W.W. – Saturday morning.

Kenny's hands ached from translating. His back hurt. His mouth was dry. He needed clean socks and underwear, and to burn his shirt, as it was past laundering. He blinked and startled, then sat up with a jerk.

There was a Styrofoam carton of salad in front of him, and a glass of something flat and no longer iced, sweating in a soggy paper cup. He blinked hard and looked, owlishly, across the table.

Margaret had bags under the rings under the circles under her eyes, and one tendril of red hair shot straight out from the left side of her head. Aside from that however, she looked rather good. Almost radiant. It was completely unfair.

"You have a deal with the devil, " he muttered.

"No, just Leo," she grinned a small tight grin, "but the comparison has been made before."

"Was I asleep long?" He yawned and tried to discretely check his breath. Nasty.

"Not long enough." She stood and folded half a sandwich into a napkin, which disappeared into her purse. "Let's take another round of the bullpen and the Signals office, then we can probably head home for a few hours."

He showed her a slightly less tired version of his own grin. "Is that an invitation?" Before she could protest, he waved her off with a shrug. "Not that I have energy for anything at this point but bed."

"Is that an invitation?" she replied, leaving him chuckling as she headed back to Leo's office to check for critical work before heading home. Despite herself, she smiled. Kenny Thurman was good for Margaret. They made each other smile.

W.W.

Josh stood, jaw muscles working tightly, staring at the gate. The plane had been on the ground for five minutes, at least five minutes. What the hell was taking so long?

He'd been in DC since early that morning, almost five hours, and he'd been waiting for Donna's flight back from Germany for most of that time. It seemed like longer. It seemed like years.

"I think they're coming," Sam said, nodding towards the windows that showed glimpses of the arrivals lounge.

"If you say that again, Sam, I will personally choke the life from your body and leave you in a shallow grave by the metro line." Josh's voice was soft and tight, very controlled.

"No, look."

They both saw it then, a flash of gold and dark blue. Donna, wrapped in a dark Air Force coat she had picked up along the trip, was coming through the security gate. Less than two steps past the guards, and she was in Josh's arms.

"Hello," she said simply.

"Hello," he said, putting her at arms' length to regard her critically, then crushing her to him again in a smothering embrace.

"Missed you," she offered, trying not to notice the way the hugs were grating her bruised ribs. Some things are ore important than pain.

"You too," he said, face buried in her hair, oblivious to the crowd of people who had to navigate around them to get off the plane and towards the baggage claim.

"Do we need to get your bags?" Sam asked, not wanting to intrude but also wanting to make sure she knew he was there too.

"Hey, Sam!" She made a long arm and dragged him into her hug with Josh, rather than end that hug and start another. "No bags. They blew them up."

Josh released her slightly and stood, hands on his hips, and scowl on his face.

"They blew up your bags. Those… those bastards."

She shrugged. They began to head out towards Sam's car. "Better the bags than me. Let's go home… oh. Well, let's go to the hotel."

"The hotel." Josh stopped again, a stricken look on his face.

"Not to worry," Sam jumped in quickly. "We have you set up at the St. Regis. Will Bailey got it all set before they all left for Camp David."

Too exhausted to comment more, Josh and Donna followed Sam to his car and let him fill the time with carefree gossip from California as they drove back into the city.

W.W. – Saturday night

"Josh!" Donna was sitting upright, covered in a sheet and wearing a U of Wisconsin sweatshirt. She was drenched in sweat, and her eyes were wide, the white shining in the dim hotel room.

"I'm here." He touched her arms gently, and she started at his touch. His voice was low and smooth as he continued. "Right here. You're in the hotel in DC. You were sleeping."

"I was," she paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I was, I guess I was dreaming. I didn't know where I was. Sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. Take a breath, and try to stay calm." He knew from experience how little good those words would do, but there wasn't anything better.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said, and she made a sour face he recognized.

"Take a sip of water," he urged, holding out a cup. "That taste in your mouth is from the adrenaline. It'll pass."

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"It's okay. The air conditioner was on, and when it kicked off I guess you noticed the change. That's when you woke up."

"Great, I'm afraid of quiet now?" She leaned on him. "I'm glad you're here. I missed you."

"You too, kid," he kissed the top of her head and held her close as she started breathing more evenly. At some point, she slept, but he still held her, feeling her breath against his chest and listening to the small sounds of the woman he loved.

W.W.

Sam blinked at the light from the hall, his normally perfect hair ruffled and his jaw blue with stubble. He blinked a few more times, then lowered his gaze, then lowered it some more. She wasn't wearing her heels.

"I brought you some muffins," the small blonde woman said, her southern drawl dragging out the word "muhhhh-fins." She held a bakery bag in both hands, vaguely like a squirrel holding a prize acorn.

"It's 3 in the morning," Sam said gruffly, stepping aside after a long moment to let her into the room.

"It's only midnight for me," she said softly. "I didn't want to call. I was afraid you wouldn't talk to me."

"I'll always talk to you, Ainsley. You know that." He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and scrubbed his hands hard over his face to wake up.

She looked around, and then sat, perched really, on the edge of the desk across from the bed. She sighed.

"What's wrong with us, Sam?"

He groaned and lay back on the bed, staring at the textured ceiling.

"No, I mean it," she went on. "We fight all the time, and we say stupid things to hurt each other. You're always on the road, or at the office. I'm always in my office at home when you're there. We're not lovers, we're roommates. The only time we really interact is to be mean to each other."

"This could have waited." He closed his eyes. "I'll be back in a few days, maybe a week. Just let me get Donna and Josh back on track and help cover for Toby this week until Andi gets home."

"I didn't want to wait," she admitted. "I miss you."

He sat up, and looked at her sideways, trying to decipher her response. "I'm sorry?"

"I've missed you. I spent a lot of time telling myself that you're the one who started this or that you're the one whose fault it is, but I don't care about that. Friends of ours were hurt; people we know were killed. None of the other stuff matters. What matters is that I miss you and I want to be with you." He realized that though her voice was steady and reasonable, tears were dripping off her cheek onto the floor.

"How do you just undo everything?" He stood up, seized with nervous energy, but then he seemed to ttower over her and he felt her shrink back. Instead, he turned and sat next to her on the desk, letting her lean into him. "How do we go back?"

"We can't, Sam," she said frankly. "But we can go on. We can try to be better, be our real selves and not just settle for the way things have been."

She paused and looked down, not meeting his eyes.

"Do you still love me, Sam?"

"You know I do." He stared hard, and took a moment. "You do know I do, don't you?"

"I wasn't sure." She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"Well, I do." He lifted her face, and slowly kissed her. After a moment, he broke the kiss and just held her, forehead to forehead, feeling the closeness of her.

"Let's go to bed, Sam. It's late. Or it's early. Either way, we can talk more in the morning, and after that. For now, let's just go to bed, and you can hold me and I can be held and we can just start there."

"I like your plan." He sat up and looked back at the desk. "Oh. I think I crushed my muffins."

She was pulling her sweater over her head, revealing a creamy chemise that slithered silkily back down over her body as the sweater pulled free. She skipped off her slacks. In a moment, she stood wearing only the cream silk and a bright-eyed smile. She held out her hand to him and turned towards the bed.

"That's okay," she admitted, nodding towards the muffin bag. "I got nervous on the ride over and I sort of ate them."

He laughed, and moved next to her on the bed. "So, you came to patch things up by blaming me for our problems, and then leaving me nothing to eat?"

"I wouldn't say nothing," she drawled, slipping the silk shift over her head and letting it fall to the floor. "How hungry are you, exactly?"

"Starving." He turned off the light, and despite the late hour, he did not immediately fall asleep.