I shake my head, though I'm not sure if it's in disgust or confusion. I don't understand Donna at least eighty percent of the time. She knows what my job is; she knows that I can't keep regular hours and that I'm not always going to be home when she wants me to be. We talked about that at the very beginning. Hell, she's worked here enough years to know the day doesn't end at six.

Impossible woman.

I sigh and rub my temples, going back to the file on my desk. I've got a million things to do and I can't put it all on hold because my girlfriend is having a hissy fit.

Well…fiancée. We are getting married in a couple of weeks. She's right about that. Still, that's all the more reason to cut me some slack—I've got a lot of stuff to clear up before then.

I try to focus on the document in front of me, buckling down to slog my way through it. It takes me at least ten minutes to realize that not a word has registered. I rub my eyes for a few seconds and try again, but I only stare at the page for five minutes this time before I realize I can't focus at all. Great. At this rate, I'll be here all night again. Something else for Donna to gripe about. This is what's been keeping me here 'til all hours for weeks—the amount of work is overwhelming and I'm having so much trouble keeping my thoughts organized that everything is taking two or three times as long as it should. I just have too much to do.

She likes to oversimplify, assuming that I can just hand stuff off to Sam but it doesn't work that way. Just because my work has been keeping me at work doesn't mean I'm turning into Leo. Sure, Sam has said he wants to do more around here, but that doesn't mean I can just foist my job off on him. I have responsibilities, too, and those responsibilities mean I can't take hours to wade through menial decisions like chicken or fish, roses or tulips, orchestra or a band. I'm trying to keep the country running and that means prioritizing. Wedding details are at the bottom of the list.

I run my hand through my hair, absently noting how long it is and that Donna told me to get it trimmed weeks ago. I stare down at the memo on my desk, the words swimming and blurring together as I try to concentrate.

In fairness, she hasn't really come to me with many of those questions, and I think we covered a lot of that stuff in December when the whole wedding planning thing kicked into high gear. Other than her mentioning going to dress fittings and reminding me about my tux—which I still have to take care of—telling me when our families are getting in and that sort of thing, I don't know when she last asked me anything about the wedding. Of course, if she had, I don't know that I would have registered it, being occupied with work and all.

I groan and drop my head to my desk, listening to myself for the first time. I've constantly been saying I'm busy—well, I've been busy for years. There's no denying that. And yet, I've somehow been able to find time in the last couple of them to manage a successful enough relationship that we're going to get married. It shouldn't end there—I can see why she'd be pissed that I'm leaving all the planning up to her when it's supposed to be our day, even if the details are excessive.

I stand, wincing as my body protests after being hunched over for so long. I suppose I should go and find her, see if I can apologize for being insensitive about this. I'll probably be in the doghouse for a day or so, but it'll be all right.

I make my way slowly through the quiet halls of the West Wing and into the East, scrolling through emails on my Blackberry as I go. Most of it is no more pressing than normal, but nothing I feel I can pawn off on Sam. I take a glance at the folder marked "Wedding" and see there are close to a dozen new emails since I last checked. I barely stifle a groan at the sheer volume of communication. I have no idea what could be so pressing about a wedding, but I'm not going to choose now to find out.

I shove the device into my pocket and enter the East Wing, a little surprised to see that Donna's assistant seems to be gone for the night. Slacker. I tap on Donna's door and push it open, even more surprised to see all the lights save one little desk lamp are off. Did she leave, too? I wander over to her desk but everything looks like it's shut down and locked up. I check the time on her desk phone but it's only a little after eight. Could she have gone home already? How long ago did she leave? I can't even remember what time it was when she came to my office. Awesome. She's going to be even more pissed at me if she had to sit here and wait forever for me to show up.

I pull out my phone again and call her cell, looking at the device in confusion as it rings forever before going to her voicemail. Weird.

I dial again as I head back to my office, a strange feeling forming in the pit of my stomach when it goes to her voicemail again. I try calling our landline, but that one just rings, too.

"Okay," I whisper to myself as the answering machine clicks on. "Donna, pick up the phone." I pause. "If you're there, please pick up the phone." I pause again. "Okay, call me back if you hear this before I reach you."

I hang up and dial her cell phone again, feeling panic start to twinge at me when it goes to voicemail again. "Donna, you're starting to scare me. Are you all right? You're not in your office, you're not answering any phone calls…are you at home? Are you on your way there? If you are, just…" I look around for a few moments then shove all the paperwork on my desk into a drawer, locking it hastily. "Just stay there, all right? I'm heading home now. Don't go anywhere." I hang up and hurry through the halls, barely taking time to pull on my heavy winter coat before I rush outside. A hand clamps down on my shoulder before I can get very far.

"Slow down, please, Mr. Lyman," Gus says before mumbling into his wrist piece.

"I need to get home," I insist as I try to move forward, but his large hand keeps me in place.

"Yes, sir. If you'll follow me." He tries to steer me toward the waiting SUV and I sigh as I try to pull myself out of his grip.

"I don't have time for this."

"Regardless, sir, if you'll follow me." He uses a little more force this time and pushes me toward the car. I grit my teeth as I'm placed in the vehicle; I don't think this guy gets how important this is.

"I really need to get home," I tell him and Marlene as the car idles in place, showing no signs of moving any time soon.

"We'll get you there, sir," Marlene answers as she finally starts to move the car. I start to tap my foot impatiently, but she doesn't seem to be in a rush as she starts one of the roundabout routes home, taking every street as cautiously as if it's her first time driving.

My anxiety levels climb as I try Donna again, still not getting an answer. Unless she's told me she's going to be inaccessible for a while, Donna always answers her phone. Even if she's fallen asleep and her cell is on vibrate, the house phone would be loud enough to wake her.

"Gus, did you guys take Donna home earlier?" I ask, phone pressed to my ear as it rings ceaselessly on the other end.

"No, sir."

"What?! Why not? I thought you supposed to—"

"It's not our job, sir," Marlene answers smoothly. "We're happy to drive Miss Moss from place to place if she requests it but we're not required to do so, nor can we force her to use our protection."

"So you're saying you saw her and she told you to get lost?"

"No, sir," Gus answers. "We didn't see her exit the building." That's reassuring. "Is there a problem?"

I jab the dial button on my phone again, still hoping she'll pick up. I have no idea where she is right now and she's not answering any phone I call. "Yeah, there's a problem!"

"Calm down, sir."

"Calm down my ass! Donna's missing and you're acting like it's no big deal!"

Gus turns in his seat and stares at me, eyebrows raised. "Are you certain she's missing?"

"Well…no, but she's not answering her cell phone or the phone at home and she wasn't in her office and you didn't see her leave."

"She could have left through a different exit, Mr. Lyman, or she may still be at the White House."

I pause—both are possibilities I hadn't considered. "Is there any way you can check?" I ask, starting to feel like an idiot. Of course she could still be at work. It's a big damn building. Hell, she could even be walking home right now, though I'll kill her if she is. That thought sends a whole different wave of panic through me. What if she's not answering her cell because something happened to her as she was walking through DC at night?

I can hear Gus speaking softly into his wrist, mostly only able to make out "Donna Moss." Her phone goes to voicemail again, and it takes everything in me to not smash mine in frustration. This is ridiculous. I shouldn't have this much trouble finding her, especially since we live together. I also shouldn't be panicking right now. I should—

"She's not in the White House, sir," Gus says, interrupting my thoughts. "Security has her leaving the front gate about an hour ago."

"Shit," I hiss, immediately defaulting back to panic. I call her again, groaning when I get her voicemail. "Donna, where the hell are you?" I snap, leaning forward as the car reaches our building. "We're pulling up front now and I swear to God if you're hiding out in the apartment…if you've made me worry like this because you're giving me the silent treatment…" My voice trails off as I move to get out of the car, Gus's hand on my shoulder stopping me before I can get far. The second car with the rest of my detail pulls up right behind us and I tap my foot impatiently as I wait for the all clear. It strikes me as absolutely ridiculous that someone didn't follow Donna when she left work. Is she somehow safer just because she's not with me? As if someone wouldn't do something to her if they really wanted to get to me. Everyone in this town knows I'd go to the ends of the earth for her—and that I have gone to the ends of the earth—and that was long before we ever got together.

"All clear," Gus finally says, the door opening from the other side.

"Is she there?" I ask, rushing past the other guards to get inside. I'm greeted with silence, which I don't take as a good sign. Alex holds the door open for me as I burst into the apartment. I rush from room to room, finding no one. "Damn it," I mumble then realize the phone is pressed to my ear. "Donna, where are you?" I ask before ending the call.

I pause in the living room, burying my face in my hands as I force myself to breathe and think as logically as possible. I know that she left work about an hour ago—that's plenty of time for her to have gotten home and to have gone back out. She could be at the grocery store for all I know and maybe she can't hear her phone. She could have stopped off at a restaurant or bar before going home. She could have a meeting with one of the wedding planners—

My head pops up and I grab my phone, searching through my emails. Even if I haven't been going to all those sessions, I've been kept in the loop just in case. If there was another meeting tonight, I'm sure it was communicated to me.

It only takes a few moments for my hopes to be dashed, though, when I can't find anything about tonight. Shit. I try calling her again, but it only goes to voicemail once more. "C'mon, Donna, this isn't funny. I'm at home and I have no idea where you are. I just need to know that you're alive." I pause, shuddering at the thought of something happening to her. "Call me. Please."

I hang up again, kicking the coffee table in frustration. The pain doesn't even register. I grab the landline and call her, hoping against hope that it's just the Blackberry giving me issues, but I only get her voicemail.

Desperate, I start to prowl around the place, looking for any sign that she's been there tonight. I feel strange for a few moments, almost like I'm a visitor in my own house. I've spent so little time here in weeks, mostly just grabbing a quick shower or changing clothes, or getting a few hours of sleep on the couch. It's been easier to sleep there than wake Donna in the middle of the night.

I shake my head and force myself to keep looking. The living room looks normal, so does the kitchen. I get to our bedroom and move around slowly, but I don't see any evidence that she so much as changed out of her work clothes. There's a phonebook on her nightstand, but I couldn't say if it was put there recently or not. I go to the closet, closing my eyes for a few seconds as I grab the knob. My heart thuds in my chest as I wonder what I will or won't find.

When I think I have myself under control I yank open the door but nothing seems terribly out of place until…

"Fuck!" If it were anyone but OCD Donna, I'd never notice if something was out of place in a closet, but she always keeps things neat and orderly, down to lining up her shoes according to color and style. This extends to her luggage, and there's a gap where her small suitcase should be. "Fuck!" I can hear the guards calling to me but I ignore them as I call Donna again, pacing around the room until I get her voicemail. "Are you kidding me?!" I exclaim. "You left me?! You fucking left me? I can't make it to a couple of stupid wedding planning things and you abandon ship? What the hell, Donna! You don't even leave a note? You don't even have the decency to tell me you're gone?" I walk over to her dresser, yanking open the drawers as I try to gauge how much of her clothing is missing. I can't say for sure because she has a lot of clothes, but it doesn't look like a substantial amount. I run into the bathroom, my throat closing up when I find her toothbrush missing. I smack the wall in frustration. "Damn it, Donna! Stop being such a…such a child and come home." I breathe heavily for a few moments, trying to calm myself. "Come home," I say again, my voice strained and quiet. I pause for a few long seconds before ending the call. I shuffle back into our bedroom and drop onto the bed, tossing my phone next to me before I cover my face with my hands.

What the hell happened? We have one little argument and she leaves me? All because I haven't been able to drop everything every time there's a decision to be made about the wedding? It's not that serious. Not leave your fiancé serious. It's not like I'm cheating on her. Even if I had the inclination, I certainly haven't had the time.

I sigh and lift my head, running my fingers over her pillow for a few sentimental seconds before my frustration returns. I can't believe she would just leave like that. No warning, no explanation, not even a big blow-out fight. I try to think back on the conversation we had in my office just a little while ago but truthfully, I was only partly listening. I know she mentioned something about me not paying attention to the wedding and not being home much lately, but I can't help that. It sounds cocky but I'm actually a very important man. I'm helping to run a country. Yeah, sure, maybe I'm not utilizing Sam as much as I could be, or even as much as I have in the past, but doesn't mean Donna has the right to tell me I'm supposed to be handing work off to him. She doesn't understand how sensitive some of this stuff is.

Okay, so that's probably not entirely true. She would have a better idea than most of what goes on with my job, but that's all the more reason for her to cut me some slack. And just because the President isn't physically present while I'm working doesn't mean he's not aware of any situation I'm working on. I keep my boss fully informed. He just knows how to prioritize and understands that just because I'm working on something doesn't mean I need him there to keep me company. He knows I'll come get him if he's needed.

I let out a half-yell in frustration and grab for the landline, patting the bed for the phone though I have no idea where I left it. I lunge for the extension on my nightstand and punch in Donna's number again. My leg jiggles as it rings, but I hang up and immediately redial instead of leaving another message. Then I do it again. And again. And again. I figure she'll get tired of it at some point and answer.

I jump in surprise as my cell phone rings, the cordless falling out of my hand and bouncing onto the bed. I grab the Blackberry, sagging in disappointment when I see the caller's name on the screen. Danny Concannon. I answer with a sigh. "Hey, Danny. Now's not really a good time."

"And hello to you, too," he answers, sounding his usual cross between sarcastic and jovial.

"I'm serious. I've got a thing going on here right now—"

"I just have a message for you from CJ."

That makes me stop short. "CJ? Why wouldn't she just call me herself? Is everything all right?"

"She said you need to stop…what was it?...oh, 'blowing up' Donna's phone."

"Wait, what?"

"I cleaned it up, of course, but if you'd like the original version…"

"CJ said…what the…is Donna there?"

Danny sighs, somehow making it sound patronizing. "Have you misplaced your fiancée?"

"Danny…"

"How long is the flight out here, Josh? It takes at least five hours. Has it been at least five hours since you last saw Donna?"

I grit my teeth, trying to keep myself in check. "So, she's not there."

"Ding ding ding!"

"Then—"

"CJ's been on the phone with her for close to an hour now. Other than promising to kill someone for Donna, CJ's end of the conversation hasn't been terribly enlightening. She's been mumbling things about some sort of sisterhood for the last half hour, and if looks could kill, I'd be a dead man. Josh, if you've done something so heinous to Donna that my wife is now pissed off at me, I will make your life a living hell. I will fly out there right now and make you regret being born."

I literally scratch my head in confusion. "Danny, what in the hell is happening right now?"

"You tell me, buddy," he answers, heavy on the sarcasm. "I don't know why Donna's been on the phone with CJ this long."

"Okay, but…they talk a lot, right? That's a thing they do."

"Yeah, but when they do that, there's a lot of laughing. I don't hear any laughing this time."

"What the hell is going on?" I mumble, sliding onto the floor as I press my back against the bed.

"Somehow, I still have no idea. CJ's been doing a fair amount of yelling when she's not using the same voice she uses to soothe the baby. I suggest you put on your thinking cap and figure that out."

"Can I talk to her? CJ, I mean? See if—"

"I wouldn't recommend it," he answers quickly. "Not if you plan on having kids with Donna at some point." I open my mouth to ask what he means but he cuts me off again. "She'll reach through the phone and tear off your balls, man. She'll eviscerate you. You've known her for a long time; you know she can do it."

I run my free hand through my hair, tugging at it in frustration. "Danny, I need to talk to Donna. Tell CJ to tell Donna to answer her damn phone."

"First of all, I'm not getting in the middle of this—"

"Not getting in the middle—Danny, what the hell do you call—"

"And second of all, there's no way in hell I'm speaking that way to my wife. I'm already in the doghouse by default; I'm not going to be the one to push her over the edge."

My shoulders sag. "I just need to know where she is. Please."

He sighs wearily into my ear. "I make no promises but…I'll see what I can do." He calls out to CJ, asking about Donna's whereabouts. I pull the phone away from my ear as CJ yells in the background, "Are you kidding me? Suddenly he cares about what happens to her?!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I ask to no one in particular. "I've always cared what happens to Donna." I hear mumbling on the other end of the line, voices indistinguishable though significantly less shouty.

"CJ told me to tell you that Donna said she's okay. Safe, I guess."

I let out a whoosh of air I didn't know I'd been holding. "Great—now, ask CJ to—"

"Not. Getting. In. The. Middle," he repeats and I sigh in frustration.

"I just need to know how to fix it, Danny. I don't know how to fix it."

"I can't fix it for you, man. I have my own relationship to navigate. One would have thought you were long past the stage of screwing things up with Donna, though. I thought that's what the Bartlet administration was for—working out the kinks."

"I don't even know why she's so pissed off at me!" I exclaim, rocketing to my feet so I can pace around the room.

"Well, I suggest you figure it out."

"How can I figure it out when she won't talk to me?!"

He sighs in resignation. "Is the not talking to you thing a recent development?"

"I…" I trail off, trying to think back. We talked in my just a little while ago, but I've been pretty tied up at work and haven't had much of a chance to talk to anyone unless it's been about the job. "Yeah, I guess it's recent."

"You guess it's recent? Josh, I'm no expert, but if you're not sure if your fiancée has been speaking to you recently or not, I think you've gone past the point I can help you."

I rub my forehead, trying to think. Why would Donna be so mad at me that she'd leave me? What could I possibly have done that was so heinous that she'd rather leave our life than stay to work it out?

I draw a blank. I've got nothing. I've hardly seen the woman in weeks and while I know it's not ideal, especially not right now, it's unavoidable. She knows that. She knows that the job has to come first. We've talked about that a million times. It's the life we've chosen.

"I don't know," I finally say. "I really don't know."

"Josh," he says sharply. "Think about it. Think long and hard. Women rarely get this upset about nothing. You know that. You know that even when it seems like they're pissed off at you because you forgot to put your socks in the laundry basket, it's not because you didn't do it that one time. It's because you didn't do it the hundred other times she asked, and because you didn't wash the dishes or clean up after yourself or one of the million other things that are in no way their job to take care of and yet always falls on their shoulders. So if Donna's mad at you, it's not because of something simple; stop focusing on the minutia. Big picture, Josh. Big picture."

"Big picture?" I ask, more to myself than anyone else. "Danny, I don't know. I really don't know. I've been at work. What the hell could I have done?"

"Josh," he sighs, "I've known you a long time. I know you've loved Donna for a long time. I watched you awkwardly try to woo her for years. I've watched you screw it up with her for years, too. You can't be that lost as to what you could have done to hurt her. I would think you're an expert in that."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You think I go around hurting—"

"Of course not. Just speaking from experience here, but it seems that we're always better at hurting the ones we love the most. I know CJ and I have done a number on each other over the years. We know how to do it better than anyone else by this point. I can only imagine that you and Donna are even better at it."

"Yeah, okay, whatever," I answer, not particularly wanting to think about that. "Be that as it may, that still doesn't help me figure out why she's so mad at me."

Danny sighs again. "I still can't help you with that. I know less than you do. All I can tell you is that CJ's been on the phone for a long time now, and I think she's ready to reach through the damn thing and wring your neck so whatever you did, it wasn't small. Try harder."

"Well…she was pissed off when she left work a little while ago."

"That's a start."

"Yeah, but I don't…she was mad because I was spending so much time at work."

"Try again, buddy."

"What?"

"You know that's not why she's mad. She knows you live and breathe work. To the best of my knowledge, she's always been your enabler with that. I'd be willing to bet my kid there's something bigger than that going on, and you know how much I love my kid."

I stop pacing and take a deep breath, hoping to focus myself. I try to think about the whole conversation with Donna and not just the parts I want to remember. She tells me I tend to do that, especially when I want to be the hero or the victim of a situation. "I…I guess I haven't been paying a lot of attention to the wedding lately." There's relative silence on the other end as I start to remember more of the conversation that it seems I immediately blocked out. With that, bits and pieces of the last few weeks start to creep in, enough that it makes me dread coming to grips with the rest of it. "Danny, I…I fucked up."

"You think?"

"You don't even…yeah, never mind. It's pretty obvious by this point. Shit. Do you think she'll forgive me?"

"Can't say. You'll have to talk to her yourself."

"How the hell am I supposed to talk her myself when she won't answer her damn phone?!" I shout into his ear.

"First of all, lower the tone of your voice with me, please. Whatever you did wrong isn't my fault. Second of all, she's been on the phone with CJ for a while, so that might be why she hasn't answered your calls, even with call waiting. Third of—" He's cut off and I hear muffled conversation in the background and it sounds like Danny is informing CJ that I've had an epiphany. I haven't quite gotten there yet, but I know it's coming.

"You need to leave her alone for tonight, Josh." I cringe at the sound of CJ's voice. "Stop calling her incessantly. She told you she's fine, now let it go."

"CJ, how am I supposed to let it go when—"

"Because she needs space right now. If she wants you to know where she is, she'll tell you, but she needs time away from you right now. You'll be lucky if she still wants to marry you."

I gulp, the bottom dropping out of my stomach. "Has she…ha-has she said she doesn't want to marry me?"

"Not yet."

"CJ, it's not your place to convince her to call off the wedding."

"I'm not trying to convince her of anything. She's an adult and she has a mind of her own. All I can do is present all the reasons why she might be better off on her own than with you."

That hits me like a physical blow. CJ's been my friend for a long time, even when I've screwed up royally and almost beyond repair. To hear her say something like that hurts in ways I've never felt. "Jesus, CJ."

"You don't deserve her," she tells me, her voice quiet and weary.

"You think I haven't known that for years now? I know she's too good for me." I actually do know that—I knew that when she worked for me, I knew that when I took advantage of her sweet, caring nature, and I've known that since the moment she decided she wanted to be with me. "Just tell me what I did so I can fix it. I just want to fix it."

"That's not up to me and you know it. Anything Donna's told me is between the two of us. It's on you to figure this out."

"She won't talk to me, though! How can I make it better if she won't talk to me?"

"Give her time, Josh. She needs a little space right now. And, you know, until you're sure of what you did and you're one hundred percent committed to fixing it, don't bother. She doesn't need you to half-ass it just because you don't like to lose. This is the woman you're planning to spend the rest of your life with—you can't do this part-way. Be better than that."

I slump forward, defeated, as I cradle my forehead in my free hand. "You said she's safe?" I finally ask, my voice faint.

"She's safe," CJ confirms. "She's not out wandering the streets. That has to be comforting, right?"

I laugh without humor. "You don't think…you don't think I've lost her, do you?"

"Josh, I really couldn't say. It's not even my place to say it. The only thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that she loves you. She loves you more than she ought to. I don't know what's going to happen; all I can do is be here for her when she's feeling lost and sad."

My insides twist a little at that—"lost and sad." I made her feel that way. Of course I did, though. How could she feel anything but that with how I've been treating her lately? "Okay," I finally answer. "I'm glad she has you, CJ."

She sighs on the other end. "Get some sleep, Josh. At the risk of sounding like your mother, think about what you did. When you figure it out, make sure it's something you actually want to fix before you go looking for her."

"Yeah."

There's silence on the other end for a few long moments. "Bye, Josh."

The call ends before I can say anything else and the phone drops out of my hand, bouncing onto the floor and out of sight. I look over at the landline on the bed next to me and pick it up, putting it to my ear when I realize I never ended the last call I placed to Donna and it's probably connected to her voicemail.

"Donna," I whisper into the void. "I don't know if you're listening to this right now but…I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry. I've hurt you, and I've taken you for granted, and I don't blame you if…" I gulp, choking on the thought I can't bring myself to finish. "I love you. I love you so much. I'm gonna…I'm gonna try to give you some space but…you know how I am. I'm not very patient. You've told me that you think I'm a compulsive fixer, and I want to fix this. I want to fix us. I want to know that whatever I've done isn't so horrible that we can't get through it. We've gone through so much…Donna. Tell me I'm not too late. I…" my voice trails off and I shrug helplessly, not sure what else I can say into her voicemail. "I'll be at home tonight if you…if you want. Whatever you need, all right? Just…I love you." I'm silent for a few long moments—it could be minutes or hours, really, for all I'm keeping track—before I end the call, dropping the phone beside me. I crawl across the bed a moment later, ignoring the feeling that I don't belong here, and lie down. I grab Donna's pillow and clutch it to my chest, taking a deep whiff of her scent. A strange sensation rushes through me, and I only realize then how long it's been since I was this close to her. I haven't so much as smelt her hair in weeks never mind something as basic as hold her.

Part of me feels completely pathetic for holding her pillow to my chest like this, like some heartsick teenager who's broken up with this first girlfriend, but it doesn't take me long to realize I'm just pathetic. I try not to think about whole broken up thing.

Gotta say—I was NOT expecting that response to this story. I truly hope it goes the way you all want it to, but I have a feeling your expectations are too high. That said, I appreciate each and every one of you reading this and I hope you're into this chapter as much as the first.