Title: Left Waiting
Rating: PG
Originally published: March 6, 2007
Notes: Even though I was always proud of it, "What Happens In Hospitals" was one of my earliest fics and therefore it had a few flaws that always bugged me. About a year after I wrote it, I could solve most problems with a prequel. This is very different in tone that the lighthearted WHIH, but I think they do work together very well.

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The phone call shatters the false tranquility you have cobbled together for yourself. You don't recognize the gasping, shaken voice on the other end of the line. But then you make out the words "accident", "Josh" and "hospital" and your heart freezes.

This wasn't supposed to happen you think, as you grab your purse and keys and rush out to try to find a cab. You were supposed to see him tomorrow for an interview. You were supposed to walk into his campaign headquarters and throw him for a loop by showing him the capable political operative you have become. You weren't supposed to be praying that he makes it until tomorrow.

You've grown so weary of hospitals. For more than a year now, they have been a source of aggravation. A reminder every time you go to therapy (physical & psychological) that you can't erase Gaza from your life. You had forgotten that hospitals also give second chances. And third. And fourth. They don't discriminate and say "No, no. She had her chance at happiness last time and she squandered it. Let's go help someone more deserving." Hospitals heal your loved ones without question.

Ronna greets you at the door, bandaged and still upset. Without even thinking about it, you hug her. You've been around Josh too long to not understand the value of human touch. She sobs a little and tells you what she knows. An SUV had barreled down Ninth Street and rammed into the cab they had been riding in. She didn't know if the driver had been drinking or was just plain reckless, but Josh had taken a direct hit. He had some lacerations and his leg was broken in at least two places. You thank Ronna for her thoughtfulness in calling you. She laughs a little and tells you that Josh was very clear on what he wanted her to do: call you and Matt Santos (both numbers in his cell phone), not mention the campaign to anyone at the accident scene or while at the hospital and get his medical information out of his wallet. In that order. You freeze when her words sink in.

You never even considered... The idea that Josh was conscious and in pain...

You don't remember anything about the explosion. You woke up in Germany to Josh's exhausted face with no real idea how you had gotten there. You never had any flashbacks because there was nothing there for you to flashback to. Josh remembers every excruciating detail of the shooting. He's already survived so much that a car crash should seem insignificant. But it's not. It's really not.

Some of that must show in your face, because Ronna tries to reassure you by telling you that Josh was actually making jokes and talking about how they could spin this to benefit the campaign. You manage to smile and tell her that you expected no less. This is a man whose first words after hours of surgery to repair the damage caused by an assassin's bullet were about the job. Family was just about the only thing he put first... which could explain why he never started one of his own.

Ronna offers to stay with you, but even if she didn't look like she was going to pass out, you're not fit for company. You escort her to her car where her girlfriend is waiting. And to think you were tormented by the idea that something might happen between her and Josh. But your attention turns back to the hospital and you fish out your cell to let everyone know what happened.

You call Josh's mother first. She has gotten too many phone calls like this. She lost both her daughter and her husband and now her son's life is in jeopardy once again. It would turn some people into brittle, nervous shadows of themselves. But not Hannah Lyman. She, like her son, faces tragedy by compulsively trying to fix things. Years ago, she had heard about the shooting at Rosslyn and got in her car and drove. From Connecticut. And, much like you, before she even got word about what had happened to Josh. She will be on the next plane from Florida, you have no doubt, and you pity the ticket agent that tries to stand in her way.

Leo is next. You hear the weight of the world in his voice when you tell him, but he is still Leo. He knows what to do. Of course he knows what to do. He will take care of everything from now on. All you have to do now is wait for Josh. Leo will make the phone calls to the White House, to campaign headquarters, to everyone except Matt Santos. He leaves that call to you and you don't question his reasoning because he's Leo.

You've met Matt Santos only a handful of times. (Most dramatically when he sat on you.) But not enough to feel comfortable calling him on his direct line. He asks you sharp questions about Josh's condition, but, surprisingly, not one about why you, the former spokesperson for Bob Russell, are the one calling him. He informs you that he will be at the hospital as soon as he can and barks at someone named Ned when he offers objections that you can't hear over the phone. You realize that you aren't talking to Matthew Santos, the Democratic nominee for President. You are talking to a man who is scared for his friend. If he's going to be able to keep his focus on the election, he will have to see for himself that Josh is going to be fine.

You return to the nurses' station to see what news you can wrangle out of them. Not much, unfortunately. You're not his next of kin, you don't have enough political clout to throw your weight around and, since Josh is currently under anesthesia, he can't give his consent for you to see him. And the thought strikes you... If Josh hadn't asked for you while he still could, would anyone even have bothered to contact you?

After a few hours of badgering and generally making a nuisance of yourself, you go outside to check to see if Josh's mom called you back with her flight information. And you discover you really shouldn't have worried about not being told. There are messages from CJ, Debbie, Bonnie, Carol, Charlie. There's a message from Danny Concannon and one from Sam all the way out in California. Margaret called three times. Will is the only one that mentioned Josh's name. Everyone else tells you in a slightly desperate tone of voice to call them back as soon as you get the message and, for the love of God, not to turn on the news!

You don't return any of the calls. Instead you dial a number that you know without even checking your call log has appeared the most in the last three hours, even if his gruff voice never left you a message. You tell him where you are and everything that you've managed to gather about Josh's condition. He won't come to the hospital, he tells you. At least not until Josh is well enough to throw his pudding at him. But if you need him, all you'll have to do is say the word. It's pure luck that you are still on the phone when one of the nurses comes running outside to tell you that Mr. Lyman is out of surgery and asking for you. The honor of telling Toby that he won't be losing another brother today is yours.

Josh is asleep. The nurse who has ferried you to his room admits that she might have been overstating the "asking" part. It was something closer to him mumbling your name over and over. But it was enough for her and you're not going to complain. You're just grateful to be able to see him at all. Until this moment, the only image you were carrying of him was from when they let you watch part of his surgery after Rossyln. But while he looks battered and worn, he's not a living corpse like before. The tightness around your heart finally starts to ease and you offer up a prayer of thanksgiving that he's come back to you once again.

You sit by his bed and wait for him to wake up so that you can convince him that what you both really need is to be together. You don't know how he'll react, but even if he decides to be stubborn, you bet you can win him over. He taught you well. You'll use every trick you garnered while working for him and everything you learned the past few months by yourself when he wasn't there to tackle the more unpleasant tasks that come with political work.

Suddenly, you realize what you must look like. You are wearing jeans and an old gray T-shirt, your hair is falling out of a ponytail and any makeup you might have been wearing is long gone. A far cry from the professional, pulled together look you were going to present at your interview tomorrow. But this is better. You don't want a job from him. Well... you do. But not if that means that's all you are going to have.

You need him. And now you're going to sit here and wait for another miracle and for this hospital to give you another chance.