Thanks again to my betas, HarmonyLover and chai4anne…

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"Before we begin, I'd just like to offer my prayers and concern to Congressman Santos and his family, as well as my gratitude to the brave men and women who are out there in this weather searching for the airplane right now. I have every hope that he and his fellow passengers will be found and rescued." Bob Russell stood in front of about half a dozen news cameras at the Coffee Bean Caucus, reading the statement Will had written for him on the bus ride over.

His fellow passengers, Donna couldn't help but repeat bitterly in her head. They had names. Josh had a name.

She pushed the thought from her mind. The Vice President was only doing his job. There was nothing he could do to make the rescuers find the plane any faster. There was nothing any of them could do.

"And as a tribute to Congressman Santos, and as a token of the prayers of everyone on my campaign, I'd like to place a coffee bean into his jar." The Vice President walked up to the line of jars and dropped a bean into the one labeled "Matt Santos."

Counting the bean from that volunteer he sends out to the coffee shop every morning, that will actually be two beans in his jar today. Donna felt like punching the Vice President all over again as she remembered his smug comment on the bus when Will had come up with the idea of putting a bean into the congressman's jar, an informal "vote" for him in the Coffee Bean Caucus.

"Now let me try a slice of that apple pie. And make it à la mode," the Vice President beamed, turning toward the woman at the counter. Donna found herself cringing. Surely the abrupt transition must have made the insincerity of his words about the missing plane evident to everyone listening; it certainly had to her. But then, she supposed she wasn't exactly an impartial observer.

"Ms. Moss?" a young campaign aide walked up to her, holding a cell phone. Although Donna always asked the younger staff to call her by her first name, she had to admit there was a part of her that enjoyed it when they nonetheless called her 'Ms. Moss'. She liked that some people considered her important enough to be addressed in such a way. But now, somehow it just felt stilted and artificial.

"Call me Donna."

"There's a phone call for you. CJ Cregg from the White House." Donna nodded and took the call.

The phone call with CJ felt almost as surreal as her earlier conversation with Will had. She heard the tears in CJ's voice as her friend offered words of concern, assured Donna that the White House was carefully monitoring the situation, and asked if she wanted to come back to DC and wait for news with them at the White House. She'd be among friends, and she'd be the first to hear any updates. Donna politely declined the offer. She'd already decided not to take a break from the campaign, and she was standing by that decision.

It was only after Donna had hung up the phone that she realized what the other reason she'd turned down the offer to go to DC was. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving the state. If…when…Josh was found, she wanted to be close by.

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"Any luck?" Josh called to Matt, who was in the cockpit trying to see if any of the equipment was salvageable. They'd found some gauze and a bandage in the plane's first aid kit, which now covered the bump on Josh's head. It still hurt like hell, but at least he no longer had blood running into his face.

"No. The equipment's fried. There's a handheld GPS in one of the safety kits that doesn't look damaged, though." Matt turned around and walked up to them, carrying the GPS. His gaze fell to Ronna. "How's she doing?"

Josh and Ned were now both tending to Ronna, who was still on the small floor. "There are some nasty-looking bruises forming where the seatbelt was," Josh reported. "She must have gotten thrown around in her seat quite a bit during the crash."

Matt sat in one of the seats next to them. Ronna's face was white as a sheet, and she seemed to be having some difficulty breathing.

Matt watched her for a moment, worry etched on his features, and then put a hand on Josh's shoulder. "Can I talk to you alone?" he asked quietly.

Josh nodded and they walked up to the door of the plane. It had sustained some damage in the crash, but a strong push was enough to pry it open. They walked a few feet outside into the heavy rain.

"What is it?" Josh asked, running a hand through his hair to wring out some of the rain water that was quickly beginning to soak it.

Matt sighed. "Look, I'm not a doctor, but when I was in the Marines there was an accident during a training exercise, and one of the guys had injuries that looked a lot like hers. He had internal bleeding and nearly died."

Josh paled. "You think Ronna-"

"I think she needs to get to a hospital."

Josh's brow furrowed worriedly. "How long do you think it'll take them to find us?"

"No telling. In these weather conditions…" Matt paused. "We can't be that far from a town, or at least a road or something." He turned on the handheld GPS and waited for a few minutes for it to boot up and search for a signal. After a moment, he nodded.

"It says the GPS signal is weak, but if it has our location right, we're somewhere near the Burr Oak Wildlife Area County Preserve. It looks like there's a road a mile or so to the west. I don't know how well-trafficked it would be, especially in the dead of winter, but…" Matt studied it for a moment. "I could hike out to the road, and follow it north, and it looks like it turns into County Highway F12. Might be more traffic there, or at least someone who's willing to stop and help. And maybe I'll eventually be able to get a cell phone signal."

"Getting to the road might be tough," Josh commented, leaning in to study the GPS screen. The sketchy map didn't tell them much about the terrain, but at the moment they were surrounded by dense forest in all directions.

"It's only a mile. There's a compass in the emergency kit. I'll manage."

"Yeah." Josh nodded. He supposed they didn't have a choice. "I'm coming with you."

Matt shook his head. "You were unconscious a few minutes ago, Josh."

"I'm fine now," he insisted, doing his best to ignore the pain radiating from his forehead.

"You don't know that. I'm sure you have a concussion – God knows how bad. You could lose consciousness again. The last thing you need to be doing is traipsing through the forest in the middle of a storm. You should wait here with Ronna and the others. A crashed plane isn't much shelter, but it's better than nothing."

"If you think I'm letting you go wandering out in the wilderness by yourself…"

"Wilderness? This is Iowa we're talking about."

"A wildlife preserve. Lions. Bears."

"I really don't think they have lions in Iowa."

"You know what I mean."

"I used to be an active-duty Marine. I saw combat in the Gulf War. I think I can handle a hike through the woods."

"So can I."

"I'm serious, Josh."

"I am, too." Josh met his eyes stubbornly.

"Damnit, Josh, I'm still your boss, and I am ordering you to stay with the plane."

"Then I guess you'll have to fire me," he shot back without missing a beat.

"Josh…" Matt sighed. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. Really."

"Yeah, until you get lost, or the battery gives out on the GPS – or who knows, maybe the signal is screwed up and we're not even where we think we are – or you fall and hurt yourself, and none of us have any idea where the hell you are, and the temperature drops to 20 degrees or so, and now you're going into hypothermia, and I refuse to have one more death on my conscience."

Whatever retort Matt had ready died on his lips. "What?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Josh rubbed his throbbing head. He hadn't exactly meant to say that last part.

Matt was quiet for a moment, then relented. "Okay."

They went back into the plane and told the others what they were doing. Matt grabbed a few of the compact foil emergency blankets, just in case he and Josh needed them, careful to leave a sufficient supply of blankets for Ronna and the others.

There were also several books of matches in the emergency kit. He took a book of them, leaving the rest. "If the weather clears, you might want to go outside and try to make a fire," he suggested to Ned before stepping back out of the airplane.

A few minutes later, he and Josh were on their way, pushing their way through the moderately dense woods in what they hoped was the direction of the road.

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Leaning back in her seat on the campaign bus, Donna dialed her cell phone.

"This is Josh Lyman…" She let Josh's voicemail greeting play almost to the end, hanging up just before the beep so she wouldn't leave a message. It had to be at least the tenth time she'd called his number since the crash. When she dialed, the phone went straight to voicemail without ringing, meaning his phone was either turned off, out of battery, or out of range, and further, that there wouldn't be a long list of missed calls on his phone to provide evidence of her neurotic dialing. She did her best to keep an impassive expression on her face as she held the phone to her ear, so that everyone would think she was on an important campaign call.

Her heart ached every time she listened to the familiar inflections of Josh's voice, which came through even in his businesslike voicemail greeting. It was getting harder to ignore her darkest fear. What if she never heard that voice again?

Will walked over and sat next to her. They had finished the Coffee Bean Caucus photo op and were now headed to a town hall in Iowa City.

"So what happened with you and Josh?" he asked quietly.

She let out a breath, pushing her emotion aside. "Nothing happened."

"Come on, Donna. You guys were inseparable, and now-"

"What? I was supposed to spend the rest of my life being his handmaiden?"

"You were a senior assistant in the West Wing. Not exactly a handmaiden."

"Glorified handmaidenry," she insisted stubbornly.

"It's just that when I first came to work for Bartlet, I heard rumors about an office betting pool on whether you guys would be married within six months of the end of the administration. And now-"

"What?" Donna demanded, whipping around to face him. "If you're even about to tell me you put money on that, I swear to God I will slap you so hard…"

"No, no," Will put up his hands in a combination of protest and self-defense. "I just said I heard rumors. They probably weren't even true."

She let out a shaky breath, composing herself. "He was keeping me down, that's all. He was refusing let me advance in my career. That's why I left." She was struck by a sense that she was justifying her actions to herself at least as much as she was to Will.

"What do you mean? Did he turn you down for a promotion?"

"Not…exactly." She began to feel slightly uncomfortable. No, Josh hadn't turned her down for a promotion. She hadn't applied for a promotion, or even expressed a serious interest in any particular position in the administration. Her only real conversation with him about wanting to advance had been when she'd complained about being kept off the Brussels trip. Looking back, she had to acknowledge that whining about not being able to go on a glamorous international trip probably wasn't the most productive context in which to bring up her desire for career advancement. And he had sent her to Gaza in response to that conversation. And after what had happened in Gaza, and Leo's heart attack, and all the other chaos of the past six months or so, it would probably be understandable if Josh had forgotten all about that discussion.

But she shouldn't have had to ask. He should have known. He should have seen how her skills were being wasted in her current position and found something else for her, something better and more fulfilling. But he hadn't done that. He'd cared more about having an assistant who knew to make sure his hamburgers were burnt like hockey pucks than he had about her or her future. That was what CJ had told her, and she was one of the smartest people Donna knew. She also knew Josh; she'd known him even longer than Donna had. She wouldn't have made those accusations unless they were true.

She closed her eyes, trying to focus on being mad at Josh. That was her best defense, reminding herself of what an oblivious, obnoxious jackass he was. An alive, oblivious, obnoxious jackass.

"Well, anyway…" Will decided not to pursue the topic. "Look, try not to worry too much. Santos was a fighter pilot in the Marines. If anyone could've landed that plane safely, I'm sure it'd be him."

"I know." Donna kept her voice flat.

"And hey. Whatever Josh did, I'm sure he didn't mean it. God knows he can be clueless sometimes, but he really is crazy about you."

She snorted. "Yeah, right. You mean he was crazy about my typing ability."

"No," Will looked surprised. "Believe me, Donna, a guy doesn't drop everything and fly to the other side of the world for a woman because he likes her typing."

"Leo sent him. I guess he figured it'd be good P.R. You know, show everyone how much the White House cares, even about pathetic little worker bees like myself."

Will just stared at her for a moment. "You're not that dense, Donna. You know that's not why he went."

She glanced at him momentarily and then quickly turned and stared straight ahead again, biting her lip and suddenly fighting tears.

Will sighed, deciding to drop the subject. He got up to leave, patting her shoulder. "Anyway, take care of yourself, okay? And just let me know if you decide you need to take time off." She watched as he went over to the Vice President's seat, sitting down next to him to talk about something.

Her eyes shifted to a portable television that had been set up near the front of the bus. She'd been trying and failing to ignore the flickering screen ever since she'd gotten on the bus. It was tuned to CNN, which was still on wall-to-wall coverage of the missing plane. There was nothing new to report, and lots of time to fill, which made the reporters' chatter turn to all sorts of tangents.

"We certainly don't want to get ahead of ourselves and assume anything that may not be the case, but if the worst does come to pass, it will certainly be a huge blow to the House of Representatives, which is still reeling from the deaths of Congressmen Korb and DeSantos in the terrorist attack in Gaza last spring…"

"…this is second potential brush with death for Josh Lyman in his public life. Viewers may remember that he was critically wounded in May of 2000 when gunmen opened fire on President Bartlet and his entourage after a town hall in Rosslyn, Virginia…"

Shut up! Donna felt like screaming at the television. Why are you talking about those things? They don't have anything to do with this.

It should be the discussion of Gaza that upset her the most, she supposed. That had happened less than a year ago, and people had died. When she'd come back to work after the attack, one of the most unexpectedly difficult aspects had been the televisions in virtually every room of the West Wing, all set to cable news, with pundits constantly analyzing and dissecting the attack and President Bartlet's response to it. She'd sometimes fantasized about investing in earplugs so she wouldn't have to listen to the chatter – and as an added bonus, she'd thought to herself at the time, also not have to hear Josh's voice when he bellowed for her.

But now she realized could endure the Gaza coverage with little more than a cringe. The talk of Rosslyn was what was agonizing to her. A few minutes ago, the network had filled some airtime with clips of the news coverage from after the shooting, showing images of the panicked crowd and news anchors reporting on Josh's condition. Memories of those terrifying hours, days, and weeks after the shooting came flooding back to Donna like they'd happened yesterday.

The memories: that was probably one reason why the talk of Rosslyn bothered her more than talk of Gaza, she reasoned. She remembered every moment of that long vigil in the hospital, waiting in anguish for word on whether Josh's surgery had been successful. By contrast, she actually remembered very little about Gaza. She had no memory of the attack. Her memories of the hospital were hazy, probably mostly due to the high levels of painkillers they'd had her on. She remembered being horrified when she'd heard about the deaths of the congressmen and Admiral Fitzwallace, and relieved when she'd heard Andi hadn't been hurt. She remembered Josh and Colin being there, and some weird competitive vibe between the two of them. She thought she remembered Josh looking at her with such an expression of love and worry on his face that it had almost made her think maybe nearly being blown up hadn't been an entirely bad thing, but that memory had to be drug-induced. Didn't it?

He was a jerk. He kept you down. He certainly never loved you. She repeated those words to herself, like a mantra. Once the passengers from the plane were rescued, and she knew Josh was safe – she refused to entertain any other possibility – nothing would have changed. She would still need to get on with her life, without him. Josh Lyman had defined her for far too long already.