Disclaimer: Second verse, same as the first.

Author's Notes: Holy. Crap. After what seems like four hundred and eighty three years, I have finally finished the ninth chapter of this beast. Computer issues, moving and the Ultimate Writer's Block of Doom all conspired to delay this chapter for obscene amounts of time. For this, you have my sincerest apologies. Anyway, this chapter is not the last no matter how much it may seem like it is. One more to go, though hopefully that one won't take a decade to get written. When you read this part, however, see if you can guess which scene gave me the most issues. I tell you, I almost had the mother of all brain aneurysms writing that scene. But I survived and here it is. I'm sort of proud of this chapter, so I hope you like it too.

This is it. This really is it. I'm not going to have to enlist the help of the other staffers to kill Josh. I'm going to do it myself. With my bare hands if necessary. It will be painful and it will be drawn out and it will be satisfying. It may involve musical accompaniment and a severe bludgeoning with the heel of my pump but I will kill him.

I slam a stack of files onto Josh's desk with so much force the mug that he uses as a pencil holder topples over, sending it's contents rolling around the office floor. Josh has had the extremely good fortune of being tied up in a meeting on the Hill for the better part of the evening. Not seeing him for hours hasn't done much to diminish my murderous impulses, but it has bought him some time.

Perhaps I can still be convinced to let him live.

It will probably take flowers, chocolates, a raise and possibly an all expenses paid trip to Bermuda but it could happen.

I am either extremely tolerant or a spineless doormat, but usually I take all manner of crap from Josh without complaint. Now is not one of those times. Josh can tell me that I have horrible taste in men. He can mock me and point out my self-esteem issues, but he can not, will not imply that I don't care about him.

I care so much it hurts.

I care so much is makes me physically ill to think of anything happening to him.

Why the Hell do you think we're having this problem?

I mean really. Who needs presidential health scandals, shootings, car bombs, and employees who accidentally sleep with call girls when you've got Josh and me? We've got all the drama an administration needs right here. Eighth freaking wonder of the world we are.

I get down on my hands and knees to retrieve the wayward writing utensils all the while inventing some very creative new curse words. I have a goal to get out of the building before Josh gets back. I've finished everything for the day and I want to go home and wash all the bad Josh-induced karma off of me. I am thinking red wine, dark chocolate, push pins and some little Josh-shaped voodoo dolls.

With a sigh, I pull myself into a crouch and rock back on my heels. I quickly discover that this is not a particularly clever thing for someone getting over a smashed up thighbone to do. With a grunt of pain, I fall sideways onto my left hip and drop all the pens I've just spent the last five minutes trying to collect.

I make a noise that sounds like a cat being beaten with a blunt object and for a moment wish fervently that I could just curl up fetally in a corner somewhere until I'm carted off to a nice padded room where Josh will never bother me again.

"Stupid pens," I mutter through clenched teeth, "Stupid leg, Stupid Josh."

Still sitting on the ground in the middle of the office floor, I bury my face in my hands. Who am I trying to kid? I'm just as worried about the stupid bloody idiot as I have been for two weeks. Yes, he is an insensitive, tactless, hasn't-mastered-the-concept-of-thinking-before-he-talks jackass but I'm still worried about him.

No, I don't know why either.

I must be too busy trying to figure out the answer to that little conundrum to bother getting up off the ground because at that moment the door to the office opens and Josh walks in. He looks at me, sitting, as I am, on the floor with my legs tucked up to my chest and my head on my knees.

"What the Hell?"

I peer at him out of the corner of one eye, and say nothing out of fear that I'll either burst into tears or throw my shoe at him.

Josh frowns, his forehead creasing in concern. "Donna, what – Are you okay? Did you fall?"

"No." I say, the word coming out more clipped and icy than I really mean it to. "I knocked your mug over," I wave in the general direction of the desk, "and had to pick up the mess."

Josh raises one eyebrow, "And you thought you'd stay down there?"

I glare at him and he flinches visibly. I may be worried about him, but I remain extremely pissed off. The urge to kill things hasn't quite passed. Josh must sense this because he backs up a step and looks uncomfortable. Gathering up the pens and pencils that are within reach, I start to get up. It isn't an easy task as my right leg has decided that it is going to take this moment to cease functioning like a leg and just cause me pain.

Josh immediately drops his backpack and comes towards me, "Here, Donna, let me help..."

"I'm fine." I snap. He flinches away again and I almost start crying out of sheer helplessness. This was never supposed to happen. The day was not supposed to end with me on the floor and Josh afraid to come near me. Somewhere along the line, my plan to help my friend has gone horribly awry and I don't know where to go from here.

With a valiant effort, I drag myself to my feet, teetering unsteadily on one leg. I replace the spilled items and brush off my hands.

"If it hurts you that much," Josh says quietly, "why don't you use your crutches?"

I look at him but don't answer.

Josh sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "Look Don..."

"Josh." I say warningly. I don't want to get into this right now. I don't want to hear his apologies; I don't want to see the guilt in his eyes. Part of me is furious and part of me wants to throw my arms around him and say that everything will all right and I can't deal with that mess of emotions right now.

Unfortunately for me Josh, while undoubtedly brilliant in some ways, is chronically stupid in others and thus, doesn't pick up on my tone of voice. "Donna, please." He says. "Please listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like..."

"No, Josh, no." I say. There is a tremulous edge to my voice, like water threatening to spill over the edge of a glass, "Don't apologize to me right now. Maybe tomorrow I'll be ready to forgive you, but not now."

Josh looks so sincerely distraught that I almost forgive him anyway, "I know, Donna, I..."

"You don't know," I interrupt, "You have no idea. That was the worst possible thing you could have said to me. The worst." Josh ducks his head presses the back of his hand to his mouth, a silent agreement. "I understand that you're in pain Josh." I continue, hating the fact that there are tears needling at the edges of my vision when I'm trying so hard to keep from falling apart. "I do. But that gives you no right to take it out on me."

For the first time that I can remember, Josh seems unable to look me in the eye. "You're right." He says, gaze fixed on some imaginary point of interest at the level of my left knee. "I know that, but..."

"No buts Josh!" I practically wail, hooking my fingers into my hair. "How dare you even imply that I don't care?" Josh's eyes snap to my face and he gives me a wide-eyed stare that makes him look like a rabbit that just leaped into the path of oncoming traffic. I force myself to ignore it because it's long past time that Josh heard this. "These last two weeks have been hell Josh, not just for you. I have no appetite, no energy, I've barely slept..."

That uncharacteristic timidity dissolves from Josh's face, replaced by a very characteristic look of haughty incredulity, "Yeah, and let me point out that no one asked you to play vigilante assistant." He snaps.

The urge to cry is gone now, pushed away by utter disbelief that someone so smart could be so Goddamn stupid sometimes. "No one..." I start to repeat, practically gaping at him, "Of course no one asked me to you idiot!" I finally manage to spit out, "No one needed to! You're my friend Josh, of course I'm going to try and help you, what the Hell did you expect me to do?"

"I expected you to let me deal with it on my own." Josh growls back at me, "I expected..."

I don't let him finish. Instead, I just explode. "But you weren't dealing with it!" I'm actually yelling, and they can probably here me in Maryland but I don't care. "You were letting this thing eat you alive and damned if I was going to stand by and watch it happen, damned if I was going to let you kill yourself, intentionally or otherwise! If something happened to you I don't know what I'd do!"

"So you thought you'd make it better but leaving me with the knowledge that you could collapse and die from exhaustion at any moment and it'd be because of me?" We're screaming at each other now, our faces inches apart, each of us wearing identical expressions of helpless fury. "Is that what you thought?"

I roll my eyes and turn my back on him, bringing both hands up to massage my temples before spinning back on myself with such force that Josh has to jump back to avoid a collision. "Of course that isn't what I thought!" I say, the volume of my voice surprising even me. "Dammit Josh, I'm trying to help you. If you'd just talk to me..."

"Don't you get it?" Josh roars, "Do you need me to explain in to you? Everyone I love dies. I hurt everyone." It's his turn to whirl away from me, though he walks half the length of the room before turning back. The look on his face is so etched with grief and anger and hurt that it's almost frightening in its intensity. "It's like some unspoken law of nature that people close to me will eventually end up dead." He starts to list off the body count, ticking off each person on his fingers, "My mother, my father, Donna, Joanie..."

Wait.

Whatever angry come back I had formed dies on my lips and my arms fall limply to my sides. "Whoa, Josh, whoa. What?"

Josh doesn't seem to know what the problem is. "What?" he says looking nonplussed.

I stare at him, unsure of what, exactly, just happened, "You said my name." I say. My body seems to have ceased functioning. I can't even blink.

Josh's eyes widen a fraction of an inch and he looks alarmed, "No...no I didn't." He says.

I nod slowly, "Yes, you did Josh." I swallow hard and play his words back at him; " You said your mom, dad, Donna, Joanie."

Now Josh is staring unblinkingly at me. He opens his mouth, shuts it, then tries again, "Yeah, that was... I didn't..."

"Josh." I say, stopping him. My heart is pounding so hard I think it might actually burst out of my chest. It seems ridiculous for me to say what I'm about to say, but I do it anyway. "I'm not... I didn't die."

The look on Josh's face is such an incredible mixture of emotions; I'm not sure how he can possibly be feeling them all without exploding. I can tell that he has absolutely no idea what to do and for a long moment we just look at each other. Finally he picks his backpack off the ground and says, "I have to go."

"No, Josh, wait..." But I'm too slow to stop him.

He's gone.

I lean heavily against the desk, covering my mouth with one hand and hugging myself with the other. "Oh my God." I say. My voice echoes in the empty room.

I end up doing the only thing I can do. I go home. My apartment seems too small, too cramped and I pace the room like a caged animal. Eventually I have to stop because I have a headache and my leg and lower back are throbbing and I think I may actually be wearing a trench in my carpet.

I sink onto the couch and hug my knees. I keep staring at the phone, thinking I should pick it up, thinking I should call Josh and make sure he got home okay. I'm half out of my mind with worry. Up until tonight I thought we were only dealing with one accident, one death. I thought the only problem was Josh losing his mother. As usual I have underestimated Josh's ability to brood over multiple things at once.

I just had no idea that one of those things was me.

I reach out one hand and almost grab the phone before pulling my arm back in to my body. It isn't enough, talking on the phone. I need to be able to see Josh and I need him to see me. I need him to look at me and talk to me and for once, just once, I need him to tell me everything he feels, everything that hurts and maybe then we can start to make this right again.

Before I've even fully decided to go over to Josh's place and see him, someone knocks on the door. I almost fall off of the couch in my haste to answer it because I instinctively know who it's going to be.

Josh is standing in the hall. His face is the colour of ash, his jaw is clenched and his eyes are haunted. I say nothing, just stand to one side and let him in. He brushes by without really looking at me and walks to the other side of the room. Chewing my lower lip, I close the door behind him.

There are so many things I want to say at that moment but it feels like all those words are tripping over themselves trying to get out of my mouth, tangling in my throat, making speech impossible. So, continuing today's trend, we say nothing.

Josh has his back to me. It takes me a second or two to work up the nerve to approach him. I stop a few feet away, not because I want to but because I've just noticed how his shoulders are shaking. Alarmed, I realize that it's not just his shoulders but his entire body trembling as though someone is running a mild electric current through it. One more sweep of the eyes takes in the way his hands keep clenching and unclenching, digging his nails into his palms then relaxing.

Finally, finally, I manage to unlock my vocal cords long enough to say his name, "Josh?" My voice seems to waver in the air like a discordant note from a violin, ricocheting through the silence.

The muscles in the back of Josh's neck tense and I can see how hard he's trying to keep it together and I can sense that his typical Josh flight instinct has kicked in and I'm about ten seconds away from losing this chance. I know that the only thing keeping him from bolting is the fact that I'm between him and the door and he doesn't want to turn around and let me see his face.

"Josh," I say again, my hands twisting together in a pattern of sheer desperation, "Josh, please talk to me." The sob that has been lying dormant in the back of my throat for the past three weeks finally breaks free and boils to the surface. "Please let me help you."

Slowly, very slowly, Josh turns around. There are tears on his face and I realize that I have never seen him cry before. He looks at me as though he's just realized that I'm there and the bleak, hopeless despair in his eyes makes me feel as though someone is twisting a knife in the center of my chest.

"Donna?" Josh says, his voice half-pleading and half-frightened.

Suddenly, it's as though some invisible restraint holding us shatters and I'm able to move. I clear the space between us in two steps and manage to get my arms around him just as his legs give way and we sink to the ground.

Tears are streaming down my face as I pull him into my arms. Josh finally gives in to the anguish that's been threatening to overwhelm him and buries his face in my shoulder, his entire body shaking with grief. I hold him tighter, fiercely, understanding that this is like drawing poison from a wound. I'd give anything to take his pain away and I rage silently at the world for putting Josh through this, for making this wonderful, vibrant soul, this man that I love, suffer the way he has again and again.

"I'm here Josh," I whisper, putting the full force of what I feel for him behind the words, "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

By two in the morning, both of us are sitting on my couch, silence once again settling in like a blanket. We're seated side by side, each of us leaning on the other so that is impossible to tell who's supporting whom. I can't remember the last time I felt so deeply exhausted and I can feel my eyelids drooping when Josh speaks.

"Don?" It's the first words either of us have spoken in the last half an hour and the sound makes me jump. Josh pretends not to notice. "I – I'm sorry, I really am."

Now it's his turn to jump as I push myself off of his shoulder and glare at him in disbelief, "Don't apologize Josh!" I exclaim, "Don't you dare apologize for acting like a normal human being in pain. God Josh, the amount of crap you've had to deal within your life, I'm astounded that that you aren't a raving lunatic." I stop and give him a tiny wondering smile. "I can't think of anyone stronger than you. So don't apologize if every so often you need a little help keeping it together."

Silence follows this little speech. Josh stares at me, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, the first thing even remotely resembling a smile that I've seen in days. "Okay." Josh says, raising one eyebrow, "But I was actually apologizing for being such a complete jackass the last little while."

"Oh." I say, feeling mildly embarrassed. "Well. You can apologize for that."

Josh smirks at me again and we lapse back into silence. I'd really like nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for the next five years, but there's one more thing I have to get off my mind first.

Taking a deep breath, I say, "What did you mean back at the office when you were talking about people you'd lost? Why did you say my name?"

Josh sighs and shifts away from me a little as he contemplates his answer. Looking at his hands he says, "Ever since Mom died I've had this feeling, like it was all a dream and any second I could wake up and she'd still be alive." Josh stops and rubs the back of one hand across his eyes. It's a few seconds before he continues, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "With you it was the opposite. Everyone was saying that you were going to all right, that you'd be fine. But for at least a month I had this horrible conviction that one morning I'd wake up and find that you were dead."

I'm a little floored by this revelation and I duck my head thoughtfully, trying to work out the new knowledge. "You never told me." I say, softly.

Josh shrugs this comment away and twists around to face me. "I sent you on that trip Donna." He says with a slight shake of the head. "I sent you because I was afraid that you'd leave if I didn't do something." I tilt my head at him and frown. Josh shrugs again, "And then I almost lost you anyway."

"Josh." I say, putting one hand on top of his, "It wasn't your fault."

Josh gives a tiny smile. "Yeah." He looks at me a moment and I drop my eyes to my hands. Josh leans against the armrest and continues, "Anyway, the point is, I've been having these nightmares. About my mother, about you. I guess it got to me." He flashes me a sardonic half-grin and says; "After all, it doesn't really fit with my pattern of luck to have someone I care about, you know, survive."

I raise one eyebrow and grin, "Yeah well, I've been told that I can be freakishly stubborn when I want to."

Josh just stares at me for a minute and then, without warning, he starts to laugh. Not the hollow, fake chuckle that's been predominant the last couple weeks, but real honest laughter. There are tears in my eyes again but I smile even broader because I know we're going to be all right.