A/N: Back again, after not so long an absence. My life is too stressed out. I have volleyball, school, a job, and I have to take care of my mother who just got out of surgery. Yarr. I can officially not put anymore in my life. Yet other people try to put more crap in my life. It's annoying. But you guys keep me straight. You guys are my reason for living! (breaks down) Well...perhaps not, but you do give me something to look forward to when I hook up the computer!

Disclaimer: If I owned this perhaps I would be rich and more able to pay for my college education. Perhaps I should beg NBC to let me own the rights for this so that I won't be poor anymore.

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Donna Moss's POV

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I ran out of the apartment and directly into my car. I normally don't drive in Washington, but today was an exception. I put my key in the ignition and turned it. The car roared to a start and I sped out of the driveway. The tires squealed as I turned onto another road.

My brain was whirling. I could no longer think straight or do anything besides keep my foot pressed on the gas pedal. The President had been shot. He was in the hospital. I was of the mind that said that a gunshot was a death sentence. If you were shot, you would die from it. My world was rather simple.

I heard a siren behind me. I thought, Oh good. They're going to the hospital as well. I'll just pull over and let them go past me. I pulled my car over and was surprised when the wailing car pulled over behind me. It was then that I looked at the flashing lights and saw that they were blue. Ohhhhhhh....darn. A police car had just pulled me over.

The policeman came over to my car. I rolled my window down to face him. He looked sternly at me. "Ma'am, do you have any idea of how fast you were going?" he asked unsympathetically.

I smiled in hopes of melting his heart. "Fast?" I asked lamely. He was not won over.

"You were going approximately 86 miles an hour," he said harshly. I sank back into my seat. Oh damn. This was never going to be good. Going 86 miles an hour was going to be a definite slowdown to my getting to the hospital. Urgency shot over me once more and I tried to do anything to get out of the ticket and the incredible hassle.

"Please, officer, I can explain why I was going so fast," I begged. He looked doubtfully at me but did not make a move to stop me. "I work for the President of the United States," I said, hating that I was using this as an excuse, but whatever worked. "I was called to go to the hospital. I need to go there. Please officer, let me go." I waited for his reaction.

"Yeah right miss," he said sarcastically. He looked at my driver's license. "Donnatella Moss?" he asked. I wordlessly nodded, rage surging through me. "Occupation?"

"I told you that," I said grudgingly. He looked at me, waiting for my "real" answer. "I'm Personal Assistant to Joshua Lyman," I said. Josh said secretary, I said Personal Assistant. Come on. It sounds much more professional.

For once he looked up at me. "You work for Josh Lyman?" he asked in surprise. I wordlessly nodded. "You should probably go," he said to me.

"What about the ticket?" I asked. Not that I wanted it, but I was somewhat confused. Mrs. Landingham would scream and yell at me if she found out that I had been denied a ticket because I was a government employee.

"We'll let it slide this time Miss Moss," he said, stepping back. I waited for a second before speeding away once more. As I drove away I looked in the rearview mirror. He was tearing up the ticket and shaking his head. Worry rose up in me again and I pushed my foot on the gas harder.

My car squealed into the parking lot of the hospital. There was absolutely nowhere to park, and there was a line a mile long. I cried out in frustration and pulled out of the line. I parked on the side of the road almost half a mile down. I started running towards the hospital, clutching my side as a stitch started to form. I stopped to pant but then I kept on going until I was in sight of the hospital. I ran towards the door, only to be stopped by several black-suited men. "Excuse me ma'am, but you can't go any further than this," they informed me politely. I almost screamed in frustration.

"I'm Donna Moss, I work for Josh Lyman," I said desperately. "I need to go in there. Please let me in."

"Do you have your ID with you?" they asked noncommittally. I automatically turned for my purse when I realized that I didn't have my purse. The only reason I had my driver's license was because it had been put in my pocket earlier in the morning. I always had my driver's license in my pocket rather than in my purse. I smiled at the Secret Service Agents while vainly searching through my coat pockets.

"It's here," I assured them. "I'll find it in just a second." I kept on smiling at them while they stared at me with blank and un-amused faces. I finally gave up. "Okay, I don't have it. Please let me go in there. I promise you, I'm not some terrorist; I really do work for the US government. I need to get into that hospital."

"I'm sorry ma'am, but unless you have a White House Staffer's ID, then you can't go inside," the man said, speaking into a microphone on his wrist. "Special orders." He nodded at me and let me know that the conversation was over. I stayed at the door for a moment before stalking away.

I had been foiled once. Now it was time to try again. I walked after to a different door. There were Secret Service agents crawling all over this place. There had to be at least one that knew me and would look the other way while I sneaked in. I looked cautiously at the agents. All right, didn't recognize any at that door. Moving on.

I walked around the entire hospital. I did not recognize a single Secret Service Agent. This could not be possible. At least one hundred Secret Service agents and I didn't see a single one of them. I growled in frustration and pounded my head into my head. "This cannot be happening!" I said out loud to myself.

I ran to a door. The Secret Service agent looked at me. "Not you again," he groaned. "How did you even manage to get past the barriers?" I looked behind me. There were crowd barriers set up and I had gone right past them without even noticing them.

"I jumped them," I said matter-of-factly. "I broke a law. Take me inside to your superior." The Secret Service agent looked confusedly at me. "I'm dangerous. I'm a convicted felon who should be shot. I'm sure your superior is inside. You should take me to him or her and let your superior pass judgment on me."

"You should," someone said, coming up behind us. I looked around and saw Drew. He was one of the agents that actually knew me. I looked at him in hope. Good. Now he would tell them to let me inside. "She jumped the barrier? Give her to me. I'll take her inside."

I tried not to dance as I was let inside. The obstacle had been passed. "Thank you," I whispered to Drew.

"Second door on your left," he whispered back to me. I jogged to the door, clutching my side again as the stitch started to form. My heart started to beat faster and faster. Some of the faster beats could be blamed on exertion, but most of my fast heartbeats could be blamed on fear. I saw the door that Drew was talking about. I ran towards it and pushed it open.

Everyone turned to look at me. A fast glance showed me that Sam, Toby, CJ, Charlie, and Zoey were in the room. I did not see Josh anywhere. He was most likely in the bathroom. "I'm sorry," I apologized quickly, looking at all of their sober faces. "They told me I should come back here. I'm sorry." They stared at me and didn't say anything. I turned and looked at the entire room. "Is there word on the President?" I asked. Their faces were starting to scare me.

CJ took in a shuddering breath before answering. "The President's going to be fine," she assured me. With that simple sentence a fifty ton weight was lifted off my chest.

"Oh thank God," I said, a happy smile breaking out on my face. "Thank God, that's the best news I've ever heard. I had such a hard time getting in; I had to find an agent who knew me..." I probably would have blabbered on forever in my dumb-blonde stage if Toby hadn't stopped me.

"Donna, Josh was hit," he said softly. I paused in waving my hands around and looked at him. he was leaning forward and clasping his hands together. He looked so serious, and I couldn't figure out why. The President was all right! But wait a moment...Josh was hit?

"I don't understand," I said haltingly. My good mood had just been plunged into darkness. There was a new threat. The adrenaline that had just gone out of my body was flooding back, tenfold. "Hit with what?" I stared pleadingly at Toby, begging him to say that Josh had just gotten a nudge with a car. He had sprained an ankle. Yes. That was it. Exactly.

"He was shot...in the chest," Toby said again. All of the air went out of my lungs. I was sucking vacuum.

"I still don't understand," I said, begging God to just pretend that this was all a horrible dream. "Is...is it serious?"

Toby took in a breath and broke the news to me bluntly. "Yes, it's critical," he said calmly. It was just so harsh and unyielding, that was what convinced me that this was true. If he had beaten around the bush then I wouldn't have believed him as readily.

"The bullet collapsed his lungs and lacerated a major artery," CJ said. She was not as blunt as Toby. Her voice had a strangely gentle edge to it. I looked around at them, uncomprehending. This was not a lie. this was not a joke. Not even Josh could be this cruel. He had been shot and he might die. He had been shot.

As that thought occurred to me I clapped my hand over my mouth. The harsh burn of tears automatically came to my eyes. I felt like I had been hit in the stomach. My breath was stolen out of my body and I felt like I was out in space, trying to breathe vacuum.

"As I said, we can't make you very comfortable here, and I'm sure there are things you need to be doing," a man in a suit said. He was probably some government employee but I had never seen him before. I slowly sank into a chair.

I couldn't think. I couldn't process anything that CJ or Sam was saying. My mind was stuck on one fact. Josh had been shot. Josh might die. He might die. He had gotten shot at the Town Hall Meeting and I wasn't there with him. I should have been there with him. Maybe if I had been there, then he wouldn't have gotten shot. I could have stopped him from doing whatever it was that he did.

Josh might die. My boss and one of my best friends might die. I tried to keep breathing. That was all that I could do right now. Breathing was my main thing that I had to do. Charlie started to walk out of the room and I followed him. "Charlie!" I called, hearing the sob in my voice. He turned around, but kept on walking on.

I pulled him away from the room and down into a relatively deserted hallway. "Charlie, when you called me you didn't say anything about Josh," I brought up. "You would have known by then, but you didn't say anything. Why didn't you tell me? I might have been better prepared."

Charlie looked at me sympathetically. "Donna, I didn't tell you about Josh because I didn't want you wrecking the car on the way over here," he said softly. I felt the sharp burning of tears again and this time I did not repress them.

I let them fall to the ground, each one a tiny memory of a time that I had spent with Josh. Charlie put his arm comfortingly on my shoulder. On an impulse I lunged forward and hugged him tightly. He stiffened before relaxing and comfortingly rubbing my shoulder. Charlie had probably saved my life. If he had told me about Josh, I would have wrecked my car getting over here.