, he thought about all the things they had succeeded in. He thought about 70% of the people. He thought about God, death, life, love and everything else, but most of all... Most of all he thought about Donna Moss.

A Secret Service guy tailed him everywhere he went. It annoyed him. They'd said that they couldn't get enough forces, enough security, to get him to the hospital in the middle of the night, but they sure got one guy left, always, no matter what, to follow him around like a little puppy. Besides, he looked like he'd just popped out of some Hollywood-cliche film with his dark suit and dark glasses and a wire earphone. So he humored himself with the thought that maybe if he turned enough corners and took enough curves, he might lose him. He knew it wouldn't happen though, but the thought satisfied him.

He wandered down the stairs, up the stairs and down again, left, right, right, left, left and just for fun left again. He didn't know how he got there, by chance probably, but when he stopped he found himself from a familiar corridor, from a familiar doorway. The bullpen in front of him was empty and the only sounds were the silent humming of the air-conditioners.

He imagined.

He imagined the bullpen filling with people, assistants, Ginger, Kathy and all the others. He imagined Donna Moss's desk empty amongst all of them. His thoughts drifted off back to the phone call, how he'd been ready to strangle the person who was calling him in the middle of the night. But who needs alarm clocks after a call like that? He thought about his Deputy Chief of Staff, concerned about what this might do to him, even though if Donna was all right, and about what kind of buttons it might push bringing all the bad memories and nightmares back to surface. He considered calling her parents, letting them know, maybe they'd consider it more... more than just some clerk from the hospital calling them. He thought about the morning, he'd want to go to see her. Somewhere between there and here, between all the thoughts, he'd walked to CJ's office and settled himself on the couch. When CJ finally showed up, he was still there, thinking.

"Um - Good morning, Mr. President," she stammered, surprised to find him there.

"And what a lovely morning it is," he replied with sarcasm, addressing his remark to the universe in general more like than to CJ. She didn't say anything, just landed her bag on the table and took a seat. For a moment they merely sat there studying each other's expressions. "Have you told the others yet?" he finally asked.

CJ shook her head slightly. "I'm waiting for Toby and Sam to show up."

"How is she?"

"She hasn't woken up. Leo and Josh are still there, I'll check in later for news."

Josh. Indeed. He thought about Rosslyn and the aftermath and how she barely left his side. He thought about this wise young woman called Donna Moss, caring, loving, powerful Donna Moss. He thought about her walking down the corridors, making points that no one else had notices, like the filibuster.

He got up and wandered back to the Oval Office. When he got there, he asked Charlie Young to find Donna's family's number. It was time to brake the news.

He wished that Mrs. Landingham was there.

A week ago, Josh Lyman's office

"Are you going to eat that?" Donna asked, pointing at something in front of Josh.

"Eat what?"

"That orange."

His brows rose. "That an orange? I thought it was a mandarin!"

She smiled. "Well, it's not. Can I have it?"

"Um..." They had ordered in some lunch, or rather she had ordered it for both of them, some salad and a couple of sandwiches. Apparently she thought it would be healthy for him since she liked looking after his diet so much. He didn't even know how that orange/mandarin - he wasn't even sure whether to believe her definition of species or not - had gotten there. "Eh, yeah, sure, go ahead." She reached over with an amused look on her face and picked it up.

What was it again what they were talking about? Index cards. Yes. They were sitting on the floor of his office, going through some files, memos and stuff. This had become a very familiar position for both of them since his table was clearly too small for the amounts of paper they had to deal with very often. He had thrown his jacket on the guest chair, she'd kicked of her shoes and tucked her feet under her; it was all very comfortable and casual. Josh stretched out his legs, tired and numb of sitting in one position for too long, leaning his back against the couch, watching her peeling the orange (OK, it is an orange) while forking his own salad. They had been there for hours, since Toby told him to work on numbers, very interesting (he thought that with slight sarcasm) numbers of government's health research funding. They (They as referring to those faceless people behind their nametags who never showed themselves but were always asking for more money. Sometimes Josh doubted that they even existed.) said that they needed more money to keep up the research, and Josh thought so too, but the question was only how much money do they need and how much money are they (this time referring to the government) willing to give them. But that wasn't the reason for index cards, though it should've had, so he didn't know why he bothered to work at all since he obviously couldn't get it done with all the things that suddenly were more important. What was it this time? Oh yes, a painting.

"Why do you need index cards to select a painting?"

She gave him one those are-you-a-complete-moron-eyebrows. "Backgrounds, my darling, backgrounds."

He liked her calling him that. 'My darling'. That sounded kinda nice, he grinned to himself, making her smile too. He liked her smile, it was... fresh. Yeah, that's the word. "Why should they matter? Can't you just pick a painting, you know, close your eyes and stick your finger at one?"

"Josh, they do have some kind of a meaning. I know you just see them as paintings, but they're not just paintings, they're paintings in the White House. They do send out some kind of a message."

"Some kind of?" he smirked.

"People see amazingly many things in such innocent objects like paintings."

"So we don't want people to start screaming when they see them like they did that one time, right?"

She chuckled. "Right."

He turned slightly more towards her so that he could look at her properly. He watched her trying to flip through her papers and pictures at the same time as she was eating the orange. It worked amazingly well. With her one hand she laid out the pictures of the painting candidates, one at a time, making a half circle out of them on the floor in front of her. Someone had shoved this assignment to her, as he understood it it had been Sam who managed to delegate it to her after being the former 'delegated to' himself, which involved paintings and a White House wall. Basically: she had to select a painting to hang on the wall. She liked doing these things, he didn't know if she enjoyed them as the meaning of her career, or she just wasn't aware that she could also delegate it forward to some trainee. Why does this building need another painting on the wall since it already has plenty was a question which Josh had no answer to. Probably some bloke thought it was appropriate somehow. He didn't know how he'd ended up having this conversation, though, since it really wasn't his problem. She studied the pictures in front of her for awhile, pouting cutely. Finally she picked out one picture and handed it to him. "What about this one? It was made by a Norwegian artist called... um... Jo... Jørgen Mettensson, how ever you say that." He took the picture and looked at it. It was a young, beautiful woman clothed with a red sheet, sitting in the woods and watching her reflection from a little pond. It was a good picture, well painted and... pretty.

"I don't know, Donna. Has the President seen it?"

"No." She let him look at it for a little while longer, and then remarked: "It's nice."

"Wouldn't we like something more than 'nice' on the White House walls. Something... ecstatic?" he said teasingly.

"The girl's beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he muttered under his breath, not aware, or didn't even care, whether she heard it or not.

She didn't say anything, just stared at him blushed. "Um... What about..." she stammered slightly and started flipping through the pictures, too hastily. "What about this one?" She wouldn't look at him. Obviously, she was trying to change the subject.

He let her. It wasn't the right time.

Present, the hospital

Josh had watched the sun rising from the window facing the bed. It had started as a little glow in the horizon, working its way through the sky, little sunbeams finally exploring the ground in a new dawn, carefully lurking through the blind, and at the end finally daring to fill the room with their light. Eventually the sun had risen so high the sunbeams had almost blinded him, so he'd risen up from his chair and closed the blind. It had been the first time for an hour or two when he'd moved from his seat. After he'd taken those couple of steps and pulled the string to shut the cracks in the blind, he'd simply taken a couple of steps back and crashed in the chair again. Goes for a morning exercise.

What had Leo said? Earlier when he'd stopped by in the room? He couldn't quite recall, but it was something about CJ. Oh, yes, she'd gone to the House to brake the news to everyone. He wouldn't want to be her.

There was also something else he had said. He'd said that the police had caught the guy. Well not as such, but they had a suspect. This guy had been using her credit card, obviously he wasn't a smart guy, and had been caught. He insists that he bought the card from someone on the street, couldn't tell the name, didn't know or didn't want to, or what he looked like. He'd said that he'd paid twenty dollars for it. That's how bloody much a life is worth: twenty bucks, a VISA and a membership-card for Bobby's Video and Entertainment.

If he'd ever get the hold of that guy...

It's funny how many feelings the human mind goes through in a situation like this, just to keep the empty void filled with something. Just to keep the feelings on takes a lot of energy and time, so your mind is too occupied to flip under the stress. That's the mind's way of dealing with it, he guessed. First there's the shock - it's actually the best part (if you can call it the best) of it all because it really keeps you occupied and you don't have to think about anything else because shock is justified - with a hint of disbelief. Occasionally that's when the denial kicks in, though its appearance depends on the person and the situation. Josh hadn't had time for that, so he'd skipped denial. When the shock has slightly worn off and the adrenaline has settled down on some rational levels, there's the fear of losing. It's the kind of feeling that makes you compulsively think of 'what ifs' and tomorrows and possibilities and things you could've said that wouldn't be unsaid if you'd just had the time to say them and... things like that. Compulsively. Then there's the utter numbness. It's the worst, because you're not understanding or accepting, you're just feeling... nothing. It's like staring at a white concrete wall and thinking would it look better in a different shade of white.

He didn't know anymore what state he was in; he'd lost the count hours ago. Maybe there was a fifth state that came after all the others and he just didn't know about it because he hadn't experienced it yet, or maybe he was in it and didn't just acknowledge it.

He wouldn't have ever wanted her to go through this.

Times like these he really wondered whether God ever existed or was he just a bitchy, old, white bearded man sitting on a cloud and watching his own real time soap opera where he held all the strings. He'd wondered the same thing during the aftermath of Rosslyn, not because of himself but because of those times he'd heard Donna crying in the other room when she didn't know that he was listening. She hadn't deserved that and she certainly didn't deserve this.

He didn't know when he'd realized it. Had it been the hours spent in the office, bantering, joking, or just sitting silent and working, or the times when they'd sat together in some nearby café 'wigs off'? He didn't know, but the point is that he had realized, some day just looked at her and realized, that she was the most important thing in his life. And he couldn't imagine her not being there.

Boys don't cry, that's what his uncle had told him, and he guessed that he was still obeying that rule subconsciously, even when he thought that it would make him feel so much better.

Something startled him from his thoughts, making his heart jump. At first he thought he'd imagined it, this tiny, hardly hearable moan. But when he turned his gaze down to her, he met her eyes open wide looking straight at him.

It felt like he'd been holding his breath for the last five or so hours.

"Hi there."

"Hi," she whispered, her voice sleepy and dry. He wasn't sure whether to smile or burst into tears, although he managed to form some kind of a smiling-expression. "Josh?"

"Uhu?"

"You're breaking my hand," she chuckled quietly. He glanced down and noticed that he was squeezing her hand as hard as humanly possible. Quickly he released it from agony, still not letting it completely go though, and apologized. She gave him a small, heart-warming yet dozed smile and closed her eyes again. He thought that she'd drifted off to sleep again but instead she muttered under her breath so that Josh almost missed her words: "I had nice dreams, you know."

He leant closer, ready to suck every word she breathed into his memory, feeling a hard lump forming into his throat as he whispered: "Really? What were they about?"

"Penguins."

He barked with laughter. "Penguins?" He tried hard to keep himself and his voice from shaking. She muttered some kind of a 'yes' and something more he couldn't quite understand.

"Donna?" he finally whispered after minutes of silence. She made a noise. "Don't ever do anything like that to me again, OK?"

"Ditto," she murmured. A little relieved smile rose to his face as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, unaware of the wet streak that a tear had left on his cheek.

"Donna?" he whispered again, leaning closer to her, brushing her temple briefly with his lips before laying his head next to hers on the pillow. With a low, raspy voice he said to her ear: "I love you more than anything, Donnatella. I just wanted you to know that."

Then there was the most beautiful word he'd ever heard: "Ditto."