By Lacy

I am a coward. I am sitting outside her room, rooted to yet another plastic chair. After speaking to the nurse, I called CJ and Leo to explain the situation. I told them that I had everything under control and that their presence was not required. She is only my assistant, after all. That is what I told them. I even used those exact words. Because I am a coward.

And a bastard. Have I mentioned that?

Only last night, I was going crazy not being able to see her and now I cannot bring myself to go into her room. I am afraid of her. I am afraid that anything I think, or feel, or say will break her. I am afraid because I now know that she has the power to break me.

I never thought I would be here. Not once did I ever think I would fear for the life of the woman I love. She is my rock -- my anchor. But here I sit, having weathered that first storm with only the shreds of my sanity intact. I am not handling this well.

I drag myself to my feet and to the threshold of her room. I stand there at the door, initiating a silent entreaty for some permission to enter.

She is rail thin, and I mentally castigate myself for not taking this seriously. She does not know I am here, so I clear my throat.

She turns her head and I see how tired she really looks. The dark circles under her eyes have made their triumphant return. An IV tube winds its way around her ear, across her cheek, and into one nostril.

"Josh," she says, simply to acknowledge my presence.

I enter the room at last, approaching the bed to take her hand in mine. I want to give her my strength -- to tell her to take all that she needs. It is hers for the asking.

"Josh," she says again. "I'm sorry, Josh. I hoped...thought I was going to be okay."

"And you will be," I say. I tighten my grip on her hand. A moment of silence stretches between us -- separating us. "Why didn't you tell me?" I can see in her eyes that this is the question she has been afraid of.

"I...I couldn't," she says. Tears pool in her eyes until they begin to spill forth. "I didn't want to be too much for you to handle. I didn't want to bother you."

"We'll have a long talk about that later. I have some things to say on that issue."

"They want me to talk to a psychiatrist," she says. "They want to get inside my head."

"Scary place to be," I joke, lamely. She smiles, painfully, and for the first time since we came to this place, I am feeling better. Some of the spirit is returning to her eyes.

"I'm afraid of what they'll find," she whispers. "Am I sick, Josh? What if there's something wrong with me that's more than just an ulcer? What if I'm screwed up in the head?"

"Hey," I say, defensively, "there's nothing wrong with a little mental illness. Builds character. It happens to the best of us, you know."

"Josh," she admonishes.

"I'm serious, Donnatella. Listen to me. If you talk to the psychiatrist and find out that there's weird stuff going on up there, you'll feel better if you know there's a name for it. Trust me. I know of what I speak."

A light tap knocks on the door, and we look up to see an older woman in casual dress. Her hair is brown with streaks of gray peppered through it, and her brown eyes are dark and filled with kindness. She's carrying a medical chart in one hand and a pair of glasses in the other.

"Which one of you is Donnatella Moss?" she jokes.

Donna points at me and the woman laughs.

"Everybody's scared of the shrink. Why is that? Hi, I'm Dr. Wilborn. I was called in for the psych consult." She shakes hands limply with Donna and turns to me.

"Josh Lyman," I introduce myself.

"The Josh Lyman?"

"God, I hope there's not more than one," Donna sighs.

"The Josh Lyman that works for the Bartlet Administration?" the doctor asks again.

"I'm the Deputy White House Chief of Staff," I say uncomfortably.

"Which makes me the Deputy Deputy White House Chief of Staff."

"That joke still isn't funny, Donnatella."

"You look like hell, Josh. Were you here all night?" Donna fires back.

"Yes," I say.

"You have an eleven o'clock meeting with the guy about the thing." She has mastered the art of speaking in code.

"I'll cancel it."

"You have to go home and shower."

"Are you listening to me?"

"No. Running a country, remember? Good-bye, Joshua."

"So, let me guess..." the doctor, who has been watching this typical Josh-Donna display, interrupts, "she's your boss?"

"Sometimes I wonder," I say by way of an answer. "So, I guess my presence in the room would completely defeat the purpose of the psych evaluation."

"Pretty much," the doctor says. "Don't worry, Mr.Lyman, she's going to be just fine."

More than anything, I want to stay. I want to shield Donna from the onslaught of questions that I know the doctor will bury her under. At the same time, I want to know the answers to those questions.

I shake the doctor's hand again, and head for the door. I turn for one last look at Donnatella, who immediately shoos me from the room. I close the door behind me. I call for a cab, which takes me back to my car, still sitting where we left it last night.

Back at my apartment, I take a quick shower, washing off the smell of the hospital, and change into a new set of clothes. It's Saturday morning, so I'm allowed to dress fairly casually.

I notice Donna's tote bag on the bed we were supposed to have slept in last night. I dig through its contents until I locate the date book with my schedule. I flip through it until I find notation for my eleven o'clock meeting. I cannot find the number anywhere.

Picking the phone up from its cradle, I mentally debate whom I should call first. Punching in the numbers, probably because they are the first ones I have memorized, I listen to the line ring.

"Leo McGarry's office, Margaret speaking."

"Hi, Margaret, it's Josh."

"Josh! Leo just told me about Donna. Is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah...I mean, I hope so."

Margaret sighs heavily on the other side of the line. "That's so good to hear. How are you, Josh? Is there something you need?"

In Margaret's mind, I know she was asking the same question, but to me, they required completely different answers. "I'm fine, Margaret. Look, can you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Call Congressman Basin's office, and cancel my eleven o'clock. Tell him I've had a family emergency." I shuffle through the pages of the date book again. "Also, tell him that I'm free for lunch on Tuesday if he wants to reschedule."

"Will do, Josh. Anything else?"

"Can you transfer me to CJ's office?"

"Sure," she said. With the sound of several clicks, a ring, and morning salutations to Carol, I finally speak with CJ.

"Are you calling from the hospital?" CJ asks.

"No. Donna sent me home. I wanted to stay but...."

"But Donna is Donna."

"Yeah. I've just canceled my day, CJ."

"You're going back?"

"I think I have to."

"Josh, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know me, forwarned is forearmed. Is there more to this that I should know about?"

"No comment." I cannot believe it. That is the first time I have ever not denied outright that there is something going on between me and my assistant.

"Joshua," she sighs. "Work with me here."

"She's alone, CJ. She doesn't have any family in town."

"I'll have Carol set up a rotation schedule. We'll make sure there's someone with her day and night. Let me cover your back."

"You can't spin-doctor this, CJ," I say angrily. "I got the crap scared out of me last night. I'm just not ready to come in, okay?"

"How deep are you in this, Joshua? Are we talking long haul or short haul?"

I consider making another 'neither confirm nor deny' comment. "Long haul, CJ. Very, very long haul."

"I don't know if that's good or bad."

"That's my pal, CJ. Always looking for the bad in the good and the good in the bad."

"It's what I do, Joshua."

"Maybe, for once, you could just be my friend."

For a moment I can hear her breathing stop on the other end of the line. I think I shocked her.

"Then, as your friend, I'm telling you to go to her. And take her some flowers and a teddy bear. Girls like that crap."

I laugh, for the first time since last night Then I say, softly, "Thanks, Claudia Jean."

"Your welcome, Joshua."

 ****

I am back at the hospital just two hours after I left, and before I can get to Donna's room, I see Dr. Wilborn standing at the nurses' station.

I stand at the crossroads of indecision. Donna's room or the doctor? Well, hell. Then I think -- forwarned equals forarmed. Thank you, Claudia Jean.

"Dr. Wilborn?"

"Mr. Lyman," she says as she turns to greet me. "I was left with the impression that you were busy running a country."

"Sometimes individuals are more important," I say.

"How very Republican of you."

"You're killing me, Doc."

"You want to know about Donna," she says. She does not ask me, she simply looks into my eyes and reads my mind.

"How did it go?"

"I just got through with her. Look, do you want to grab a cup of really crappy coffee in the cafeteria."

I glance down the hall in the direction of Donna's room, as I weigh the doctor's offer. I am also stunned by her impressive use of alliteration.

"She was pretty tired when I left her. She'll probably sleep for a while. She needs her rest, Mr. Lyman."

"Then you're in luck," I say. "I haven't had any crappy coffee today."

"Great," she responds. "Let's take a walk."

TBC

****