It had been a long while since Donna Moss's phone had rung in the dead of night. She'd derived a steady sleeping pattern in which she managed to get six hours of sleep and still have some free time, just for herself.

It worked for her, for once. The bags under her eyes slowly receded (with a little help from hemorrhoid cream, not that she would admit that to anyone), she smiled brighter and talked to her parents more often and actually got a chance to go shopping.

It was a wonder what a little stability could do for one's life.

But on this particular night she was pulled from her dreams (this time, one about Matthew Fox and herself marooned on an island, what a treat!) by the shrill ringing of her home telephone.

The home phone barely ever rang. She'd moved three times in just as many years so she found it much easier to simply give her cell phone number as the primary means of contacting her.

'Probably a wrong number' she thought and attempted to pull herself back onto the island and coax Matthew out of his shirt. The phone went quiet; she smiled and snuggled back down into her pillow.

It began again, that shrill beeping noise that substituted for a ring cutting through her head like a rusty butter knife. A single, pale hand shot out from beneath the comforter and retrieved the offending object, stabbing the 'call' button with her forefinger.

Before she could even say hello, before she even had the receiver up to her ear she heard, "I always wanted to be an Elk."

"Excuse me?" she asked, finding it quite impossible not to rub the sleep from her eyes.

"Wha-who is this?"

"I was never an Elk, I wanted to be though," the voice repeated, cadence slow, tone wispy, nearly sad.

"It's two in the morning, really," she cleared her throat, all hope of diving back into her dream completely shattered. "Who is this?"

He didn't give her a straight answer, just replied in that same sad, sad voice, "...I wanted to be an elk."

It was the inflection at the end of the statement, it was the way he voice dropped a notch. And though there was static on the line, and no doubt hundreds of miles between them, she could feel him touching her, his voice cocooning her in a way she hadn't felt in ages. "Josh?"

"Yeah." A note of relief carried over the phone line, over cities and states, over reds and blues and millions of voters.

What could she say to him, what was waiting to be said after all that time. A year wasn't much but it was surely something after spending years on end together, every day together, every day wanting and waiting and then just waiting some more. "Hi."

"Hi."

Then there was a palpable silence, and her fingers begged the synapses to fire and allow them to stroke the receiver, to somehow reach out and really touch him, know that he was real. But she just breathed, and he just breathed and the line cracked and went dead for a moment before clicking back to life.

"Someone will find out you're calling me, it's not a good idea at this point." 'Hang up, Joshua' she wanted to say. 'Hang up because you and I both know that neither of us can do this again.

"I'm calling from a pay phone." And as an afterthought, "Outside."

A shiver raced down her spine as she struggled to remember where the Santos campaign was this week. Her body knew before her conscious mind did as it shivered again. "You're in Milwaukee..."

"Yeah..." His free arm was wrapped around his midsection, that much she knew. A life growing up in New England still hadn't taught him how to dress to face the cold, and winters in D.C. weren't nearly as cold as they were up there in the 'great white north.' He must have been freezing… he must have been desperate.

And he was, he was simply desperate to hear her voice.

"Josh! It's January! Get back inside."

"I wanna talk." He would be nodding to himself, she knew, as if to convince his body to brave the chilling temperatures for a few moments longer; that what he was doing was important.

"Talk inside!"

"Someone might see me!"

Her smile came easily, the frustration and angst in his voice gripping her deep down, pulling her fully awake, rousing the yearning that she knew hadn't died. "What… is there a reason you called?"

"I…" Wind rushed against the receiver on his end, screeching in her ear. Donna held back the phone for a moment, but only for a moment. If they got disconnected her heart might break so her fingers tightened around the cheap plastic, knuckles going as white as snow holding onto him, willing the connection to withstand the gust. "Donna?"

"Yes! I'm still here." The way she sounded, she could only imagine it was desperate, perhaps bordering on ecstatic. But really, she didn't care how she sounded as long as he could hear her. "You called for a reason?"

No hesitation loomed on the line as he said, "No, no reason."

The tiny smile on her face bloomed into a grin, fully accompanied by a quick flush of her cheeks. Her body was on fire; three words and she was there with him, wanting, back in the old game. "You're going to catch a cold."

The loving tone of her voice was returned in his. "You can't catch a cold from being in the cold, Donnatella." Donnatella… "And besides, I'm wearing my good coat."

"Ah, your good coat, that's lasted you awhile, hasn't it?"

Josh's laugh startled her but Donna found herself biting her lip to keep from laughing with him. That might be too much for either of them to handle. "Solid Yankee craftsmanship Donna, you must not get that over in Wisconsin… good cheese though."

"Good cheese, bad coats?"

"Mmm hmm," Josh agreed and as she went to respond, falling back into the groove of easy banter, he cut her off. "You know after you wore this coat…"

"Yeah?"

"It smelled like you… for days." Oh, she could hear the smile in his voice then, better than ever and she pressed her body down under the covers, pulling the blanket over her head, stealing the moment that was about to happen away from the darkness so that she could have it all to herself. "For days and I would wear it… and you would be around me."

If her lips had wanted to open and present him with words, they couldn't have. She was far too preoccupied with being dumbfounded by his statement. Something so sweet but so very sensual wrapped up and handed to her as a gift, a nice little present for her to treasure. "Was that good?" she whispered, needing to know, wanting to hear him talk about her being wrapped around him again, wanting to know what it felt like.

A sigh, "Better than you could imagine."

"I imagine a lot, Josh," and the tone of the conversation had quickly gone from carefree to sensual to sad in a matter of only a minute. "A lot."

Another gust of wind, another moment of crackling followed by a forlorn, "I'm sorry."

The line went dead after that and Donna held the phone in her hand, staring at it for several moments before she placed it back in the cradle. Lips in a distinct frown, she pulled the covers back around her and prepared to attempt to sleep though she knew damn well it wouldn't come after their conversation.

The phone trilled again and she snatched it up easily. "Josh?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay, I'm here."

"I am sorry, so… just, sorry for what's happened." There was a pause and the frown lifted a little. "And for what hasn't happened… and for what should happen but probably won't."

The frown became deeper, taking over her entire face and she felt a telltale lump rise up in her throat. She knew, deep down inside of her, past the places that he kept, that things probably wouldn't even be right between them but to hear him say it… it crushed her. It crushed him too. "And you've just decided that?" she choked out, wanting to sound harsh but just sounding too confused and lost to comprehend anything that he would say.

"Without a doubt, you're the only person that could ever… be… that person, Donna," she was sure he was crying or on the verge or something.He had to be, there was so much emotion in his voice for him not to be. "There won't be any… other… person."

Donna was glad he was struggling to say what he was saying; for some reason it meant something to her, it meant it was important, that he wasn't saying it for himself… he was saying it for her. "Are you, can you…"

"This is important to me, Donna." Josh said, voice forceful, still heartbreaking. "I wouldn't be able to… I don't think you could be the most important thing. And you should. You should be."

The tears really came then, thick and fast. "Josh, please—"

"I miss you so, so much."

"We can't do this, Josh. We can't talk like this and go back to just… being whatever we were. I can't do this!" Then her voice skipped a decibel and she was nearly shouting into the phone. "I can't love you like this," and she realized what she'd said and hung her head, tears falling from her chin onto the comforter, little dark green spots on the spring green covering. "I. Can't. Love. You."

"I can't love you, either," he said defiantly, as if he were four years old. I know you are… but what am I?

It killed her to say it, it cracked her, it battered her to say it, but she said it anyway. "Maybe we should hang up then. Maybe you shouldn't call me ag—"

"Pleasedon'thangup." Dead silence again. No wind this time, no crackling on the line, just silence. "I love you, really."

"God, I, me too, Josh…"

"We shouldn't be saying this. I shouldn't be saying this."

"I know, I know."

"I want to see you, I need to see you."

"I know."

"I miss you."

"I know."

"Come here."

Donna was caught off guard and sat up when she heard his plea. "I… I can't do that. You wouldn't be—"

"I don't care," he urged. "Come here."

"Santos wouldn't-"

"He won't find out. No one will find out. Donna, please, please come here." Silent tears trickled down her neck and she heard him sob. "I need you."

'I need you more' she wanted to say, but knew it would only break him more than he was broken already. "I… can't."

Too much silence, too much of it. "Alright."

"Where?"

"Where what?"

"Where will you be next… Thursday?"

He apparently wasn't following her. "I uh, I think we're in Boston, or you know, Albania… we're all over the place. But Thursday is the 6th? Yeah, Boston."

"…I'll be there."

When he spoke, his voice was light, airy, fast. "So, that's it, just like that?"

"Just like that," she affirmed, cradling the phone to her head gently. "Yeah, just like that Josh." It felt nice to be able to give him something good to think about, something that wouldn't stress him out. It was nice to have the butterflies back in her stomach again.

"So… Thursday?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Well… I'd better get going."

"Alright. Goodnight," she whispered.

"Goodnight Donna," Josh spoke slowly. "And Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"I do… love you."

"I know."