Title: Losing Control Author: Christine Spoilers: ITSOTG, Noel, Gaza, Memorial Day Rating: NC-17 Disclaimer: Not mine. Obviously. Because if they were this wouldn't be an issue because Josh and Donna would be happily together by now. FB: Please. It's better than beer and pizza. ck_hoch@yahoo.com Archives: Yes to TNL. And to the JD Post-Ep archive. Anyone else who is interested - just let me know where it's going first. Notes: I tried for smut. Instead I wound up with emotional turmoil. Go figure. Much thanks to Cath, the only person who apparently still likes me. :P And Yana, who did come through in the end. ;) ~~~~~ He startled her when he showed up at her door on Saturday night. Not that his stopping by her apartment was unusual; he'd been doing it fairly regularly while she'd been recuperating at home. But whenever he had visited, he'd used work as an excuse and he had never shown up on the weekend. After he had left on Friday afternoon, she hadn't expected to see him again until Monday. She knew that he was keeping an eye on her, that he was worried about her. And he probably had cause to be. She hadn't been adjusting very well since the... accident. She kept recalling the knowing look an Andi's face, the sound of Fitz's chuckle, the sickening thud of the car turning over, the feel of her head as it bounced against the roof, the pain in her leg when she woke in the hospital. At each thought, her heart would beat faster and harder, and her chest would tighten painfully until she had trouble breathing. She'd curl into a ball and shake, willing the images to go away. Sometimes, she succeeded; more often then not, she cried herself into an uneasy sleep filled with horrible nightmares. Today hadn't been one of the better days. So she was grateful for the distraction when there was a light tap at her door, followed by Josh calling her name. "I thought I might be able to tempt you with dinner," he suggested hesitantly as he held up a six-pack of beer and a flat cardboard box. The rich aroma of garlic and tomato sauce wafted over to her and her stomach grumbled in response. How long had it been since she'd eaten? She remembered having some toast for breakfast. Had she eaten lunch? She couldn't recall. Her lack of appetite and neglect in eating regular meals had had become commonplace ever since she'd come home. While she had been in the hospital, Josh, her mother, and the nurses had made sure she'd eaten. Now that she was home and on her own, she found herself lapsing into long periods of nothingness where she didn't move from the bed or the couch. She stayed in her pajamas all day; meal times passed without any food reaching her lips. Her stomach growled again and she gestured him inside. If he was here, she should take advantage of his generosity. Using her crutches, she slowly made her way back into the living room while Josh fetched some plates and napkins from the kitchen. She was just settling down on the couch when he returned with everything they needed. She couldn't help but notice the sad look in his eyes as he moved her crutches out of the way and sat down next to her. It made her cringe, knowing that she inspired such pity. She tamped down the feelings his expression evoked, though, not wanting to give into the thoughts of weakness or inadequacy that she had been battling for the past several weeks. They ate in near silence, the sound of their chewing only occasionally punctuated by an awkward comment. Before Brussels, before Gaza , they would have bantered back and forth over their pizza, teasing one another about who was drinking whose beer, arguing about work, discussing mutual friends. But now they remained abnormally quiet, each unable to broach the subjects that they knew they needed to talk about. When they were done eating, he started to speak, hesitantly, and he looked uncomfortable, almost embarrassed. The caution he used in choosing his words was so unlike him that she immediately knew he was going to ask her about Gaza. Despite the personal demons she had acquired recently, her connection to him, at least, had never disappeared. She could still read him better than almost anyone else. And while she knew that they needed to talk -- that *she* needed to talk -- she wasn't sure she was ready to discuss anything with him yet. So she did the only thing she could think of that would keep him quiet: she kissed him. It probably wasn't the best idea she'd ever had. It fact, she wasn't even sure she could have called it an actual idea; it was an impulse. But that small brush of her lips against his was enough for her know she wanted more, regardless of what had prompted the impulse. He pulled back from her kiss and they stared at one another in a stunned silence that seemed to last forever. A million thoughts ran through her head. Why she had kissed him? Was it really because she had wanted to prevent him from asking about things she didn't want to think - let alone talk -- about? Or was it because desire for him suddenly could not be contained? She doubted it. Until the moment her lips had touched his, she hadn't even been consciously aware of wanting him. She admitted that she found him undeniably sexy- what woman wouldn't? -- but it wasn't something she dwelled on, wasn't even something she thought about often. It was simply something she knew. So she wondered what had prompted her actions. Maybe she had kissed him because she craved some sort of physical contact, and this was the only way she knew how to get it. She certainly wanted him physically right now, even though it had been such a fleeting kiss. Maybe the kiss had simply been an emotional response to the intense look he had given her. She didn't know and didn't particularly care. All she knew was that kissing him made her feel more alive than she had in the past several months. And she wanted to continue feeling that way. Breaking their uncomfortable stand-off, she leaned closer and kissed him a second time, her mouth firmly capturing his, her tongue sliding against his lips. He responded at first, engaging her in a deep kiss, his tongue twining briefly with hers, before breaking away. "This isn't a good idea," he mumbled, jumping up from the couch. "I should go." He rushed towards the door and Donna felt a moment of panic. He couldn't possibly be leaving. She needed him here, if not to continue what she had started then at the very least to keep her from her own thoughts. While he was here, she could forget about what had happened on the CODEL; she could lose herself in him. But she couldn't - wouldn't - admit that to him. "Don't... Stay," she begged. Desperate to prevent him from leaving, she left her cumbersome crutches by the couch and hobbled after him. "Donna...." She could hear the hesitation in his voice and she took advantage of it. "Stay." Her voice was quiet, subdued, and she felt a moment of triumph when he paused and turned. She tried to take another step towards him, but her leg buckled and she stumbled into him instead. "Dammit!" The ferocity of his outburst scared her and she flinched. While she had heard his anger directed towards others many times, she'd rarely heard it aimed at her. It cut through her, making her feel even smaller and weaker. "I don't... I didn't-" "No, you didn't," he bit out. He leaned down, swung her up into his arms, and started to stride towards her bedroom. "You're not supposed to be off the crutches. In fact, you're not even supposed to be *on* the crutches. You're still supposed to be using the wheelchair." She ducked her head against his chest. He was right: the doctor had advised her to continue using the wheelchair for at least another week. But she had wanted so desperately to prove that she wasn't weak or helpless that she had disregarded his advice. Josh had chastised her for it the first day, but had relented when she appeared to be handling the crutches just fine. One more thing she had failed at, she thought miserably. He lowered her gently onto the bed and turned to go but she reached out a hand and grasped his arm, stopping him from leaving. "Please stay, Josh," she entreated. He turned back towards her, and in the moment before he managed to shutter his expression, she saw the raw desire in his eyes. "Why?" he asked warily. "I... I need you here." She didn't mention that she wanted him to take away her feelings of inadequacy, that she wanted him to make her forget about her leg and Gaza. "Will you stay? Please?" "I'm not sure it's a good idea." But she noticed that he didn't pull his arm away from her grasp. "Maybe not," she admitted as she boldly reached up and traced his jaw with her fingers, "but I want you to stay." Curling her hand behind his neck, she brought his head down to hers so that she could kiss him. She started with a nibbling kiss on his lips and then moved her mouth down to suck at his throat. As she pulled the tender flesh between her lips, she heard him groan. Pressing her advantage, she tugged his shirt free from his pants and burrowed her hands beneath it. His flesh was warm and solid and she clutched at his smooth muscles. Her desire for him might be a weakness, but she couldn't allow him to leave. She *needed* him to stay, to make her forget everything but the feel of his skin beneath her hands and his pulse against her lips. She needed him to keep her nightmares away. "You're not... this isn't like you," he protested huskily, even as he leaned into her touch. "Yes, it is," she insisted. But she knew it wasn't. The problem was she didn't know what she was like; she didn't know who she was anymore. She had always been what others had expected: a dutiful daughter, a hard-working student, an obedient girlfriend. She'd been lucky, that one time she'd dared to do the unexpected; she had managed to talk her way into a position as Josh's assistant. But after five years - six if you counted the campaign - she had yearned to be something more, to do something more. And look how that had worked out, she thought bitterly. No, this wasn't like her, not the Donna she had been. But the Donna that had come back from Germany was vastly different from the Donna that had left on the CODEL to Gaza. And maybe this was what the new Donna was like. She continued to nibble on his neck as her hands moved to his belt, deftly undoing it and the button fastening his trousers. She wiggled her hand inside and fondled his growing erection, eliciting another aroused groan from him. "Donna..." "Stay, Josh," she whispered huskily. And this time, instead of pulling away or protesting, he capitulated, his arms coming around her. Finally, she felt powerful, knowing that she could have this effect on him, knowing that she was in control. In control. Not weak. Not needy. Not helpless. Controlled. Oh, yes, the new Donna was definitely like this. She had to be, because the alternative was unthinkable. She pulled him onto the bed beside her, her lips and hands continuing their seductive torture. He moved his head, trying to kiss her fully, unsatisfied with the erotic friction of her mouth on his neck, but she eluded him, unwilling to give up any control. She was the one with the power now. Not him. And she would not let him dictate how fast - or slow - this encounter would be. Unbuttoning his shirt, she worked her mouth across the line of his collarbone to his lightly-haired chest, her mouth working over one taut nipple. She nipped at the hard brown nub with her teeth before laving it with her tongue. She felt him shudder, registered the feel of his hard cock against her hip, and reveled in the hold she had over him. If she could make him want her that much before she had even undressed, she must be powerful indeed. She moved even lower, tasting the skin of his taut stomach, feeling the tickle of hair against her nose. He groaned and buried his hands in her blond tresses. Urgently, she tugged at his pants, pulling them off his hips and down his legs. Taking his straining erection into her mouth, she swirled her tongue around the wet tip. She felt him swell as she deepened the kiss, sliding her lips over his cock, torturing him with the feel of her teeth and tongue against his sensitive flesh. *This* was power, she thought triumphantly, and she reveled in the feeling. But her euphoria was short-lived. Giving her no opportunity to protest, he tugged her head up and forced her to look at him, searching her eyes for something - what, she didn't know - and then capturing her mouth in a deep kiss. There was need and desire in the kiss, but there was something else too, something she couldn't quite identify, but that she thought had seen echoed in his intense stare. It might have been desperation or pity, but she wasn't sure. She didn't really want to know. Because the kiss made her feel weak and needy, and she didn't like the feeling at all. She had sought control, had briefly wielded it, but he had taken it away and brought her to the brink of helplessness. Where had her power gone? She'd had so much, had made him ache with wanting, and now it was gone. Now *she* was the one craving *his* touch. She wanted to weep at how pitiful she was, but the feelings he aroused in her demanded more immediate action. His mouth was doing things to hers that she had never even imagined; his hands were sweeping across her breasts, making her nipples hard and aching. She arched towards him, willing him to touch her more. If she immersed herself in the act of sex, she could forget everything else -- her injuries, the painful memories, her nightmares. Did it matter if she lost the upper hand? A part of her whispered that it did. But the part of her that needed to forget didn't care. Josh was offering her distraction, and she grasped at it with eager hands. The sex wasn't what she expected. She thought he would be selfish and self-focused, that he would take what he could get from her body then leave. It would be quick, a hot fuck and not much else. Part of her didn't even care if it *was* like that. Maybe she deserved it. How could she think she was worth a slow, thorough loving when she was broken, in both mind and body? But Josh seemed to have other ideas, His sensitivity, his dedication to ensuring her pleasure before pursuing his own, surprised her. He carefully undressed her, licking and sucking and kissing her neck and throat while his hands leisurely stroked her enflamed flesh. With each touch, each kiss, she grew hotter and wetter, until finally his fingers glided effortlessly along her sex and she lost all semblance of control. Her muscles clenched and she experienced a powerful orgasm. As the tremors in her body subsided, she slumped against the pillows, exhausted. Josh leaned in to her, giving her a deep kiss before reaching over her to find the box of condoms she kept in her bedside drawer. He rolled one on, then positioned himself above her, making sure to be careful of her bad leg. She arched towards him and he entered her, filling her with his hard, hot length. He moved slowly, his body sliding against hers in long, smooth thrusts. Soon, she was begging him for more -- faster, harder. And he complied, picking up the pace until she was clinging to his shoulders and climaxing again. She was still recovering from her second orgasm when she became aware of the fact that she had relinquished complete control to him. Hot tears burned her eyes, but she held them back, not wanting him to see her humiliation. Her arms dropped from his shoulders and she lay there limply, silently willing him to finish quickly. When he was done, his body still shaking with the aftereffects of his own climax, he collapsed against her briefly before rolling aside and giving her an avenue of escape. She turned her back to him, pulling the sheet tight around her body. She heard him sit up and fumble with the condom and then felt his tentative hand on her shoulder. "Donna?" She feigned sleep and after a moment of awkward silence, he lay down beside her and spooned her body from behind. He whispered something to her, but she couldn't make out his words, too preoccupied with holding back the tears that threatened to break free. She willed herself to stay still, to stay strong, in control. It was all about control, she reminded herself. She wouldn't give in to her weaknesses again; she would stay in control. He didn't seem to be put off by her silence or her stiffness. He simply held her, his breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep. When she was sure he was deeply asleep, she slipped from beneath his arm and -- leaning heavily against the wall and hopping on one foot -- she made her way to the bathroom. TBC... Disclaimers, etc, in part one... ~~~~~ Josh woke slowly a few hours later, disoriented by the strange bed and room, which were still bathed in the night's dim shadows. When he became fully conscious, he realized it wasn't the room that was odd but the person in it -- or more accurately *not* in it. The room itself was as familiar to him as his own. It was the cold, empty sheets in the space where Donna's body should have been spooned against his that had momentarily confused him. He was about to call her name, to locate her in the darkness, when he heard a muffled noise. It wasn't very loud, but he recognized it immediately: it was the sound of another human in emotional pain. He remembered the doctor telling him Donna would need months of physical therapy, but no one had mentioned the years of emotional therapy that she would have to look forward to. No one but Josh. He had pulled Leo aside one day, about a week after his return from Germany, and suggested that Donna might benefit from a visit with Stanley; that all of them - him and Toby and Andi - might benefit from it. Leo had agreed. And just as Donna had been waiting for him that Christmas Eve three years ago, he had been waiting for her when she had come out of her session. She hadn't said anything about what had been discussed and Josh hadn't asked. He had simply taken her home, made sure she was settled, and left. That had been the start of many such visits to her apartment. He'd drop by after work or call in the afternoons, always with the excuse of work, but mostly just to make sure she was ok. She never mentioned Gaza and he never pushed her to discuss it. He had his own issues of guilt and fear to try to overcome; he wasn't sure if he could handle hers, too. But his visits became ritual and he suspected he needed them for his own peace of mind as well as hers. She had seemed to be healing well, both physically and mentally, and Josh had taken that as a good sign. He'd even started to bring up the subject of Gaza, hoping to assure himself that she really was all right. And then she had kissed him and all his assumptions - about her health, their relationship, and his own neediness - had been blown to hell. He had tried to resist, had even started to leave -- twice -- but the overwhelming urge to continue what she'd started had been too powerful. Once he had gotten a taste of her, felt her curves against him, he had been helpless in controlling his body. The part of him that had wanted her - had loved her - for so long, took over. She was like a drug and he was the addict. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had known that making love to her was a bad idea, that she wasn't emotionally ready to take the next step, but he hadn't been strong enough to say no. So he had taken her to bed, hoping that what he felt for her would be enough to hold her together. But now he had woken to the sound of quiet sobs and he knew that it wasn't. Cautiously, he sat up, searching the floor next to the bed for his discarded boxers. He pulled them on and padded silently to the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar. He was just about to go in when he heard a splash, followed by another muffled sob. With a determined expression he pushed the door all the way open and saw Donna in the bathtub, surrounded by rapidly diminishing bubbles and quietly crying. "Donna?" Her head snapped up and she instinctively drew her one good knee to her chest, covering as much of her bare body as she could. "Little late for that," he joked lamely. "I've pretty much seen all there is to see." The words sounded hollow, even to his own ears. Cursing his runaway mouth, he tried to backpedal and make her feel more at ease. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I thought... I *knew* you weren't ready for, well, what we just did. But I couldn't seem to stop-" "Don't," she interrupted. Josh could hear the weariness in her voice, see the dejected slump of her shoulders. He wanted to take her in his arms, assure her that he would fix all her problems. That's what he did - he fixed things, be they political, professional or personal. But he knew from his own still-aching experience he couldn't do this for her. It would take a lot more than a platitude, or a night of heated sex, to make things right. What she wanted - what she deserved -- was time and space. And he wanted to give them to her, but he knew that wasn't an option. She was too defensive and in too much pain to be left alone. He didn't want her to end up as he had been that Christmas. So instead of giving her some privacy, he settled down on the floor next to the tub and prepared to do whatever was necessary to get her to open up to him. The first thing, he decided, was to get her to relax a little. She was so tense. Keeping his voice as neutral as possible, he gestured at the tub. "Slide forward a little." Startled, she looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks. "I... there's not enough room for two," she protested, even as she moved forward. He cursed inwardly, knowing he had managed to say the wrong thing. Again. "I don't want to join you," he explained gently. "You don't?" She sounded hurt and he tried to determine what she was thinking. She was obviously unwilling to let him see her body, and yet she was all but offering it to him as a sacrifice. He had to set her mind at ease. "Well, I *do* but I think you need something other than sex right now. Do you have one of those, you know, squishy things?" "Squishy?" He gestured helplessly. "Yeah, one of those puffy bath things you girls seem to like so much." Reaching into a basket on the floor beside the tub she extracted an odd-shaped tan object. At his perplexed look, she explained, "It's a natural sea sponge. They're less abrasive than plastic mesh scrubbies." Know that she must be feeling a little better if she was educating him on bath accessories, he smiled. His plan might actually work. "Is that so?" "Yes." Taking the sponge from her, he dipped it into the warm water and then began to gently massage her bare back. With each stroke, he saw a little bit of the tension in her body dissipate, and he started to feel more hopeful. If he managed to get her to relax, maybe he could get her to talk. After several minutes, she sighed and he felt his own taut muscles begin to relax. Until that moment, he hadn't even realized how worried he'd been. He started to talk, to tell her various amusing things about Sam and college, and by the time he had gotten to the incident about getting the fish on the Dean's list, she was no longer tense. Now was the time to get her talking. As casually as he could, he broached the subject. "So about before-" "Don't." Just as he had feared, she immediately shut him down. And while he may have allowed her to do so for the last month, he wasn't going to let her ignore her emotions anymore. He decided to play dumb. "Don't?" "If you want to hold a post-coital review, just don't." "We need to talk about it." "We really don't," she insisted. "Donnatella." "Joshua." Frustrated, he sat back on his heels. Clearly he needed to try another tactic. "OK, if you don't want to talk about what just happened in your bed, why don't you tell me why you won't talk about the other thing?" "The other thing?" "Gaza. The explosion. Fitz. Your leg." His patience was wearing thin and he tried desperately not to let it show. He didn't entirely succeed. "I could go on, but I think you get the idea." "There's nothing to talk about." "There *is*." "Josh..." "Are we really gonna do this again? Play games until I just give up and let you sink deeper into depression? No. I thought you were better than that, Donna." Frustrated, she turned towards him, forgetting her earlier reticence. "What do you want from me, Josh? I almost died. The Admiral *did* die. Hundreds of Israeli and Palestinian people die every year. And I'm supposed to be upset about a shattered leg? No! Because I get to come home to a loving family and friends, while there are families that will never see their loved ones again! Is that what you want me to say, Josh?" she cried. "Yes!" he shouted back. He rose to his feet and started to pace in the small space. "That's *exactly* what I want you to say. That and everything else that's been eating away at you." "I can't," she sobbed. "I can't say it. Saying it makes what happened real and I can't cope with that." "You *can* say it. And you *can* cope with it. You're the strongest person I know, Donnatella," he said quietly as he knelt down next to her again and reached out a hand to stroke her damp cheek. She pulled away from him. "I can't! And I'm not strong. I can't even stay in control. I just...tonight... I just needed someone to hold me. To be with me. To make it all go away. But even that didn't work." He flinched. He had guessed that their lovemaking had had very little to do with love - or even desire - but hearing her say it didn't make it hurt any less. Tonight, though, he had his priorities straight. Getting her to open up was more important than what he was feeling right now. "Is that what tonight was about? Staying in control? Forgetting?" he asked, his voice surprisingly steady as he pushed his hurt aside and concentrated on her. She looked ashamed. Because she knew she had used him or because she regretted it, he didn't know. "I didn't want to be alone anymore," she admitted quietly. "When I'm alone... I have nightmares, Josh. And when I'm awake, all I can see are the images my mind conjured during the night. It makes me feel so weak, so helpless." "Donna..." "No! You wanted me to talk, so I'll talk." She took a deep breath. Turning her face away from his probing look, she started, her voice barely a whisper. "Colin showed me the families, the border patrol, the orphaned children and the jobless men. Talked about the suicide bombers. I knew about it, but to actually see it up close... it's part of everyday life there. And it made my heart ache." Though his insides twisted at the mere mention of Heathcliff the photographer, he quashed the snarky comment he was about to make about her endless stream of gomers. What she needed was comfort and reassurance that she was strong enough to cope with what she had seen, to handle what had happened to her. And care, the same care that she had shown him for six endless years. Maybe he couldn't slay all her demons or even be the man she really needed, but he could at least care for her. Without a word, he picked up the abandoned sponge and began to gently bath her smooth, alabaster skin again. He watched as her shoulders began to shake and he tried soothing her with soft words. "Shhh... Donna, no..." "I slept with him," she sniffled, her words muffled by the curtain of her hair. Josh bit back the bile that rose in his throat and simply whispered in an anguished tone, "I know." "You don't," she cried. "But he was handsome and attentive, and CJ said -" His brow furrowed. "CJ?" But he didn't have a chance to question CJ's involvement further, because Donna was still talking, telling him things he didn't want to hear, things that made his gut clench and his eyes burn. "She said I needed to have a life, something more than you, more than the White House. And she was right. But it didn't matter. Because while I was there, all I could think of was you. And those people. Those people... if you could have seen them like I did. They weren't just subjects to be photographed." She paused, her breath catching in a small hiccup, before continuing. "He was still sleeping when I wrote that email..." Josh gripped the sponge tighter, his fist squeezing all the warm water from it in a quick rush. She had been writing to him while she was with Heathcliff? Jealousy, hotter than any he had ever felt, roared through him. "I needed to make you understand. And I knew you would if I could just make you see what I had seen. So I poured all of my thoughts, my worries - everything -- into those emails." He knew she had. Her emails, which had been such a lifeline to him on his transatlantic flight, had been filled with wonder, and with sadness. Donna, with her soft heart and tender touch, had been overwhelmed by what she had seen and learned. He suddenly understood why she had turned to Colin. She had needed comfort, a distraction from the realities of Gaza. And he hadn't been there to tease her out of her melancholy or to argue the other side of the situation with her. So she had turned to the one person there who had appeared stable and grounded: Colin. All of his anger and jealousy evaporated as suddenly as it had appeared. He couldn't fault her for grasping at whatever distraction she could. He had used Amy in much the same way after he had learned about the President's MS and Donna's betrayal with Cliff. He leaned over the lip of the tub and pulled her damp body against his in a warm embrace. She turned and buried her face against his neck and he felt her hot tears burn his skin. "Shhh... it's ok. It'll be ok." "I'm sorry... so sorry," she apologized through her tears. "Don't. There's nothing for you to be sorry about." "There is. I didn't want to lose control like this." He held her away from him for a moment so that he could look straight into her eyes. "There is *nothing* for you to be sorry about. Nothing," he repeated. "You sent me to do a job. And look how miserably I failed. I couldn't even stay in one piece." He immediately felt a surge of guilt. He had sent her into the volatile situation there, never considering how she would react to it, never considering what might happen to her. "No, I'm the one who needs to apologize." She looked at him questioningly. "You?" "I sent you there -" "Josh, I wanted to go. It was important to me." "I should have known what it would be like. I shouldn't have sent you. Toby-" "Toby couldn't stop Andi from going and you couldn't have stopped me." "But your leg..." "Will heal," she assured him. How had they come to this point, he wondered, with her giving comfort to him instead of the other way around? "I didn't want it to come to this. I don't want you to go through what I did." He looked at her intently. "I will do *anything* to keep you safe from now on," he vowed. "I know," she said, her eyes filling up once more with tears. Her concern for him amidst all her pain was his undoing. Fighting back the moisture in his own eyes, he stood and pulled her to her feet. "C'mon, let's get you out of this bath. You're starting to shrivel." She gifted him with a watery smile. "I look like the proverbial prune." Gazing at her tear-stained face and damp, stringy hair, he said with the utmost sincerity, "A beautiful prune." She blushed, and he noticed the way the soft pink flushed her entire body. His sex started to stir, but he tamped down all lascivious thoughts. Now was the time for comfort, not sex. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. Grabbing a towel from the nearby rack, he wrapped her securely in it and led her back into the bedroom. He dried her, dressed her in a soft, worn nightshirt, then tucked her beneath the warm cotton comforter. After making sure she was comfortable, he climbed into bed with her and cradled her in his arms. "Josh," she asked sleepily, "what happens now?" "With us?" "No. Well, yes. But no. With me. What if the nightmares never go away? What if I never recover?" "You will." "How do you know?" "I just do." "But how?" "Because we get better," he explained. "You're going to be ok. *We're* going to be ok. I promise." "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep." "I can keep this one. `There's this guy walking down the street and he falls into a hole ...'," he started, but she cut him off. "But I've been down here before, and I know the way out'," she concluded with a brittle laugh. "Yeah," he agreed with an encouraging nod. "I don't think that really applies here." "Why not?" he questioned gently. "Because I'm not in jeopardy of losing my job," she retorted. Then she sat up in a panic. "Am I?" "No," he reassured her, pulling her back down into the circle of his arms. "But it's not just about the job, Donna. It's the whole deal. I'm here for you. I know what it's like and I can help you. I'm doing this because I care about you and I want to see you healthy. Inside and out." "I know," she said quietly. He shifted a little and placed a light kiss on her forehead. "Go to sleep, Donnatella." "And you'll stay?" "I'm not going anywhere," he promised, hoping she understood that he was talking about more than just tonight. And if she didn't - well, he'd make sure he was clear about his intentions in the morning. "'k," she whispered sleepily as she snuggled closer to his side, falling into a deep sleep within minutes. Josh watched the gentle fall and rise of her chest and said a small prayer, thanking God for keeping her alive. There was still a lot she would have to learn to deal with, and the recovery would be long and hard. But she was alive and she would get better. And in time, when she was ready, they would figure out what they were to each other. It wouldn't be easy. But he was confident that their relationship would withstand the changes and that in the end it would make them stronger. With a small smile, he closed his eyes, comforted by the feel of Donna in his arms. Tonight, they were simply them, facing the world together, just as they always had. The rest would all fall into place later. For now, that was all he needed. ~End~ End note: Yana pointed out that some of my medical facts are slightly off. I twisted them slightly for my own purposes. In reality, there's no way Donna would have gotten away with crutches or hobbling when she should have been in a wheelchair. Her doctor and therapists would have been able to tell and she probably would have damaged her knee even more.