A/N: Based on the episode Night Five and the look Donna gives Josh as she stands in the hallway after he delivers the news that the reporter in the Congo was killed. She looks so fragile and vulnerable in that moment, and as she looks between Josh in his doorway watching her and CJ trying to console the reporter's widow in the other room, your heart fractures because you see her remembering how she almost lost Josh.
Caveat: The characters herein do not belong to me. I borrow them from time to time for cathartic purposes.
Donna had to turn away from his gaze. It was as though Josh's eyes were reading the very depths of her soul and that unnerved her. She took a deep breath and walked back through the bullpen, putting as much distance between herself and Josh—between herself and that room filled with agony and grief—as she could. She quickened her steps as she felt the tears begin to sting her eyes, not wanting anyone to see how much the night's events had affected her.
She gasped as the cool night air hit her skin, realizing she had barely taken a breath since Josh had entered the room just moments before. She hugged herself as the sobs made their way past her lips—an audible release of the pain that came with remembering. It was as though she had just walked into the waiting room all over again—as though Toby had just told her that Josh had been hit. "Hit with what?" she had said, not understanding what had happened. That was it; that had been the moment. In that second, as Toby spoke the words that made the entire world crash down around her, Donna had realized everything—that she couldn't imagine life without Josh, that she loved him, that she was in love with him…that she might lose him.
It hadn't actually changed anything. She stayed with him throughout his recovery, caring for him in ways that went well beyond the scope of boss and assistant, even beyond the duties of friendship. But she kept her mouth shut when it came to her feelings. It was a miracle he was even alive and still part of her life; she wouldn't risk losing him by letting slip how she truly felt. Instead, she played the part of the authoritarian, and once he had recovered she encouraged him to pursue other women while she half-heartedly searched for someone who could never be more than second best.
Donna settled herself on one of the benches, her knees pulled up and tucked under her chin. She stared into the night at nothing in particular and tried to ignore the thoughts in her head.
"Billy was executed while investigating a controversial story in a third world conflict zone. Josh was basically surrounded by the President's body guards. It's nowhere near the same thing," her mind screamed at her.
"When someone is killed, their loved ones are far less concerned with the how and where than they are with the fact that the person they loved is gone and never coming back. The worst part of death is the finality—the infinite separation. The rest is just details," she argued back, her voice forcing the words out in a desperate whisper even though no one was around to hear her.
"But Josh didn't die. He hasn't gone anywhere," the voice reminded her.
"He could have," she cried, the words dying on her lips, replaced with a whimper and tears.
Unbeknownst to Donna, Josh was watching her from a nearby window. He couldn't hear her, but the pain she was feeling was evident in her face and that what something he wasn't sure how to deal with. He continued to watch her as she pressed her forehead into her knees, letting her hair form a curtain around her face. The shaking of her shoulders was enough for Josh to know she was crying. He couldn't stand to see her like this, but he knew a good cry sometimes made her feel better.
While he waited, Josh's thoughts also turned to Rosslyn. He couldn't really remember much about that night, but he knew from the moment they let her back to see him Donna had never left his side. In the far recesses of his mind he remembered Toby with him and the President talking to him at some point, but nothing stood out as clearly as Donna by his bed, holding his hand and rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. He had been so scared and panicky when he woke up, but she had been a source of calm and comfort. After a few moments Josh couldn't stand it anymore and slipped outside as quietly as he could.
Donna didn't know how long she had been sitting there when she felt him. He slipped his jacket over her shoulders and she didn't even look up as Josh came around the bench and took a seat beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. For a moment she thought about fighting the urge to lay her head on his shoulder before realizing she was tired of fighting urges like that. As she settled herself against him Donna felt his fingers begin to stroke her hair. She sighed and closed her eyes, relaxing into his touch.
Josh wasn't quite sure how to explain it, but he'd never felt more content. Everything about this moment felt right, and it was a reminder to him how incomplete he felt when he and Donna were apart. To anyone else that would seem like an odd thought for a boss to have about his assistant, but then again, those titles had never accurately described their relationship. Based solely on their physical relationship they couldn't be described as lovers, but they were more emotionally invested in one another than most couples who had been together for years. Leaning his head back, Josh looked up at the moon and finally admitted to himself how much he loved Donna. He was even willing to admit that he was in love with her and was pretty sure she felt the same way. So why, given all of that, did he continue to keep her at arm's length (figuratively speaking, of course)?
Shifting so that he could look at Donna, at the way the light made her skin glow, Josh decided that he was done pretending. As they had seen tonight, tomorrow was never a guarantee, and he couldn't bear the thought of never telling her the truth. He took a deep breath and leaned down to press his lips to her temple.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered into her hair.