By Lacy

We walk to the cafeteria, which is on the other side of the complex. I am nervous. It is the kind of nervous you feel when you are sitting outside the principal's office waiting to hear what punishment you can expect to receive.

"You two have been through a lot together," she says, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," I answer. I am not sure how much I can or should say to her in regards to my experiences over the last eight months. She looks at me as we walk through the corridor.

"I feel the need to tell you, Mr. Lyman--"

"Josh," I interrupt. "Just Josh."

"Josh, then," she agrees. "I feel the need to tell you that anything you say to me that has a direct affect on the Donna's mental health will be held in the strictest confidence."

She has read my mind, again. I nod in understanding.

"So, let's start again, Josh. You two have been through a lot together. Did you know how much the shooting affected her?"

"Yes," I answer. "I mean, no. I mean, I knew there was something wrong, but I didn't know about the vomiting or the blood. I knew she was making herself sick, but I didn't know it was this bad. I thought I got to her in time."

"Got to her?"

I am constantly having to slow the pace of my walk to match her leisurely rhythm. I am not used to traveling this slowly.

"For a long time I couldn't see beyond my own problems. It never occurred to me that anyone could be as affected by the shooting as I was. I was the one at ground zero, so to speak. I was in the dark, about a lot of things, for a long time. It wasn't until I started to emerge that I began to get a hint that something was wrong."

"What was your first clue?"

"She started lying to me. She's never been a good liar, and she's never had a reason to lie to me. I noticed she looked tired all the time. She tried so hard to act as if everything were normal that it just...wasn't."

"Describe 'normal'."

"Normal for us?" I ask.

"Okay." I get the feeling that the questions I ask tell her more than the answers I give.

"We love our jobs," I begin. "And we love doing our jobs together. Before the shooting, we were...good together. We had rhythm. We could get inside each others' heads, you know? I'm not the most organized person." Dr. Wilborn quirks an eyebrow at me. "Okay, I'm a total slob. She held me together -- she held my work together. She makes the idea of going to work in the morning exciting. I use to look forward to the mornings."

"Then what happened?"

"I was so out of it for a long time. I was diagnosed with PTSD, did she tell you that?"

"No," the doctor smiled. "We spoke of a lot of things, and she skirted around the edges of it for a while. I inferred as much, though. She mentioned your mood swings that became more and more violent."

"So, you knew already?"

"I assumed. It's not a great intuitive leap, Josh. I've been in this business for a long time."

"Can't keep a secret in this town," I say.

"I'm not talking, Josh. So, after your diagnosis, and things started to get better for you, when did you notice that things had changed with Donna?"

"I felt good for the first time in a long time. I felt like me again. But Donna didn't feel like Donna."

"How so?"

"She was all about the work. Our timing was off, does that make sense? She put in way more hours than necessary, sometimes staying even after I left. She started to become emotionally sensitive in ways that I had never seen before. She was easily offended and oftentimes overly defensive. She built walls, Doctor. I kept trying to see what was wrong, but I couldn't get past her defenses. We've never had one of those strictly professional relationships -- Donna isn't just my assistant, she's my friend. My best friend."

"I'm going to tell you something that goes against my better judgment, Josh."

"What?"

"She's in love with you." She delivers the line as if this could cause my relationship with Donna to crumble.

"I know," I answer. "The feeling is entirely mutual."

"Okay, that took me by surprise."

"You hadn't figured that out, Doc? My faith in your mind reading skills is slipping."

"Minds are easy, Josh. Hearts have roads that twist and turn in ways the mind never even thought of."

We finally arrive at the cafeteria, where Dr. Wilborn offers to buy me lunch instead of just coffee. I accept because I am beginning to feel comfortable in her presence. We locate a table in a quiet corner of the hall and sit down.

"I want to ask you something, and feel free to give me the standard White House answer."

"Don't worry, I will," I say.

"Are you sleeping with her?"

I roll the question around in my head for a brief moment. I consider the ramifications of my answer. "Yes," I say. "Did she tell you that?"

"It's not my policy to trap people in lies, Josh. Sometimes she spoke of you the way a woman speaks of a lover. I was just wondering if it had gotten that far."

"Why didn't you ask her?"

"Because I knew she would lie to protect you."

"She's been lying to you?"

Wilborn shakes her head. "I sensed that she was uncomfortable talking about your personal relationship. I didn't push it that far."

"I see."

"Donna's mental state is very much tied to yours, Josh. It gives me great cause for concern."

"So, all of this is my fault?" I feel as though I have received a blow to my gut.

"This isn't a case of placing blame. Sometimes things happen that we can't control. When we try, we only make them worse. Donna tried too hard to control it. But you have to understand that you can't control it anymore than she could. You're not to blame, Josh, so don't go on that trip."

"What's wrong with her?"

"You want her diagnosis?"

"We've come this far," I remind her.

"Acute Panic Disorder. Delayed onset," she answers.

"What does that mean? What's the prognosis?"

"In the short term it can be controlled medically. In the long term, she needs therapy. I'm going to give her the numbers for a few good therapists I know."

"And medically?"

"I'm going to prescribe a benzodiazeprine. Maybe lorezopam, something that has a shorter half-life, so to speak." A moment of silence stretches out between us as I try to digest everything she has told me. "You know, Josh," she breaks into my thoughts, "normally I would discourage my patient from forming any, let's say...deeper emotional attachments. Especially at this point in an illness. But I guess we're pretty much looking at an open barn door, aren't we?"

"I guess we are."

"There's an aspect to her problems that we haven't discussed yet."

"What's that?"

"Donna isn't just in love with you, Josh. She has a crush on you and that can be far more dangerous for her."

My mind is having difficulty assimilating this new information. "Huh?" I eloquently reply.

"She has a serious case of hero-worship, Josh. Which isn't really surprising considering the profound impact you've had on her life."

"Profound impact?" I had never quite thought of it that way.

"You gave her a job when she was at her lowest point. She told me the story. In some ways her self esteem is tied to you."

"I can see how that wouldn't be good," I say.

"She needs a real relationship, Josh. Are you ready to give her that? Because, if you're not, you should get out now."

"I don't want out," I hear myself say.

"Okay, then."

"What do you mean by 'real relationship'? You talk about it like we're just playing at being a couple."

"Aren't you?" the doctor asks. "The whole secrecy aspect of your love affair isn't really working for her, Josh. I haven't seen anyone do that much tap dancing since I saw 'Bring in Da Noise, Bring in Da Funk'."

"So, this is the part where I have to choose between my job and the woman I love?"

"You don't think the President will understand? I watch CNN, Josh, President Bartlet seems like quite the romantic to me. He and the First Lady look like they've got it goin' on."

I laugh. I cannot help myself. This woman's sense of humor has completely blindsided me. "Yeah, they do, don't they?" I say. "To be honest, it's not the President I'm worried about, it's the people. You're expected to be held to higher standard when you work in the White House. I couldn't handle this causing a scandal."

"You really don't have much faith in the people, do you?"

"Sure I do," I defend myself.

"Not from where I'm sitting. Josh," she says, "you want a free piece of advice?"

"In this? I'm all ears."

"Tell the truth, Josh. Do it on your own terms. Tell the truth and trust the people to know what to do with it."

"Why does that sound ominous?"

"Sometimes life is a risk, Josh. If it wasn't, it wouldn't reap any rewards."

I finish the last of my French fries, and remember that Donna would probably kick my butt if she knew I was eating them.

"I'll think about it," I say, because I don't know what to say next.

"Don't think about too hard, Josh. Don't try and dance your way out of this. It won't do either of you any good. Just...follow your heart. From what Donna said, I'm guessing it's never steered you wrong before."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"We're done now," she says, like a teacher dismissing class. "You can go."

"Thanks for lunch." I stand, and gather the remainder of my meal.

"My pleasure," she says. "Anytime."

She smiles cordially, and I know that she means it.

TBC

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