He went to her.
He wanted to, needed to, had to.
If he was anything of a man, if he would be able to look back on the day when it was really hot and he still felt like shit and he made Donna mad and then he kissed her with everything he was, he hoped that he would be able to say, no matter what happened, that at least he tried.
The thought that there was the possibility that he lost her, that he grossly miscalculated her feelings for him, consumed him and he couldn't breathe, making him think of Rosslyn and how he could feel the breath leave his body and the pain take its place, just like now when he thought that Donna was going to leave him.
He knew the way to her apartment just as well as he knew the way to his and it was really nothing, taking a taxi to her place. He'd done it when he was drunk and had set out to tell her that he had a crush on her, but ended up yelling at her roommate's cats instead.
He took her for granted, he knew that. He knew that most bosses didn't complain when their assistants brought them lunch and he knew that most bosses didn't make their assistants stay during their lunch break and he knew that most bosses didn't give a damn whom their assistants dated, but Donna was different from the rest of them. She was better, so much better than them.
And he quite possibly lost her.
A thunderstorm threatened.
He made it to her apartment, throwing some money at the taxi driver before running up the stairs and using the spare key that he kept he let himself in, banging on her door on the fourth floor with all the strength he could muster.
She didn't answer.
Why should she?
He kept knocking and shouting anyway. He had to. He had to see her.
He finally heard her shout that she was coming and he almost collapsed, everything that was threatening to escape just dissipating at the sound of her voice.
She opened the door in her bathrobe and her hair was sticking to her skull and dripping onto the terrycloth and she looked beautiful, like an angel and suddenly he can't think or breathe or move, all he can do is just stare at this beautiful angel who is currently yelling and crying and he can't figure out why, but all he wants to do is make it stop.
Then she stopped. She looked at him and then led him into her apartment, where he found himself on her couch, next to her after she gave him a glass of water.
He wanted to say he was sorry, that he didn't mean to kiss her, well, he did and he can't say he's sorry for the very first time he's felt something so profound as kissing her, but he's sorry that he made her cry and he's sorry that there are bags under her eyes and that Sam had to tell him he was a jackass because he couldn't see it himself.
But above all, he wanted to ask her to stay with him, because he didn't think he could do this alone.
He woke up because of a nightmare.
Donna had been shot this time. Sometimes it was Sam, sometimes Leo and even once it was Joanie, but this time it was Donna.
This wasn't like the others. It was more vivid, more alive, more unsettling. He hated it.
Donna looked at him with her huge eyes, begging him soundlessly to fix her, while he stood, paralyzed, watching the blood gush out of her.
"Donna!" he screamed.
She came to him instantly, murmuring consolations and endearments, her voice calming him down instantly.
"Tell me what happened," she whispered.
"You died," he said blankly, expressionlessly. There was nothing in him anymore. It was taken out when they took out the bullet.
"I'm right here," she whispered, her voice so sound and sure, he thought. He couldn't help but believe her.
"I didn't leave. I wasn't there, remember? I was safe, at home. It's ok, Josh."
"I couldn't save you."
"Oh Josh," she murmured. "You really know how to get to a girl, don't you?" he had a feeling she wasn't talking to him just then, that she hadn't meant for him to hear and he remembered how she left, how there was now this break and he wasn't very sure what to do, now that she was holding him and he was holding on for dear life and he really shouldn't be doing this, but here he was.
If he was brave or crazy or both, he would have kissed her and she would kiss him back, in the scenario in his head, and then she would suddenly be under him and there wouldn't be any time for him to dream or think or feel.
"Come on, I'll make you some tea," she said. "We'll watch T.V."
He only nodded, incapable of saying anything, not when he was as occupied as he was with the thought of a passion-crazy Donna.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled when she handed him a cup of tea.
"For what?"
"I made you leave. I was being stupid and I'm sorry. This isn't a part of your job description and I'm difficult, I know and annoying and it isn't…fair for you to have to baby sit with me."
She started to cry.
Josh hated it when she cried.
"Oh, Josh, I'm sorry I made you think that I didn't want to do this, because I do. You're my friend and, well, let's face it, someone needs to take care of you and I've been so out of my mind lately and I'm sorry. It's really not your fault and you have to stop thinking that. I…"
"You what?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing. Let's watch T.V."
She sat on his non-injured side, leaning her head on his shoulder.
He couldn't concentrate on CNN, with Anderson Cooper talking about some world affair and Josh couldn't bring himself to really care. It wasn't like international affairs were his thing, anyway. He was much more of a domestic policy guy anyway. But, more importantly, he wanted to figure out what Donna was going to say, whatever it was that had made her blush like that and look done. I…don't mind doing this. I think you're really good at this guilt thing so I'll take care of you? I don't like you that way Josh, and hey, remember, I'm your assistant?
He sighed. She was leaning against him now, asleep. She needed it. He wondered if she had gotten any sleep, ever. She never left his bedside when he was in the hospital and when she wasn't there she was at the office, delegating things and keeping the chaos at bay for him. He had always taken it for granted, just so happy to have someone to stay with him when he couldn't sleep that he didn't notice the purplish bruise-like circles under her eyes, how instead of looking like she was 28 she looked 38 and she just didn't seem like Donna anymore.
It was his fault.
This was his fault.
To be fair the shooting wasn't. It wasn't his fault there were ignorant morons in the world who wanted to destroy others happiness. He was glad he was shot and not the president. He was happy that he didn't die and he would be back to work soon.
But it was his fault that Donna would always see him as the Josh unable to take care of himself, the Josh that needed help putting on a shirt, the Josh that needed physical therapy. The Josh that had nightmares and had to be comforted like a little boy. It was his fault that no matter how much he loved Donna Moss, and he did love her, she would never love him back. It was probably for the best, he thought morosely, considering the majority of Republicans would act like Christmas had come early and use this to bring down the administration. Donna would lose her job and Josh would be humiliated.
It was better that she didn't love him back, he convinced himself before he went to sleep.