Disclaimer: See previous

Author's Notes: And the extreme angst goes marching on! Trust me, it only gets worse from here which I know, for some of you, is very disturbing thought. I feel that it is now my duty to apologize for the long gaps between updates. I'm psycho busy right now and squeaking writing sessions in between shifts at work is hard. However, I will try very hard to get the next chapter up in the next week. I really, really will. Continued thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. Feedback is like oxygen. Or something. And, to JustDuck, whose review had me giggling through half of this chapter, don't worry. Josh knows better than to angst and drive.

I hit the stop button on my alarm clock with enough force to send it flying from my bedside table, still twittering like an overzealous songbird. It hits the ground with a crunch that causes the batteries to pop out and go skittering under my bed.

I let out a string of curses that would make my dear sweet grandmother do back flips in her grave and sit up and swat blindly at the lamp beside my bed. Finally succeeding in locating the pull chain that turns on the light, I blink groggily and attempt to extricate myself from the tangled mess of my bed sheets.

I suppose that, in the scheme of things, I didn't have a bad sleep. This is probably thanks to the three Gravol tablets I took before going to bed. Of course, if the state of my bedclothes is anything to go by, I didn't have what you'd call the most restful night in the world. I must have been dreaming. Luckily I can't remember what I was dreaming about.

Still stiff and sore from sleeping, I half hop, half fall to my closet where I drag out the first sweater and skirt that look like they might make a presentable outfit, than half hop, half fall to the bathroom to have a shower.

By the time I emerge, hair dried, make up applied, clothes on, I look and feel considerably more human. Crutches tucked securely under each arm, I hobble my way to the kitchen to force feed myself. It is only after mechanically consuming an English muffin and orange juice that I realize I was actually hungry.

I decide that today is going to be a good day. I am going to be cheerful. I am going to act like things are completely back to normal and I am going to snap Josh out of his funk if it's the last thing I do.

I get to work early as always. Charlie, one of the few people who regularly beat me here, is passing through the metal detectors ahead of me.

"Hey Donna," Charlie says as I step through the security devices, "How're you doing?"

"I'm doing okay Charlie," I say, surprised at the buoyancy in my voice, "Thanks."

"That's good. You didn't look so great yesterday."

I shrug, "It's been a long week. But I slept well last night."

We part ways and I head for Josh's bullpen, consciously reducing my limp as I approach my desk. There is no sign of Josh. I wonder how long he hung around after I left last night. I hope he got a decent sleep.

Humming tunelessly to myself, I gather up the files that Josh will need for today's meetings and head for Josh's office. Awkwardly adjusting the pile in my arms, I turn the knob and bump open the door with my hip. The office is dark and filled with the warm, comfortable scent of photocopy paper and Josh's cologne. Using one elbow, I flick on the light switch.

"Oh hell, what time is it?"

I'm so startled I actually scream and send paper and folders flying in all directions, "Josh?!?" I squawk, "What the Hell?"

Josh rubs his face with both hands and peers blearily at me from across the room. Yesterday I thought Josh looked about as bad as he could get. I was wrong. The person sitting behind the desk is hardly recognizable as my boss. That tired, worn, utterly wasted husk of a human being cannot, cannot be Josh Lyman. For the first time in almost seven years I have absolutely no idea what to say to him. None.

Josh isn't doing much better in the speech department. We stare at each other. Finally, his mouth twitches into a ghastly imitation of his usually brilliant smile and he says, "Good morning Donna."

When my voice comes back it registers about four times higher than its normal octave, "Did you sleep here?" I demand.

Josh winces and rubs his temples, "Donna could you, y'know, maybe bring the volume..."

"Did you sleep here?" I repeat even louder.

"It's, uh... It's possible I may have fallen asleep at my desk, yes." Josh says, absently raking a hand through his already tousled hair.

"Oh my God." I say, more to myself than to him. I shouldn't have left him here last night. I should have personally dragged his ass into a cab and followed him home. I should have forced him into bed and sat on his couch all night to make sure he stayed there. I. Should. Not. Have. Left. Him.

"Donna, it's not a big deal," Josh is saying, "It's not like I haven't spent the night here before. Don't start a thing..."

Oh God, where have I heard that before?

"Josh," I begin but I don't finish the thought. There is no way to voice what is going through my head at that moment. He looks like he's dying. He looks like a strong enough wind could tear him apart and scatter him like dust. I suddenly have the terrible conviction that somehow, somehow I am going to lose him and I can't, I can't let that happen but Oh God, how do I help him?

"Donna?" Josh says coming out from behind the desk. The concern in his voice and face is obvious and I can't believe that he is worried about me, "You okay?"

Suddenly I can't bear to be in that room anymore, "You...you have senior staff in twenty minutes," I say trying hastily to organize the mess I made of the files, "and you're meeting with Senator Cameron after that... in the, uh... in the Mural Room."

Josh nods, "Yeah okay," He pauses, "Hey, are you sure you're alright? You look kind of... I dunno...not good."

I give such a vigorous nod that some of my hair comes lose from the clip holding it back. I swipe the wayward strands out of my eyes, "No, no, no, I'm... I'm fine," I stammer, "Senior Staff in twenty." I repeat, thrusting the files into his hands.

I leave the room at the pace just below a jog. I don't stop at my desk. I don't stop when CJ, who is has just arrived at her office, bids me good morning. I keep walking until I find an empty room that I think might actually be a broom closet, and duck inside.

I close my eyes and take a long, deep breath. "Get a grip," I say to myself through clenched teeth, "Get a bloody grip,"

There is a strange sort of slide show flashing behind my closed eyelids. Christmas lights and Josh yelling about sirens or bagpipes or both, Josh sitting at his desk re-bandaging a bleeding hand "Donna, it's not a big deal, I broke a glass, don't start a thing..."

Me at the hospital, waiting while a doctor digs splinters of glass out of my boss's hand.... "Leo, I think something's wrong with Josh,"

It seems like eons ago, but I remember it now as if it were yesterday. I had known then. I had known that something was horribly, horribly wrong and I'd still left him on his own. That time, he'd put his hand through a window. This time, what if this time...

"No," My own voice startles me, "not again." It won't happen again. I won't permit it.

I take another deep breath, hold it a moment, and let it out. Stepping back into the hallway, I smooth my skirt and head back in the direction of Josh's bullpen.

So much for having a good day.

Much, much later I am sitting at my desk doodling all over a pad of yellow Post-It notes. According to the clock on the wall to my right, it is three in the morning. I should probably be thinking of ways to explain to Josh how it is that I've managed to finish all of tomorrow's work when, technically, I'm supposed to be at home in bed right now.

Josh let me go at eleven. Obviously I did not leave.

This is what I am calling Project Keep Josh from Doing Something Stupid. It basically consists of me sitting here staring at Josh's closed office door until he A) Goes home or B) Falls asleep. There are some obvious flaws in my plan. First of all, when and if Josh ever leaves the building I will no longer be able to monitor him. However, I have a hunch that Josh isn't so keen on spending any length of time in his apartment so I'm not worried. Secondly, as I have not developed x-ray vision in the last twenty-four hours, I am unable to see through Josh's closed door to determine if he's fallen asleep yet.

I'll give him until four-thirty. If he's not sleeping by then I will be and that will solve the problem quite nicely.

I let my head fall to my desk with a thump. This is stupid. I know that. I know that sleep depriving myself to kinda/sorta keep tabs on my emotionally unstable boss is high on the list of idiotic things I've done in my life. And that's saying something.

But I have to do something.

I have to.

The quiet rasp of a doorknob being turned is the only thing that alerts me that Josh is on the move. Part of Project Keep Josh from Doing Something Stupid is ensuring that Josh doesn't find out what I'm doing. If he does, he will probably kill me with his stapler or, at the very least, have me deported to Burma. Thus, I dive ungracefully under my desk feeling about as stupid as I'm sure I look.

I am Donna Moss, agent of Stealth and Intrigue. Fear me.

Peeking out from my hiding place, I watch as Josh retreats down the hall. He's wearing his coat and has his backpack slung over one shoulder so I know he's heading home, not just going for a late night promenade. He walks very, very slowly with his shoulders stooped. It's like his very soul is weighing him down.

After I moment, I get to my feet, remove my own coat from where I stashed it in one of my desk drawers and call a cab. In my experience, driving and extreme sleep deprivation don't mix.

Tomorrow I will talk to Leo. Tomorrow I will talk to Leo and I will talk to CJ and Toby and everyone else who will listen and then I will sit at my desk until four in the morning because I am Josh's aide, and that's what I do. I help Josh.

But now, now I will go home to bed where my dreams will be haunted by my best friend's grief-clouded eyes and stricken face.