She had every intention of going back to her place, hope that her roommate wasn't there so that she could put on Alanis Morisette, Dido and Jewel on her CD player, pour a glass of wine and when she got a spine from that wine, she would call Josh, tell him exactly what was what and then tell him to find himself a German nurse because she was through babysitting him.
Instead she turned a left, then a right and found herself at Josh's apartment even though she told herself in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't.
She carried in a few groceries that she got from the store, just a couple of things like strawberries and vegetables for stir fry.
To his credit he tried to make conversation, asking about the office, the weather, the groceries. But she couldn't bring herself to answer more than a word at a time.
He got frustrated and Donna hoped that he had gone back to watching tv so she could just cook in peace and hope that she could be able to answer with more than one word.
She felt the heat and the silence after a while and realized that Josh wasn't watching TV like he was supposed to be, but when was Josh ever doing anything he was supposed to be? She put the stove on low, venturing out into the living room to find him.
The glass doors were open completely to reveal him standing on the balcony, overlooking the courtyard below.
He looked so young and so old at the same time. She wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around his waist and just take the time to stand there and realize that he was alive, that somehow it wasn't as draining as she thought it was.
She asked him why he was out here when she really wanted to ask him why he insisted on breaking her heart, why she felt like she was never going to be the same ever again.
"I needed to be."
She was going to cry. She was able to fight it, hide it most of the day but now it was threatening to become a torrential downpour like the thunderstorms that they had so often in D.C.
Come inside, she had told him. Like you're supposed to.
It was the wrong thing to say.
His eyes glittered out of anger, out of desire, out of damn tension that existed for years before this point.
And now he was going to make her pay.
She had imagined their first kiss since they danced at the first fundraiser that she ever went to, when she realized that Joshua Lyman could look damn fine in a tux and when he smiled at her in the way that he always smiled at her, her insides felt like jelly and she was weak at the knees.
She expected a small kiss at an inaugural ball when they had too much to drink. She expected a passionate onslaught in his office.
This kiss was desperate. This was the kiss of a man who had nothing more to lose and couldn't bear the fact any longer. This was a kiss of a man not looking to seduce her but to merely satiate the emptiness and hunger inside of him.
She froze, forcing herself not to kiss him back. She wanted to-she dearly wanted to, but she couldn't bring herself to cross that line, to give into everything.
Not until she knew that he was kissing her.
He broke the kiss, starting an exploration of her face, her cheekbones, everything, it seemed like.
"Josh," she murmured, whether to tell him to stop or to continue, she wasn't very sure.
He moved his lips to her neck.
A groan escaped between her lips. She wanted to let him keep doing that, let him take this as far as he wanted to and she would just be here for the ride.
"We can't do this," she told him softly.
"Like hell," he growled. It was easily the sexiest thing Donna had ever heard and she wanted to hear it again. And again and again.
He met her lips again and the effort to not kiss him was beginning to be too much. She wanted so much to kiss him back, wanted so much to love him, but she couldn't cross that line. Not alone, not knowing that he was there with her.
"Josh," she whispered.
"Save it. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry."
Before she got a chance to say anything, he walked past her, into his bedroom, shutting the door.
She felt the tears spill over. He hated her now and even worse, he hated himself.
And she would probably never get to kiss him again.
She went back into the kitchen, still crying. The stir fry was still simmering. She finished it, turning off the stove and cleaning the kitchen as best as she could.
She knocked on his door, told him that dinner was ready. She received no answer, not that she really expected one.
She ate alone, figuring that she should at least eat something before she left. This was too awkward, she thought. She had to stop pretending that line didn't exist.
She packed her things, knocking on his door again. She was pretty sure he wouldn't come out, which would save her the embarrassment of having to face him.
"Josh? I have to leave now. I'll see you tomorrow."
Silence.
She realized then that part of her hoped that when she told him that she was leaving, that he would burst open the door and tell her no. It was movie-esque, sure, but she still wanted it.
Instead the door remained shut.
Donna realized, with a sinking feeling, that Josh's apartment was more like home to her than her own apartment. Sure, she had stuff here-her stuff like the blankets her grandmother had made for her, the antique chair that was the first thing she bought with her paycheck. The various pictures of her and Josh…
She should have just accepted the kiss. Maybe they would have been able to go back to the way things were. Now, he was probably sulking in his bedroom and he'd forget to do his breathing exercises and…
No, she couldn't do this. She was going to have a glass of wine, take a long, hot shower and go to bed. Then tomorrow, after work, she'd call him.
Yeah.
She could do this.
Donna poured a glass of wine, decided to take a bath instead of a shower, got the book that she'd been putting off reading and set out to relax.
She must have fallen asleep, she reasoned, otherwise she would have heard the pounding on her door and Josh's yelling.
"Donna!"
"What in the hell?" she muttered to herself. It couldn't be Josh. Josh wasn't allowed to move. Josh wasn't allowed to drive or take a cab or whatever he did to get to her apartment and he REALLY shouldn't be yelling.
It would only hurt him later.
"DONNA!"
"I'm coming!" she called, getting out of the now cold water and into a bathrobe.
She opened the door to find Josh, looking exhausted and hurt and very much determined to say whatever it was that he was going to say.
"Joshua Lyman! What in the hell are you doing? I can't leave you alone for an hour before you go and do something as stupid as this! You're an idiot, you know that? You've been shot and you must hurt like hell and instead you're too god-damned determined to have your own way, as usual, to even take care of yourself!"
Now she'd done it. She was crying now and hiccupping and she was willing to bet that she looked like a royal mess.
She wants to just slam the door in his face, tell him to go away and really, she can't do this anymore.
But she won't. She looks in his eyes and all the anger and hate that she has for him goes away and she sets him down on her sofa, pours him a glass of water and sits next to him.
They sit in silence for a while, just sitting when she realizes he's fallen asleep.
And he hasn't done his breathing exercises.