Chapter 8

She thought she'd be ok; she really did.

Her mother had held her together that next week in a way she knew she'd never be able to repay; proofing papers, making sure she got to her finals, taping CNN's updates on Josh's recovery, packing, making arrangements for the utilities to be turned on in the apartment Donna had rented, making sure she ate and slept and showered… it took every ounce of strength her mother had to get her through those seven days, she was sure of it, and she was so grateful, because she simply hadn't been able to summon the effort to do it on her own. She couldn't quite grasp the idea of the world continuing to turn.

She was, for the first five days at least, in agonizing pain. Pain that might have been mental, but certainly felt physical. As she thought about him lying there, hooked up to tubes and drugged up, in a pain she couldn't fathom, she couldn't help thinking the worst, waiting to hear it on the news even; that a blood clot had formed and killed him instantly, that his heart had given out, that someone from the Virginia White Pride had snuck in and killed him. He wasn't their target, granted, but she doubted they were too upset they'd hit a Jew.

Then, as the news and the White House reported that he was improving, and when he'd been moved out of the ICU to a regular room on the seventh day, she wondered if it was too soon. If the nurses and doctors were taking good enough care of him. Why they were rushing him into a room that wouldn't be monitored as closely. Were they treating him with dignity or did they show no care for what he'd been through in the midst of serving them? And who was there for him when the pain got to be too much? When he needed to shout, when he threatened to get up and leave, who talked to him and joked around with him and made the pain bearable? Were his parents there, his assistant, his girlfriend… Mandy would be horrible in that situation and although she'd never wanted him unhappy, she found that for the first time ever she was actually hoping he'd found someone else to love. Someone who would love him more than Mandy; someone who would love him like she did.

But then she'd curse herself, because she hadn't loved him enough to be there when that happened to him. She'd always told herself that she had to leave, but the truth was that she left to preserve her own… dignity, sanity, whatever. It all boiled down to the fact that she'd chosen herself over him and she hated herself for it, because had she been there, she would've been walking with him, and maybe the bullet would've hit her instead.

But reports kept coming in, and he seemed to be getting better in every one of them; he was antagonizing the hospital staff, he was trying to work from his room, he was looking forward to real food, and she found herself smiling as CJ Cregg made as light of it as possible. And around her, the world seemed to be moving so quickly. Her final grades were posted, her grandparents came into town for the graduation ceremony, her car needed new tires and a tune-up before she left for DC… And as she packed the last of her things Tuesday night, she once again found herself looking forward to something.

And then it was Wednesday morning. Ten days had gone by since the shooting and she was standing in the front yard, her mom handing her directions she'd printed out for her while her dad loaded what her mom had deemed as essentials into the trunk and backseat. Most of her clothes and toiletries, a phone and answering machine, her laptop, one pot, one skillet, a few old plates, a shower curtain and a 12" television. She didn't actually own any furniture or dishes and the rest of what she did own could wait two weeks until they came out in the Tahoe. So she hugged them both and drove the fifteen hours to DC, excited about all the possibilities and the work she'd be doing and the people she'd be meeting and… she really thought she'd be ok.

So she wasn't quite sure what she was doing at GW Hospital that Thursday morning, waiting in the lobby until visiting hours started at seven. If she was going to be ok, what was she doing wandering the halls trying to look as if she belonged there while peeking into room after room after room, becoming more frantic the longer she'd been there and not found him. If she was going to be ok, why did she stop suddenly, her heart pounding to the point that she was sure anyone on the ninth floor could hear it, when she stepped off the elevator and saw what looked like to her to be two secret service agents standing outside a room about halfway down the hallway? If she was going to be ok, why hadn't CNN and White House reports been enough for her?

She'd hoped the hospital rooms would have glass walls so she could just kind of walk slowly by and peek in when she found him, but that wasn't the case, so she wasn't quite sure what to do. She wasn't stupid enough to think she could get past the secret service, but while it was inconvenient, she couldn't be happier that they were there protecting him. She thought that maybe if she just came clean, just walked up and told them the truth; that she loved him and had to see him and they could check her for weapons, but if they'd just crack the door open so she could see him in there, she was positive she'd learn how to breathe again.

Another elevator dinged, pulling her out of her reverie, and she looked over, her eyes growing wide and a gasp escaping her mouth as a woman whose picture she'd seen on Josh's desk a hundred times stepped out carrying a Styrofoam cup and a newspaper. The woman glanced up at Donna, smiling and nodding before walking past her and down the hall, saying good morning to a nurse. Catching her breath and clamping down on the threatening vomit, she started following her down the hall.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Lyman?"

The older woman turned, a bit startled, and looked at her. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Donna shook her head quickly back and forth. "No ma'am. I used to work with Josh," she said, hoping the woman wouldn't ask for details.

She stopped walking and smiled a bit uneasily. "You did?"

"Yes ma'am, before he was in the White House."

"When he was with the Vice-President?"

Donna bit her lip and smiled non-committedly and pulled out the excuse she'd come up with on the third floor. "A friend of mine had a baby, I just thought while I was here…"

The woman raised her eyebrows and Donna was almost shocked at how similar the look was to Josh's. "He's not up for visitors yet," she said curtly. "There's a very small list of people allowed to see him."

"Oh, I wasn't… going to visit. I was just going to pop my head in and see…" she trailed off. Stopping his mother had been a bad idea. Donna remembered her to be a kind woman, but when it came to her son, she'd become a lioness, protecting her cub from anyone who might be a danger.

"If you give me your name, I'll tell him you stopped by," she said politely but sending her message just the same.

She fumbled for a name. "Sorry, I'm… Julie," she said, reaching her hand out. Josh's mom shook it politely and Donna played her last card. "When he wakes up, make sure you read the sports page to him," she said, gesturing to the paper tucked into the woman's arm. "The Mets won last night. That should cheer him up." She smiled softly, dropping the woman's hand and turning back towards the elevator.

She hit the down arrow and waited, closing her eyes and all but praying Josh's mom would stop her. Several seconds passed before the older woman spoke again. "Sometimes it's better to see for yourself that someone's ok. Makes it easier to believe."

Donna looked over at her and nodded slightly. "Yes," she said quietly.

"Believe me, I know," she said with a sad, small smile. Donna looked at her, thinking of the daughter she'd already lost before coming so close to losing Josh and had no doubt she did indeed know. The woman smiled softly and nodded in the direction of Josh's room. "He's asleep."

"That's ok," she said nodding and smiling and trying to hold back tears as they walked down the hall towards his room.

When they got there, she introduced Donna to the Secret Servicemen as a friend of Josh's, then opened the door and looked in on him before stepping back into the hallway and smiling towards Donna. Her stomach started fluttering in a way it hadn't since she'd left New Hampshire and she found herself frozen in place, not moving until Mrs. Lyman gave her another small nod. Taking a deep shaky breath, she walked the final two steps up to the door and opened it just enough to see inside. And then, for the first time in more than two years, she was looking at Josh. Her hand went slowly up, covering her mouth as she watched him lying in bed, asleep, with IV's in his left arm and lines running from a machine to the area of his chest, disappearing under the small blanket that was on top of him. His face was alarmingly pale, but the slow rise and fall of his chest reminded her that he was alive and she sighed in relief even as the first tear slipped down her cheek. She closed her eyes for the briefest second, thanking God, then opened them and studied his face. He was so beautiful, so strong, and she had to hold herself back from walking in and sitting down on the edge of the bed to run her fingers over his face and through his hair. His dimples weren't out, but their crevices were there and she wanted so badly to see him smile at her the way he used to. He turned his head then and sighed, and it was that simple movement and quiet sound that finally convinced her he'd be ok. And if he was ok, she'd be ok.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

"Tell me how this program is different from ones that already exist."

Donna glanced over at Liz, her partner on this project. Liz nodded at her and stayed off to the side, making, allowing, encouraging Donna to fly solo on the proposal they'd spent three months putting together. She took a deep breath and turned back to Michelle. "This program doesn't deal with pregnant teenagers, showing them how to change diapers and telling them what to expect during the delivery. This program deals with those same women three years later when their child's ready to start counting and putting sounds together."

"So it's Head Start," she deadpanned and Donna knew it was only a test. She'd sat in on these meetings before, having helped on a child abuse prevention program when she first started and then a community college aid program. But this was her first project, her first co-project, whatever. It was the first project that would have her name associated with it, the first project she'd developed from scratch. This was it; the reason they'd been paying her for the last six months.

"No. No, it's not Head Start. We don't want these women, or men, to send their kids off so someone else can teach them. We want to show them how they can teach their children themselves."

"So," Michelle said. "I'm a nineteen year-old woman with a three year-old daughter. I work fifty hours a week at Burger King while my mother keeps her. I dropped out of high school when I found out I was pregnant and my boyfriend dumped me and chances are, I'll never make more than $8.50 an hour. My car's a piece of crap, my food stamps don't stretch far enough, and if I quit my job, I could go on welfare and make thirty dollars more a month than I do right now. Why do I want to spend my one free night a week at a community center when I can get free day care by sending her to Head Start?"

"Well," Liz said smirking. "For one thing, Head Start has a waiting list." Donna shot her a look and tried not to smile. She and Liz had become fast friends upon Donna's arrival in DC, teaming up on the project they'd first come up with while having one of their "brainstorming sessions." Liz was only a year older than Donna but had been working for the Council for three years, so she'd taken Donna under her wings, introducing her to her friends, showing her the best restaurants and clubs and places to shop, even helping her, while laughing, when she called, lost somewhere in the city.

Michelle looked over at Liz. "Yes, but I'm three from the top. Certainly they're more qualified people to teach her than me." She looked back to Donna. "So I'll ask you again. Why do I want to spend my one free night a week at a community center with my daughter?"

Liz nodded and winked at Donna; they'd prepared for this question and a hundred others. Donna nodded slightly before looking at Michelle. "Because. Because you dropped out of high school. Because you car's a piece of crap and you have to rely on food stamps that will never be enough. Because you make $8.50 an hour and only have one evening a week to spend with your daughter. Because you don't want her to end up just like you and you're the biggest influence in her life. Yes, strangers might be more qualified to teach her how to read, but they aren't more qualified to make her see how important her education is. She has to learn that from you."

Michelle looked at her and then over at Liz, studying them both for what felt like hours before letting the slyest of smiles grace her lips. "I want test markets. I want cost analysis. I want lesson plans and classroom goals developed by teachers. I want elementary school principals sitting in and giving advice. I want location studies; ten urban and ten suburban location possibilities so we can choose four urban and two suburban. I want one of the urban locations to include some sort of incentive to the mother and I want to know how those families do in comparison to the ones not getting incentives. I want studies, lots of studies ladies. And reports. In three years, I want to take this program to Congress, and I want to be able to point to a report and say x percentage of students who participated in this program excelled in first grade and ISTEP."

"Absolutely," Liz said with a grin, taking a step forward and standing next to Donna.

"We've already done the location studies; we'll narrow it down to twenty and get it to you next week," Donna said, trying to reel in her smile and keep an aura of professionalism.

She nodded. "Good job, ladies."

They left then, walking down the hall and into the office they'd been sharing since starting on the project. As Liz shut the door behind them, Donna pumped her fist in the air and twirled around, shouting "Yes, yes, yes!" and laughing.

Liz watched in amusement for a minute before interrupting her. "Uhh… Donna?"

"Did you hear that?" she asked as she continued to twirl.

"All the things we have to do? Yes."

She stopped twirling and looked at Liz. "No," she said, almost shouting. "Congress! Something we wrote is going to Congress! Congress!"

Liz smiled again, Donna was nearly contagious. "Not yet you know. I mean, we haven't even tested it. There's a little more work to do."

"I know," she said, dancing around the small office. "But we got the green light."

"The green light?"

She stopped and looked at her. "Shut-up."

"Sorry," Liz said with a smirk. "I keep forgetting about the Wisconsonian language."

"Wisconsonian?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"The green light?"

Donna pouted and started to say something, then paused and looked down at her watch. "Fine. I don't have time to play anyway. I have class in a half hour."

She started packing her attaché case and Liz went around her desk to sit down. "You know what we've got to do?" she asked in a serious tone.

Donna looked up at her. "What?"

"We've got to go brainstorming tonight," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. Brainstorming, otherwise known as drinking, had begun innocently enough one Saturday night when Liz had come to Donna's apartment in Logan Circle to brainstorm ideas. They'd given up a few hours later and hit a bar. The term stuck.

Donna shook her head. "Can't. I have to study."

Liz's shook her head, mimicking Donna. "Not on a Friday night, you don't. What time are you out of class?"

" 5:10," she said, closing the attaché case. "But I have to do some research in the library. I've been putting it off for days and I only have two weeks before finals."

"You put off your school work and I have to suffer?" Liz asked incredulously.

Donna looked up at her, giving her an evil eye. "So I could work on this project with you."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Well… Fine. You can research until nine, then we'll meet at Champions."

She started to protest, then paused and tilted her head to the side. "That could work."

"Of course it could. I'm calling Tom and Mark, so don't be a no show."

She picked up her coat and scarf and started out the door. " Nine o'clock. Champions."

She finished her research a few minutes after eight and called her mom with the news about the project she and Liz had yet to name. They would, no doubt, choose a name for it while they were out brainstorming that night, but come Monday, they'd wonder what they were thinking.

Her mother reminded her again that she'd promised to come home for Christmas. She acted casual about it, but she couldn't wait. She was exhausted. Law school was unbelievably harder than her bachelor's degree had been, and working for the Council was unbelievably more time consuming than working for her father had been. Add in an actual social life outside of hanging out with her mother on Saturday nights and she barely found time for the little things like grocery shopping and doing dishes.

Still, she loved it. Her classes were exciting, her work was challenging, her new friends were fun, and guys in the district were hot, albeit a bit stuck on themselves. And DC was amazing. She'd spent the summer watching free black and white movies on the Mall, cruising up and down the Potomac on Mark's speedboat, and taking the metro to the Eastern Market for Sunday brunch. She'd had to cut back on the socializing when classes started up, but she'd absolutely refused to go back to being that girl who was content to do nothing but sit in her bedroom and study.

She hung up with her mom, having killed enough time, and bundled up for the four block walk to Champions, a sports bar in Georgetown that had great burgers. Liz, Tom and Mark were already there and Liz walked up to her with a rum and coke before she'd even taken her coat off. "Brainstorming already?" Donna asked with a knowing smile.

Liz handed her the shot. "I thought I better get started, in case you were late."

They went back to the table, Liz sitting next to Tom and Donna next to Mark, who after his third beer, had wandering hands. She didn't mind. He flirted, but it never went anywhere and that was fine with her. She was happy to finally be in the dating around portion of her life, having reached it years late.

The talk was of politics that night; not only at their table, but seemingly at every table, and she loved it. She loved being where everyone thought they knew something. Where the guy or woman at the next table could be a senator's aide or congressional lawyer. The particular subjects of the night seemed to be the staff shake-up at NOW and the spacecraft that was supposed to land on Mars a few weeks earlier but got lost on the way, and she listened as names were dropped and theories were formed.

They'd been there just over an hour when Liz launched into her ski lift story. It was a great story, picturing Liz with only one ski trying to figure out how to get off the lift, or at least it had been the first four times Donna had heard it. Tom had also heard it, but Mark hadn't, and he was laughing so hard next to Donna that he was literally crying. She chuckled and shook her head at him, only half listening to Liz, and started looking around the bar. A pretty boy lawyer type, she loved how she could put down the "lawyer type" while at the same time aspiring to be one, was standing at the bar, ordering some drinks and she laughed as two sorority girls, dressed more for June than December, sidled up to him.

He pretty much ignored them, turning around with two beers and two of something else in his hands and she blinked a few times, staring wide-eyed at Sam Seaborn walking towards the back of the bar. Instinctively, she put her elbow on the table, blocking her face with her arm, then looked back at Liz with a plastic smile on her face. She couldn't say she was shocked, at least not overly so, except that yes, she was utterly, completely shocked. Because as many times as she'd told herself that DC wasn't big, that political circles ran small and she was bound to run into him somewhere, eventually, and that she wouldn't be able to run or hide or pretend like she didn't see him, she'd never once thought that the person she'd run into might be Sam or CJ or Toby, or Mrs. Landingham or Margaret or Mr. McGarry. She'd always assumed it would be Josh.

She sunk down in the booth a little, pathetically trying to look through the small space left from bending her arm up around her face, but she couldn't see where he'd gone, so she once again tried focusing on Liz. It was stupid, she thought to herself. If she wanted to know if Josh was with him, she should simply stand up and walk over there. She lived in the city now, she was in law school, she had a great, meaningful job. She should just walk up and say hello. She wasn't that kid who'd walked in off the street. She wasn't that kid who'd run away six weeks later.

But what if he was there? And what if he hated her? Or what if he blew her off? Or what if he was with a woman? Or what if he didn't recognize her? That, she thought, would be the worst. If after almost three years of comparing everyone she met to him, pining for him, crying for him, watching for him on television, what if he looked at her with the blank stare of a stranger?

So she didn't go over or look over or acknowledge at all that she'd seen Sam. Liz, Tom and Mark kept talking and laughing and brainstorming and instead of going off to find his table, she ordered another drink and tried to laugh too. Because these people, these friends, didn't know that Donna; the Donna who rarely smiled, who cried far too often, who buried herself in school work and doubted she'd ever love again the way she had for those six weeks. They knew the Donna who loved her job and her classes and the first apartment she'd ever had alone. Whose eyes went wide the first time they'd taken her to a demonstration in front of the Capitol and who occasionally went out and brainstormed.

It was 11:15 when Sam walked past her table. Her back was to him and she was slouched over in the booth trying to whisper something to Liz over the noise, when she saw him out of the corner of her eye. CJ Cregg and Toby Ziegler followed him to and out the main door, and he held it for them while looking back in towards the bar. Shaking his head slightly, he walked out and only then did she sit up straight again.

Liz, having had more rum and cokes than Donna dared count, began shouting names for their project: "How to Not Be a Deadbeat Mom" and "Making Sure Your Kid Doesn't Turn Out Like You" her favorites. Donna chuckled at her and inconspicuously slid her drink out of reach as she chanced a glance towards the bar.

He was thin. Thin and pale and… thin. And he needed a haircut. She was, in fact, not even positive it was him at first; not until he brought the shot glass down from his mouth, slamming it on the bar and calling for another. But then she was sure, thin or not. His tie was half-hazardly done up and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow, a look she used to know well. It took her several seconds to get past that point, the muscles in his forearms always proving to be a distraction to her, but as she moved her stare up to his face she thought again that he was pale and thin, even more so than he'd been just after the shooting, and instead of being in awe or trying to control the beating of her heart, she was just worried.

He was working too hard, that had to be it. He'd gone back too soon, so eager to serve his president that he hadn't taken care of himself, and obviously no one else noticed. If they had, they would've sent him home instead of taking him out to get a drink and leaving him there. Who the hell were these people? Couldn't they see what was directly in front of their faces? He needed food. And rest. And food.

He looked around the bar and she quickly ducked behind her seat a bit where she could still see him but where he wouldn't get a good look at her. His eyes were bloodshot; he looked either drunk or exhausted, maybe both. What the hell were they thinking, leaving him there alone?

A woman walked up and sat on a barstool, smiling coyly and sayingsomething to him, and Donna's eyes widened as she watched him turn and lean in close, too close to her and give her a half-smile half-smirk before saying something back. She laughed, the whore, and put her hand on his knee, and Donna turned her head quickly back to the table, taking a deep breath and downing the rest of Liz's drink. She should do something. Call someone. Get him a cab, take him home, punch the woman in the face, something. There had to be something she could do. And she was almost drunk enough to do it. If only she'd had a few more. Just two, she thought, would've given her the courage, the audacity. She turned back to watch again, but he was gone and she snapped her head towards the door just as he walked out with the woman she should've punched.

She looked down at the empty glass in her hand, not quite sure what she was feeling; numb, hurt, confused, worried. Any number of feelings ran through her mind, not the least of which was didn't he know he could pick her up?

"Donna?"

Tearing her eyes off the glass, she looked up. "Yeah?" she said with a dry mouth and shaky voice.

"Where've you been?" Liz asked, taking the glass from Donna's hand and staring at it as though there should've been something in it.

"Huh? I…" she trailed off. What was she supposed to say? 'The man I love just left with my heart and another woman?'

"Yeah, that was him," Tom said, nodding towards the bar.

She looked over at him, squinting her eyes and thinking she might have missed something. "What?"

"Josh Lyman. The one who got shot at Rosslyn. That was him."

She looked back towards the empty barstool and nodded numbly. "Oh," she breathed out, nodding. "I thought it might be."