"Donna!"

She winced, her head gently resting on her forearms, her eyes closed tight against what little light remained in the main room of the campaign headquarters after she'd shut off the overheads. She couldn't answer. The thought of that much sound, of the way it would ricochet around inside her skull made her nausea kick up a notch.

But the worst was her head.

Her head pounded, throbbed, spasmed, and otherwise made her quite upset that she'd, you know, been born at all. Her eyes ached, her eardrums thrummed with even the faintest sound, and her stomach threatened mutiny.

She'd finally found the perfect way to lie so that very little light reached her, and the last of the peppy, young volunteers had vacated the other room, leaving Donna in blessed silence, so of course Josh had to start yelling. If he said one more word, she would have to kill him.

If her head didn't split apart first.

"Donna, what the hell--"

Carefully not moving her head, she managed to lift one hand in his direction, her fingers splayed in the universal symbol for "Stop talking, you idiot, can't you see I have a migraine?"

Much quieter, he said, "Donna?"

"Head hurts," she whispered, cringing against the overly loud sound of her own voice.

"Donna, go home," Josh said, drawing closer but dropping his voice even lower.

"Too far," she mumbled. "Can't."

"I can drive you," he offered, one hand landing lightly on her shoulder.

"Headlights. Bright."

"Donna, you can't stay--"

Up went her hand again. Too many words. Too loud. Head on verge of major explosion.

Luckily, Josh seemed to understand. He pressed his palm flat against her shoulder, and even that was nearly too much. Then he retreated, his heinously loud footsteps fading just before she snapped and did something rash, like jab a pencil into her ear.

She didn't move, even though her back was sore from slumping forward, and she thought her foot was falling asleep, and she really wanted to scratch the sudden and urgent itch on her left arm. But moving would be a big mistake; it might jar the headache up a notch.

Footsteps again. Donna tried not to cringe, not to wince, not to move at all. It was Josh; even in a pain-induced haze, she'd spent enough damn time shadowing him that she could recognize the cadence of his walk.

"Donna?" he whispered hesitantly.

She made the softest, breathiest "hmmm" she could muster. Even that hurt.

"Can you move?"

"No."

"Even if I help you?"

One shoulder lifted ever-so-slightly.

"I've got Leo's couch ready for--"

"No," she said. Too loudly. She grimaced against another wave of pain, her entire body tensing. She thought she might have whimpered, but she wasn't sure.

"Donna, you can't stay here."

"Yes," she said. Sort of; only the sibilant made it into the air. But, really, did he think she was crazy? She'd been on the campaign almost exactly two months; she was certainly not going to camp out on the director's couch!

"I have Tylenol," Josh said, his soft, but sing-song-ey. If Donna weren't quite so miserable, she'd have kicked him.

Donna wavered. Her drugs were in her hotel room. Far, far away, maybe four or five blocks. Tylenol wouldn't kill the headache, but it might make it survivable. She moaned very, very softly, reaching one hand out towards Josh.

He clasped her hand firmly, and she could feel his presence beside her, waiting to help. She clenched her teeth, tensed her muscles, and pushed herself upright. Slowly, slowly she rose to her feet, her eyes still closed. Josh wrapped one arm around her waist and ushered her around her desk, through what she knew must be a maze of boxes, stacks of paper, and other detritus, and into Leo McGarry's office.

Each step, each movement reverberated in her head, like she was trapped inside one of those old church bells at noontime.

And then there was a couch at her knees. A soft, welcoming, old couch. Josh lowered her gently, his hands guiding her body. She curled up, eyes still closed, and pressed her hands against her head. It didn't really help, but she did it anyway.

"Can you swallow a pill?" Josh asked quietly.

"Minute," she whispered, knowing he'd understand.

"I'll get water," Josh said.

He wandered away again, and was back before she'd recovered from the pain of walking maybe thirty feet. Migraines sucked.

"Here," Josh whispered, his fingers brushing against her cheek. She felt the cool gelcap against her lips and opened her mouth. "Straw," Josh said, pressing it to her lips. She smiled, just a little, and accepted, swallowing the pills down.

"Thank you," she said.

He didn't speak, merely brushed his knuckles along her shoulder. Then he moved away, and the room grew dark and quiet and she thought she might survive--might even want to survive.

She must have drifted off when the pain lessened, because it was definitely lighter in the room when she opened her eyes. Her head still ached, but the debilitating pain had eased. She uncoiled herself from the couch and stood, blinking against the soft glow of pre-dawn.

Great, she though. She'd have just enough time to go home and change before having to be back at headquarters. No sleep, very little food, and lots of stress--she couldn't imagine why she didn't have a migraine every day.

Donna emerged from Leo McGarry's office to find Josh Lyman draped across three folding chairs just outside the door, his arm bent under his cheek as a pillow. He'd waited for her. She sniffled a little, incredibly touched by the kindness she hadn't seen since their fist meeting, and bent down, one hand on his shoulder.

"Josh?"

Groaning, he opened one eye. "What?" Then he frowned and tried to move, groaning.

She smiled at him. "Do you need me to get you some Tylenol?"

The memory of the night before seemed to hit him, and he pushed himself upright, "You're up." He grimaced, rubbing his arm. "You're feeling better?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Thanks. Do you need Tylenol?"

Josh brushed her off. "Nah. I'm good."

She bit back a laugh as he rose stiffly to his feet, walking very, very carefully towards the door with no hint of his usual catlike grace.

"Josh, I'm going to go grab a shower at the hotel and--"

"Sleep," he interrupted, ducking into his office momentarily. He emerged with her coat and his. "Here."

"Thanks." Donna slipped into the jacket. "I slept in Mr. McGarry's office. I only need--"

"Sleep," Josh repeated. "I left a message for Leo. I told him we'd be in around noon."

Donna didn't know quite what to say. "Josh, you didn't have to do that."

"Sure, I did," he answered, that half-smirk in place. "I'm tired after looking after you all night."

Donna returned the smile. "Well, if I didn't have such a slavedriver for a boss, maybe I'd have time to, you know, eat and sleep."

"Oh, so it's my fault now?" Josh demanded, ushering her out into the crisp grey morning air.

"It's always your fault, Josh."

Even with the remnants of a major migraine and a slight crick in her neck from a night spent on the couch, as Donna walked into the dawn with Josh, she felt… better.

THE END

10.20.04