Five minutes after CJ leaves his office, I see Josh standing by the office door.  He's got this pained expression on his face, and I try to remind myself that I'm still pissed at him for that crack he made last night.  But how do you stay angry when he looks like he's falling apart?

"Josh," I ask, "is something wrong?"

He just shakes his head and walks back into his office.

This is not acceptable behavior.  I march into his office.  He's got his chair turned around, and he's staring out the window.

He knows I'm here.  I think it would be impossible for one of us to be unaware of the other's presence.

So he's ignoring me.  Deliberately ignoring me.  I put this together with last night's verbal attack, and I'm suddenly very worried.

Passive-aggressive is not my usual style.  God knows it isn't Josh's.  But he's not budging, and I'll be damned if I am either.  So he sits and stares out the window, no doubt hoping I'll go away, while I stand quietly in front of his desk and wait.

I am more than a little pleased when, three minutes into this silent confrontation, Josh speaks first.  "Go home, Donna."

"No."

"You complained for ten minutes when I said I wanted you here this morning."

"Yes, I did.  But as long as I'm here..."

"Go home."

"When are you going home, Josh?"

"In a minute."

"Liar."

I peer around the side of the desk, trying to get a good look at him.  I can tell that the corner of his mouth has turned up just a little.

"You know, Donnatella, some assistants treat their bosses with respect."

"Some assistants are wimps."  That's the first time he's called me Donnatella in more than a week.  Not that I keep track or anything.

"Really," he says, "you should take advantage of this generous offer before I come to my senses."

I sit down in the visitor's chair.  Just, you know, to make a point.

He's still not facing me.  I'm guessing the conversation with CJ is tied up in what's bothering him, so I ask what she wanted.  He shrugs.  "She's upset about the Defense of Marriage Act."

"Well, who wouldn't be?  It's a bigoted, hateful piece of legislation."

Josh shrugs again.  "Whatever."

"I don't get why you and Leo are giving up on this."

He turns around then, finally, and looks at me.  The pain is still there in his face, along with his trademark hostility.  And just like last night, I get to be the target of that hostility.  Lucky me.

"You know," he says, "I may have to put up with this crap from CJ, but I don't have to listen to you.  You're a little further down on the food chain around here."

My first impulse is to tell him that's one crack too many.  That coming on the heels of last night's remark about my lack of self-worth, what he just said is more than I'm willing to put up with.  I am this close to telling him I quit.  I swear the words are on my tongue.

But as I stand up to tell him all that, I look in his eyes.  What I see there stops me.  It's like he's waiting for my counterattack, and he's afraid to hear it.

Of course he is.  'Cause this is Josh, and he knows just how far he can push me.  He's absolutely aware of how much he's provoked me in the last twenty-four hours; the man gets paid to launch verbal attacks, after all.  He rehearses those assaults, for god's sake.  Usually with me.  He knows what he's doing, at least on some level.

So he wants to get rid of me.

My nerves are suddenly on edge in a way I've only experienced once before -- the night Toby told me that Josh had been shot.

He wants me to quit.

I'm having trouble breathing.

He's standing now too, the desk still separating us.  He's holding his whole body rigid as though he's anticipating a physical blow.  Which he just might get if it weren't for the damn desk.  Then I notice this hint of fear in his eyes.  He's afraid of my leaving.  So why the hell is he pushing me away?

What is wrong with him?

"No," I say.  "I'm not quitting."

"Well, there's your typical Donna Moss non sequitur," he replies.  But he doesn't look surprised or confused by my words.  In fact, some of the fear leaves his eyes, and he visibly relaxes.

"I'm not going anywhere, Josh.  Get used to it."  I sit back down.  You know, still making my point.

He watches me for a couple of seconds, then he sits back down.  Facing me this time.  "Stuck with you, am I?" he asks.

"Yes, you are.  Deal with it."

We sit there together silently for another minute.  This time, however, it's not the awkward, tension-filled silence of a few minutes ago.  It is, in fact, pleasant.  Josh is almost grinning, and I realize that this is the first time he's come close to truly smiling in weeks.

The more I think about this, the more I worry about it.  A couple of days ago, he got into some sort of argument with Sam.  Yesterday, he made that crack about my self-worth, and today he's sniping at CJ.

What the hell is wrong with him?

CJ and Sam are his closest friends; I'm his -- whatever it is I am.  I mean, technically the term is "assistant," but that doesn't seem like an adequate description somehow.

But the point is that, for whatever reason, Josh seems intent on pushing away the people who care about him the most.

I should ask him about this.  I should get him to talk about whatever is going on.  I should be gentle and diplomatic and non-confrontational.

"What the hell is the matter with you lately, Josh?"

Yeah, well, I don't do gentle and diplomatic.  And non-confrontational gets you nowhere with Josh.

"Nothing.  You know, I can't get any work done what with you and CJ barging in here every five minutes, but other than that--"

"You're lying."

"Donna--"

"I know when you're lying, Josh.  Your forehead gets all wrinkly."

It's almost comical watching him try to unwrinkle his forehead.

"Nothing's wrong," he repeats.  "I'm just, you know, tired."

"So you come in to work on Saturday morning."

"I have work that needs to be done."

"You don't."  He should know better than to argue this point with the person who arranges his schedule.

"I could have."

He's tired, but he got here at 7 a.m. Saturday morning after being in the office until at least midnight yesterday.  I do the math pretty quickly.  "You're not sleeping, are you?"

"I'm getting sleep."

"Not much.  What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says.  "Just -- nothing.  Drop it, okay?"

"No, I'm not going to drop it.  You're turning into a real bastard, Josh.  I mean, even moreso than usual.  You've said horrible things to me, and apparently you haven't been all that nice to Sam and CJ."

"CJ and I were just, you know, debating the pocket veto thing.  It wasn't a big deal."

"Well, it is, but that's not--"

Big mistake on my part there.  Letting myself get sidetracked for even a minute on the Defense of Marriage Act.  Josh, of course, seizes the opportunity to switch the conversation to a political issue.

"Why is it such a big deal?" he asks.  "It's the best compromise we can reach."

"It's homophobia.  That's not something you compromise on.  But this thing with you yelling--"

"It's a valid political maneuver.  We let them win this one and go on to concentrate on an issue we can win."  Now that we're on safe, work-related ground, he gets up and moves out from behind the desk.  He's standing across from me now, so I stand up and move closer to him too.  It's this weird thing we do sometimes: we're like magnets, pulling each other near.

I repeat my original point.  "The government has no business telling people they can't be together."

Josh moves even closer.  "They can be together," he says.  "They just can't call themselves married."

"Yes, but people have a right--"  I start over because we're standing so close together now and the obvious example is stuck in my head.  "Hypothetically," I say, and I notice that my voice has gotten awfully soft and, well, intimate.  "Hypothetically, if I were to be colossally stupid and fall in love with you--"

He reaches out and pushes my hair off my face.  "Can I be colossally stupid and love you back?  Hypothetically?"

Josh's hand is caressing my neck now, and I should tell him to stop.  I should.  "Hypothetically," I say, "no one should be able to tell us that's wrong."

"No, they shouldn't," Josh says in this raspy tone I have never heard from him before.

"And, hypothetically speaking, I should be able to spend my life with you and have my government recognize that it's our right to be together.  Hypothetically."

"You certainly should.  Hypothetically."

"And CJ's brother and his partner deserve that same right, don't you think?"

"Could we go back to this hypothetical situation, because I--"

"It's purely hypothetical, Josh.  Because despite what you said last night, my taste in men simply isn't that bad."

He smiles and shakes his head.  "Donnatella giveth, and Donnatella taketh away," he says.

"I'm just saying it's unfair to have one standard for straight couples and another standard for gays.  You should fight for this."

"There's no point," he answers.  "It's just one more fight we have no chance of winning."

"Maybe there are some fights that are worth it even if you know you're going to lose."

He moves away from me, a sure sign he's getting hostile again.  "What?  Did you and CJ decide to tag team me?"

"I'm just saying that there are some things worth fighting for whether they're politically expedient or not."

"And I'm just saying that I'm tired of it.  I'm tired of fighting the same battles in the same meetings with the same people and never making any progress."

"You make progress."

"No, I don't.  I go through the motions day after day, but nothing gets accomplished.  It's just the same crap over and over.  In the two years we've been here, the only thing I've managed to do is get myself shot."

"Oh.  That's what this is about."

"No, it's not -- forget I said it, Donna."

"Are you--"

"Just forget it."

"You should talk--"

"No, I really shouldn't."

"If it's bothering you--"

"You know what's bothering me?  You honestly want to know what disturbs me most in all this?"

"Yes, I do."

His voice gets very soft and quiet, like he wants to say it but he's afraid for me to hear it.  "It could have been you," he says.

"I wasn't even there, Josh."

"You could have been.  I was going to make you go.  I thought I'd wait until the last minute and spring it on you -- sort of revenge for the chair thing."

I smile in spite of myself.  "I knew it."

"You knew I've been walking around for the past few months feeling guilty because I almost put you in the middle of an assassination attempt?"

"No, I knew on the day it happened that with your warped sense of humor you would think it was a great idea to make me spend the evening at the Newseum.  So I hid out until you left."

"And just where were you hiding?  'Cause I had Carol check the ladies room, and she assured me you weren't there."

Damn straight she did.  I'm ten dollars poorer for it too.

"Now, Josh, what would be the fun in that?  If you knew all my hiding places, some of the mystery would leave our relationship."

He goes back to that wistful half-smile of his that breaks my heart.  "I doubt that."

"And anyway, guilt boy, if this is why you're being a bastard and trying to push me away--"

"Am I doing that?  Because if I am, apparently I'm not too good at it.  Considering that you're still here and all."

"I'm a stubborn woman."

"I've noticed."

"Anyway, my point is that I wasn't there and I'm perfectly all right."

"My point is that you could have been there.  You could have been standing next to me when the shooting started.  How do I know that next time you won't be?"

"You don't," I answer.  "You don't know that next time it won't be me.  Or CJ or Sam or Toby.  Or anyone else you care about.  You don't know I won't get hit by a bus on my way home from work.  You don't even know that there will be a next time."

"You're missing my point.  I gave you this job.  I put you in the line of fire."

"And you hired Charlie.  You even introduced him to Zoey.  You're feeling guilty about all of that, aren't you?"

"Well--"

"Josh, none of that makes you responsible for the actions of a bunch of ignorant skinheads.  Which is, you know, a fairly redundant phrase."

"What?"  He gets his confused face on.  I love when I throw him for a loop.

"Ignorant skinheads.  Did you ever meet an intelligent skinhead?"

"I've never met any skinheads.  They just shoot at me.  They don't bother to introduce themselves first."

"I'll bet if they introduced themselves, they'd gloat about the Defense of Marriage Act."

"Who are you working for today -- me or CJ?"

"Well, CJ is a nicer person.  And Carol's hours are much saner than mine.  But you need me more."

"That I do," he says in this soft voice.

Donna Moss, I tell myself firmly, you are not going to pursue what he means by that remark.  That way leads to madness.  And a PR disaster that would set CJ's teeth on edge.

Still...

"I need you too," I answer, soft tone and all.

Magnets, I tell you.

He looks surprised, but he changes the subject again.  Just as well.

"I'm thinking," he says.  "I've been -- the thought has crossed my mind -- I've considered quitting."

"Leaving the White House?"

"I've been thinking about it."

"What would we do if we left?"  That first person plural is out before I can reconsider it.  Way to wear your heart on your sleeve there, Donnatella.

"Me.  Not necessarily you."

"Don't be stupid, Josh.  First, you'd hate not working here.  Second, like hell you're leaving me behind.  You wouldn't last a week without me, no matter where you were."

"Probably not."  Why is there never a witness when he admits these things?  "But I'm just so tired of--"  He waves his hand, a sweeping gesture taking in all the office and, by extension, all the White House.  "I'm just so tired of all this.  And you'd be better off without me."

"Possibly.  But we'll never know."

"It's a job, Donna.  One of these days, you'll have to move on to something else."

"Margaret's been with Leo for almost ten years.  And Mrs. Landingham--"

"We're not the same as them."

Okay, when he's right, he's right.  Still, we're better off ignoring that issue for the moment, don't you think?

"You're not quitting," I say.  "I won't let you."

He reaches out and touches my cheek.  "I can't make any promises, Donna.  That's the one thing I'm not going to do.  I'm not going to lie to you."

There's this defeated tone in his voice that, frankly, frightens me.  But I don't know what else I can say to reach him.

Except, you know, for that one thing we just don't say.

"You should go home, Josh," I finally tell him.  "Get some sleep."

"In an hour."  He doesn't promise, so I guess in his mind it doesn't count as a lie.  "You go."

"No."

"Donna, really, it's okay.  And there's nothing for you to do here."

"I brought a book."

"I'll be all right.  I'll just look this stuff over."  He gestures toward the mess on his desk.  "Then I'll go home."

"Promise me?"

He sighs.  "If I must."

I look as stern as I can manage.  "That's an ambiguous phrase there, Josh."

"I promise I will go home in an hour."

"I'll be calling you at home in ninety minutes.  Just a warning."

"See?  I'm almost sure Margaret doesn't give Leo a curfew."

He's right:  We're not Margaret and Leo, and we're certainly not Mrs. Landingham and President Bartlet.  So we might as well be us.  I kiss him very lightly on the lips.  Just, you know, a friendly gesture.  Comforting.  Platonic.  'Cause that's us.

He looks mildly shocked, but he recovers quickly.  "And Donnatella giveth again," he says.

"Ninety minutes, Josh," I remind him as I walk out the door.

Whenever Josh is out of the building, I wait for him.  I sit in his office, and I look out the window until I see him coming.  I'm not sure why, but as I leave the West Wing today, I know he's watching me.  So I turn around and wave to him.  I can't see him and I know he can't hear me, but I have this compulsion to say it anyway.

"I love you, Joshua Lyman," I whisper.  "No hypotheticals involved."

The weather has taken a turn in the last few days; it's bitter cold.  For the first time, I can believe that Christmas is only about a month away.  As I walk toward my car, that thought cheers me up.

I mean, after all, whatever's at the bottom of this funk Josh is in, it can't last, right?

He'll be better soon.  Everything will be all right, I'm sure, by Christmas.

THE END

12.05.00