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Chapter Text

-TS Eliot, "The Waste Land" 

Despite constant complaints to Josh about the upcoming trip to the Manchester Farm, how it was disturbing dates and nights with her roommate and the small amount of free time she had, Donna was secretly pretty excited for the retreat. It was a small group going, mostly senior staff and a few assistant deputies, for what the President had called a “Thoreau-esque retreat from the soul-sucking world of professional politics”, and what Toby had called “a seventy-two hour suicide watch”. That remark had earned him a sharp smack on the head from CJ and a three-hour lecture on transcendentalism from the President. . 

Donna was excited, she really was. The past few months had taken their toll on the West Wing. Maybe a retreat was needed. Toby walked around snapping at everyone who breathed in his direction, even more than usual. CJ had made missteps in briefings three days in a row. Sam was walking around with his head down most days, trying to avoid Toby’s wrath. 

And Josh. Dear god, Josh. 

Donna wasn’t sure this wasn’t going to turn into a homicide watch. He’d been sleeping less and eating less and making more obnoxious comments to Donna, getting trouble nearly every time he went to the Hill, and being such a general all-around pain in the ass that the other assistants had taken to dropping off snacks for Donna with sympathetic pats to her shoulder and teasing offers to kill Josh for her. She was fairly certain she was one more jab about her terrible choice in men away from just doing it herself.

Or maybe she'd just out him to lemonlyman.com. Let the internet go crazy over their idol’s latest habit of sleeping in his office for several days at a time, leaving Donna to find him in the morning slumped over his desk with notes underneath him and pens still in hand. 

Much like this morning. Donna dropped her overnight bag off at her desk and sighed, looking at the cracked door of Josh’s office. She’d tried to get him to go home last night, she really had. But he had just yelled something about wanting to skin Jeff Haffley alive and Donna decided it was probably better to let Josh burn himself out a little instead of having him catch everyone else on fire, too.

Maybe that was a mistake. She shed her coat and opened the door to his office, not bothering to knock. He was exactly how she expected- face down on a memo. His coat and tie were on the ground, and his hair could no longer be called curly. Perhaps “electrocuted cotton ball” was a better descriptor. 

Seriously, the dumbassery of it all. 

“Josh.” She said. 

He didn’t move. 

“Josh,” A little louder. 

Still nothing. 

“JOSH!” She cupped both hands and yelled. 

That worked. Josh startled awake, nearly falling out of his chair in the meantime. 

Cruel? Yes. Effective? Also yes. Deserved? Donna would take “Yes”, for 300 please, Alex.

He sat back in his chair, head hanging back, running his hands roughly over his face. 

“You couldn’t have just said ‘good morning’?” He asked, voice gravelly, but oddly tight. 

Donna stopped, about to hand him even more briefing memos. She crossed her arms and looked at him up and down. 

“What?” He asked, clearing his throat. Yup, he was congested.  His top few buttons were undone and Donna could see his scar peeking through. 

Finally, seeing the whole picture, Donna got it. Dry eyes, flushed cheeks, generally dead pallor (though that one wasn’t new), Josh was- 

“Sick. You’re sick. “ She said. 

Josh blinked. 

“No, I’m not.” He said. 

“Really.” Donna said. “When’s the last time you checked your peak flow?” 

“Okay, Dr. Moss, so I haven’t been checking it lately-” 

“Josh, you’re sick.” She insisted. 

Josh narrowed his eyes and made to get up from his desk. Donna didn’t miss how he swayed slightly. 

“How could you possibly know that?” He asked irritably. He started to pick up a few of the memos he’d have to read on the plane and stuff them into his backpack. He held out a hand for the ones Donna had. 

“I can just tell. I’ve got a sense about these things, Josh.” She said, handing them over. 

“Right, because modern medicine was built on the backs of ‘having a sense about these things’. Thank God the NIH has you, Donnatella.” He cleared his throat again. Jackass. 

Donna felt her patience growing thin. 

“Josh, honestly, you don’t have to listen to me, but when you need your inhaler and you don’t have it, don’t come bothering me-” 

“Whatever, mom.” 

Donna gave him her best stink eye, but didn’t dignify it with a response. 

“Motorcade is leaving for Andrews in thirty minutes.” She said primly. 

“Yeah.” Josh waved her off and set about getting ready to leave.

It only took two hours for Donna’s suspicions to gain traction. 

Toby and Sam were sniping at each other a few rows away about a low-level speech that they most certainly should have farmed out, and CJ was stretched out next to Toby with a towel over her eyes, giving long-suffering sighs every few minutes. 

Josh had been uncharacteristically quiet in Senior Staff on the plane, to the point where Leo had narrowed his eyes and demanded to know what the hell was wrong. He was sitting next to Donna, a little slumped over. He had a DADT memo on his lap that had been on the same page for the last thirty minutes. 

And then he coughed. 

Only a few times, not so deep, not enough to even rouse Toby and Sam from their argument, but enough that Donna put down her novel and looked at him pointedly. 

“It’s a cough, Donna, what do you want from me?” He groaned, not even making eye contact with her. 

“Do you have your-”

“Yes, I have my goddamn inhaler!” 

“Josh! Stop being mean to Donna.” CJ yelled without taking the towel off her eyes. 

Donna nodded her agreement with CJ. 

“I’m fine.” He said. “Stop bugging me.” 

“Fine, die for all I care.”

“Tried that one already.” He muttered under his breath. Donna resisted the overwhelming urge to smack him and instead just put her book back up. 

“I’m gonna take a walk.” Josh announced. He hauled himself up from the seat and walked away. 

Air Force 1 was one of those things Josh never got tired of. He’d been a plane geek as a kid, courtesy of his father, and they used to spend their weekends at air parks identifying every plane that flew by. The first time he had boarded, Josh had waylaid one of the alternate pilots and interrogated him on every detail of the plane Josh was authorized to know about. He knew the layout as well as the back of his hand, why the engines rumbled when they did, the location of every call-light and phone.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and wandered the halls. He knew he’d been an ass these past few weeks. It was rare that he was being an ass and didn’t know it. It was more that his patience had been wearing so thin that he couldn’t bring himself to care. For everyone else, it was fine. Leo would banish him from his office with a roll of his eyes and get on with his day, Toby would be obnoxious right back, Sam would blink and inform him that he needed to take a nap, and CJ would hit him and tell him to come back when he stopped acting like a toddler. 

Donna though. She took it personally. Josh guessed that was the difference between Donna and Amy, though he wasn’t sure why he was comparing them in the first place. Amy argued for the fire of it all, wanting to get a rise out of him, biting her lip, crossing her arms, grinning. Donna argued when she felt she was right, when there was a point to be made. Amy would throw barbs, Donna would rib him. When Josh was being obnoxious, Amy rose to meet him. Donna would narrow her eyes, cross her arms, and would leave to be silent at her desk for the rest of the day. 

She had been right that morning. Josh had known he was getting sick for a few days. It was partially why he hadn’t gone home. If he went home, he was stuck looking at the stupid equipment he was supposed to use to make sure his lungs weren’t inflamed passed their normal capacity, that the scar tissue hadn’t further impeded his ability to, well, breathe. If he stayed at the office, he didn’t have access to it. He couldn’t check, and thus couldn’t confirm nor deny his illness. 

Yeah, he could still tell. The night before, his chest had started to feel like someone had wrapped it with iron and was cinching it tighter, tighter, tighter. He had shed his coat, alternating between hot and cold. Of course he had his stupid inhaler. Like an asthmatic thirteen year old at summer camp, he was supposed to keep it on him. Josh wondered how hard Senators on the Hill would laugh if they knew Bartlet’s Bulldog sometimes had to fumble for a little blue inhaler so that his face would revert back to its normal color from a deprived red, and he could get oxygen in.  Stupid fucking useless lungs. 

He hadn’t used it, but he had it on him, and that should count for something. 

“Josh?” 

He looked up and found himself a foot away from the First Lady. She was looking at him suspiciously, putting a phone back on the wall. 

“Did Donna call you?” He started, one hand out. The women, he swore, had a secret sisterhood of some kind.  Mrs. Bartlet had been up his ass since Rosslyn, insisting on monthly check ups in addition to his follow ups at GW. He’d managed to get out of them recently, claiming meetings and busy and I’m fine! 

“No,” She said. “Should she have?” She crossed her arms and stared at him.

“No.” Josh said hastily, trying to dig himself out of this rapidly collapsing hole. “I’m fine.” 

“You sound tight. What was your last peak flow?” 

“I haven’t checked it.” 

“Why not?” She narrowed her eyes. 

“Uh, I’ve been feeling pretty good. Didn’t think there was a need. I’m fine.” 

“Uh huh. Go take it.” 

“Mrs. Bartlet-” 

“Josh, you either go take it and tell me what it is, or I drag you into this study and strip you down in front of my husband to do a check up.” 

Josh stood there. Not really weighing his options. Just wondering if Donna maybe had telepathic powers. 

“I’ll go take it.” He relented. 

“Go.” She nodded in the direction of the cabin where the rest of the senior staff were. 

“Going!” He put his hands up in surrender and went. 

When he collapsed back in his chair, Donna actually looked up from the novel, meaning she was probably a little less pissed than when he left. 

CJ, however, took the towel off her face and glared at him. 

“Are you done being mean?” She asked him.

“I wasn’t being mean-” 

“Are. You. Done?” 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you.”  She put the towel back on and Josh groaned and fell back in his seat, then leaned forward to start rummaging through his bag.

“What are you looking for?” Donna asked. 

“My peak flow.” He half-mumbled, hoping Donna wouldn’t make this a thing.

“You ran into Mrs. Bartlet, didn’t you?” 

“Did you call her, or maybe, I don’t know, telepathically communicate with your freaky psychic sisterhood powers-”

“Josh, I didn’t call her.” She didn’t elaborate, didn’t bait him. Just sat there. 

He checked every pocket and groaned again. 

“I don’t have it.” He said. “It must be at my apartment.” 

“Josh-” 

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

“Uh huh.” 

“You don’t happen to have…” 

“What did I say about coming to me after you were so obnoxious this morning?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m fine. I’m taking a nap.” 

“Fine.”  Donna put her book back up. 

“Fine.” 

Josh settled back in his seat and closed his dry eyes. He was fine. They were overreacting, like always. He was fine. Just overworked. Seriously. A few days on the farm, some sleep, steadfastly ignoring Toby, and he’d be right as rain. 

He didn’t wake up to the landing announcement. He woke up to Donna’s hand on his shoulder and her whispering, 

“Josh, we landed.” 

He cracked his eyes open. Jesus, he felt like shit. He tried to sit up, his throat felt blocked- 

Oh, fuck. 

A coughing fit, harsh,  started up- he couldn’t get any air in- a few coughs in and his chest started burning, predictably. He felt hands on his shoulders, his back, trying to get him to sit up- 

The coughs subsided, and he took a deep, shuddering breath- it still wasn’t enough. He slumped back down in his seat, wiping away the tears that had gathered his eyes from the force, and found Donna kneeling next to him, CJ on the phone, apparently waiting for a signal from Donna, and Toby and Sam both standing and staring at him. 

“I’m okay now.” Josh said raspily. Fuck. Donna was biting her lip. “Can I- Can I have my-” 

Donna didn’t even wait for him to finish his sentence to dig out his inhaler, take off the top, shake it, and press it into his hands. He raised a shaky hand to his mouth and took it three times. 

“I’m okay,” He repeated, after a minute had gone by, his airways had opened enough to get a few normal breaths in, and everyone was still just staring at him. 

“Josh,” CJ said. “I hadn’t called Mrs. Bartlet yet, but-” 

“I’ll talk to her when we get to the farm.” He promised. He meant it. He really did. 

“Okay.” CJ relaxed a little, and everyone got moving again. 

Donna stayed silent as she picked up his bag, and offered a hand up without any comment. He took it. The rescue inhaler always made him feel like he’d been shot with adrenaline, or maybe had eight cups of coffee in a row. They walked down the hallway to the exit together.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, Zoey called from town the minute they arrived at the farm, and Mrs. Bartlet rushed off to get her.

“Maybe we should just go now, go to a clinic?” Donna said. She was leaning in the doorway of Josh’s room, watching him pull clothes out of his bag. 

“I’m okay. I’m just gonna take a nap. Just wake me up when the President realizes I’m sleeping through whatever inane trivia he wants to tell us all?” He mumbled. He sat down heavily on the bed, looking pale and tired.  Donna bit back all the words on her tongue, every instinct inside of her telling her this was bad. 

“Okay,” she said. She turned off the light as she left, and as she closed the door, she watched him fall back into the pillows and shut his eyes. 

She loved the farm. She really did. It was so far from civilization. It reminded her of Wisconsin- the rolling fields, the animals, the trees. The air was a bit biting for early April, but fresh and clean. 

She had about an hour before dinner, so Donna made herself a cup of tea and sat down on the back porch, just to watch the sun sink lower in the sky and listen to the birds chirp. Charlie and the President were playing basketball, and Donna could hear Charlie’s indignant shouts of protest from the porch. 

The door opened behind her, and out came Sam in a sweater, jeans, and glasses. 

“Hi,” she smiled at him. 

“Is he okay?” Sam sat down beside her. Donna offered him her mug and he took it, leaning back in the chair. 

“He’s sleeping. Being less of a massive jerk.” She said contemplatively.

 It was hard for her to stay mad at Josh when he was sick. It reminded her too much of the events of only 9 months ago- Josh, lying pale on a hospital bed, Josh, unable to walk without assistance, Josh, delirious with pain and nightmares. 

“He has been kind of a jerk, lately, hasn’t he?” Sam agreed. 

“Everyone has.” Donna said.

“Yeah. We really need to get our act together.” 

CJ and Toby appeared, Toby with a basketball under his arm and CJ with her hair pulled back. 

“We’re gonna go play,” CJ said, jerking a thumb towards the court. You guys wanna come?” 

“Nah, I’d beat you to the ground and you’d feel bad.” Donna deadpanned. 

“Suit yourself.” They took off for the court, and despite Josh inside, clearly sick, Donna felt a little more relaxed than she had in a long time. 

He didn’t wake up for dinner, and Donna didn’t wake him, just pulling aside a cook to ask for food to be set aside. Zoey and Mrs Bartlet had returned from town, and the emergency ended up being that Zoey couldn’t decide between two dresses for a formal she had at school next week. 

The change in scenery didn’t immediately resolve everyone’s issues. They still sniped at each other over dinner, Toby throwing low-handed comments at the President’s attempts to teach them about Teddy Roosevelt, and Leo ignoring it all until Sam said something about Pastrami not being very good. But it was better. Toby even laughed at a dumb joke CJ cracked at his expense. That was new. 

After dinner, the President pulled her aside for a game of Go in the study, like he did every so often. 

Donna put down a piece and picked up her mug again. The President stared at the board, while Zoey read in front of the fireplace, and Charlie did school work at the table.

“I don’t know how you beat me, Donnatella. You’re the only one who can.” The President sighed. 

“Well, sir, you play to win, and I just play to make a beautiful board.” Donna laughed, putting down another piece. 

“I suppose so.” He crossed his arms and put down another piece, though it was useless at this point. “Is Josh alright? My wife mentioned something.”

“He’s okay, sir, just sick.”

“Alright.” The President looked at her curiously as she laid down another piece. “You take care of him, you hear?” 

There was something in his voice, a tone, that made Donna think maybe he knew more than he was letting on. She swallowed thickly and laid down her last piece. 

“I always do, Mr. President.”

“Okay.” He said. He leaned back and eyed the board. “You’ve done it again, damn it.”

Donna grinned at him. 

“What can I say?” 

“Nothing, nothing at all, except that one of these days, you know that I’ll get you.” The President stood up. 

“Alright, that it’s for me. Donna, watch your back, besting the Commander-in-Chief in Go for the fifth time in a row may not have good consequences for you. You two-“ he eyed Zoey and Charlie, who looked innocently up from their perches, severally feet apart. “Be good.”

“Go to bed, Dad.” Zoey rolled her eyes, and the President waved a dismissive hand at her and left the room.

“Me too, I’m heading out.” Donna said. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” 

“Night,” they said in unison, and Donna headed out the back porch to the guest house. It was beautiful out. She could see every star that was usually obscured by the DC lights. She wrapped her sweater- a thick, Irish thing gifted to her by Mrs. Lyman before she left DC last year- tight around her, and sat back down on the swing. 

It was quiet for a few minutes. She could hear soft music playing from an open window upstairs,  CJ humming along, and Toby and Sam laughing. 

The door opened and Donna looked up to find Josh in the doorway, dressed in mismatched striped socks, sweatpants, and a ragged Harvard sweatshirt. 

“Hi,” he said hoarsely. He was holding himself in a hunched-over way that told Donna that his chest was really bothering him, and the flush on his face hadn’t disappeared at all. 

“Hi,” she said. She patted the swing. “Come sit with me.” 

Josh padded over to her obediently and sat down. He put his head back and closed his eyes and Donna could practically feel the heat radiating off of him, so she leaned over and felt his forehead. 

He didn’t even protest. Oh boy.

“You’re burning up, Josh.” She said. Josh shrugged and shivered a little, prompting Donna to search for the blanket she had brought out here earlier and throw it over him. 

“Yeah.” He said quietly. He opened one eye and looked at her. “I don’t feel good.” 

He coughed again, harsh, and curled in on himself. 

“Your chest?” She asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“How about some tea and Advil?” 

“Sounds good.” He mumbled. 

Donna was having flashbacks to Josh’s apartment- changing bandages, handling his insane medication schedule. She went to the kitchen, made a cup of chamomile tea, and dug out Advil from her bag. 

When she came back outside, he had pulled his hood up and was staring, glassy-eyed, at the sky. His change in demeanor in only twenty-four hours was perhaps whiplash-inducing, to a lesser observer, but not surprising. 

Josh got quiet when he was really sick. That’s how Donna could tell the difference between a minor cold and a bad flu- one was Josh obnoxiously draping himself over Donna’s desk asking her to update his will and the other was Josh quietly sitting in his office with his head on his desk between meetings and saying as few words as possible. 

Donna swallowed down the small twinge of anxiety in her throat and went back outside. 

“Here.” She handed him the tea and Advil and sat down next to him again. 

He swallowed the pills dry and wrapped his hands around the mug, titling his head back and coughing.

Donna watched him trace the outlines of constellations with his eyes. He had learned them all, watching NOVA when housebound. 

“You remember the first night you let me back outside? I said I was an outdoorsman.” He said.

Donna laughed. They had sat on that stoop and drank Josh’s first beer in three months and reveled in the sharp November air and generally felt lucky to be alive. She remembered it, down to how Josh’s pajamas pooled around his wrists and ankles, the sour taste of the alcohol. 

“Yes, very well. Do you remember how many times I made you chamomile tea?” 

“Yes.” Josh said. No follow up, no rebuttal. “Thanks for that. I wouldn’t have recovered nearly as well as I did without you.” 

Donna stared at him and made a show of checking his temperature again. 

“Wow, you must be delirious, huh?” She teased. 

“Maybe,” he said. “I really don’t feel good.” 

“I know.” 

The night turned quiet. It was just Donna and a feverish Josh on a porch swing in the middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire, midnight in April. She had all these feelings for him that she didn’t know what to do with, and a small subconscious part of her hoped to God that Josh did too. He was leaning his head against the wood of the swing, inches from Donna’s arm and looking up at the sky,  and Donna was fully overwhelmed with fondness for this dumbass that a mere twenty-four hours earlier, she could barely stand to be in the same room with. There was no one around, no cameras, no reporters. So she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and he put his head on hers, and they sat together. His coughs had gotten deeper and harsher and painful sounding, like he was trying to get his lungs out of his chest.

They sat quiet for a while, until the mug was loose in Josh’s hands and his eyes were closed. As much as Donna thought perhaps she could live in this moment forever, Josh needed the rest, and she did too. She nudged him gently. 

“Hey, sicko, time for bed.” 

“Mmm,” he said. 

“C’mon.” Donna pulled the mug from his hands and hauled him up to put him to bed. If he leaned on her a little up the stairs, no one would know but them. 

He slept through breakfast, too. Donna had contemplated waking him up, but thought better of it. Josh was getting more sleep these past few days than he had in months.  Mrs. Bartlet made a worried face at the description of his symptoms and told Donna to have him meet her in the guesthouse kitchen. Donna nodded and dutifully picked up her half-finished cup of coffee to take with her to the guest house. 

It was beautiful out; in the sunlight Donna could see the flowers blooming everywhere, the grass turning green. Damn. Did she, perhaps, miss the midwest?

She didn’t bother knocking on Josh’s door, just opened it, walked in, and put her coffee down on his dresser. 

He was still asleep, which didn’t surprise her at all. There were tissues all over his bed and he was propped up with every pillow there was in the room. He was wheezing, even in his sleep, and he had stripped himself down to a t-shirt and boxers. The rest of his clothes sat in a sweaty pile on the ground. Donna could hear his congestion from across the room. 

Oh boy. 

“Josh,” Donna sat on the edge of the bed and put one hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. 

He opened one bloodshot eye and looked at her. 

“Mrs. Bartlet wants to look at you.” She said. 

He stared at her for a few seconds, before his face screwed up in pain and he began coughing, pressing his hands deep into his chest. Donna immediately had hands on his shoulders, helping him sit up. He leaned against her and Donna pressed a pillow into his chest to help with the pain. It took him longer to catch his breath, when it finally subsided. He wheezed hoarsely, and let his head fall directly into her lap. There was sweat beading on his neck, his forehead. 

This, too, was familiar.

 She ran her fingers through his sweaty hair, smoothed it down,  and he closed his eyes again, relaxing. 

“You’ve really got to see Mrs. Bartlet.” Donna said softly. “This happened too quickly.” 

When he opened his eyes, Donna saw nothing but exhaustion. 

“I don’t think I can make it down the stairs and back.” He admitted. “It hurts to breathe.” 

His voice was half gone, and Donna could tell, if only from the heat driving off his forehead and his utter lack of any pretense, that this was bad. 

Donna swallowed any fear that spiked up in her stomach. 

“Okay,” she said steadily. “I’ll go get her.” She swept back his hair one more time, then got up. 

She was back in a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity to Josh. He had spent most of the night kicking off his covers and pulling them back on, coughing so hard he couldn’t breath, and, on one memorable occasion, shuffling to the toilet, thinking the force was going to bring up what little he had eaten the day before. In short, he was miserable. 

“Joshua!” 

Josh looked over and saw Mrs. Bartlet with a black bag in the doorway, Donna hovering behind her. 

“I didn’t know you made house visits,” he croaked out. 

“For dummies with hard heads, I make exceptions.” She said lightly. “Can you sit up?” 

Josh pulled himself up, willing away the dark spots that appeared on the edges of his vision. 

Mrs. Bartlet stuck a thermometer under his tongue. When it beeped, she pulled it out and looked at it critically. 

“Hmm.” She said. 

“Hmm?” Donna questioned. 

“102.9” She said. “Your brain’s not fried yet,” 

“I think Donna,” Josh stopped to catch his breath. “Would disagree.” 

Mrs. Bartlet narrowed her eyes at him and pulled out her stethoscope. 

“Breathe deep,” she instructed, pulling aside his shirt to place it next to his scar, which these days was feeling more inflamed than healed.

Josh nearly laughed out loud. Now that was the impossible. He tried his best, but it caught in his throat and another fucking coughing fit came over him because dear god, why not? Donna was at his side in a moment. When it subsided, he leaned slightly against her, just trying to catch his breath. 

Mrs. Bartlet said nothing until she took his blood pressure. 

And then she sat back, took one more look at him, and then looked over at Donna. 

“My partner at my old practice should be in today, he usually works Fridays. Do you think you can take him in for imaging?” She asked. 

Josh felt his stomach drop out. Imaging usually meant bad. 

“Wait, what?” He asked. 

“I think you have pneumonia,” she said simply, crossing her arms. “But I can’t prescribe anything until you get imaging done to confirm.”

Oh. 

“This is bad, Josh, did this just come on? You seemed alright in the plane.” 

Josh shrugged.

“I felt okay yesterday.” He said raspily.

“Hmm. It makes sense, with your trauma.” Mrs. Bartlet said thoughtfully. “You’re more susceptible to infections.” 

“I am?” Josh asked. 

“Josh, you nearly got shot through the heart.” Donna burst out. “Of course you’re more prone to infections.” 

“She’s right. Put aside scar tissue and general trauma, you had a pulmonary embolism. Your lungs are no longer what they once were, my friend.” Mrs. Bartlet agreed. She stood up. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’d like you on antibiotics as soon as possible.” 

She turned to Donna. 

“I’ll call him now. Can you walk with me?” 

Donna nodded and Josh watched them walk out. 

He’d spent so many months as an invalid. Just for a moment, Josh entertained the thought of giving in to Toby’s Mao-like wrath against the White Power group that shot him and just, you know, capping them all at the knees. 

But then Donna came back in, and she was visibly paler. 

“What did Dr. Doom tell you?” Josh asked suspiciously, swinging his legs down to the side of the bed. 

“Uh, that at home antibiotics may not be enough and that they might want admit you.” Donna said. 

Yeah. Knee-capping seemed the right way to go. 

Donna seemed to understand what he was thinking, because she handed him a clean t-shirt with a sympathetic pat to the shoulder. 

“C’mon, rough rider. We got an appointment to make.” 

Chapter Text

The ride to the office was quiet. Mrs. Bartlet had instructed him to take aspirin and albuterol, so his breathing had eased a little, but not by much. 

Manchester was a small town, and everything was in bloom. Donna had borrowed an old high school car of Liz’s, since Josh had taken approximately one second after Mrs. Bartlet proposed having the secret service take them to consider it, before he adamantly refused and told her that he’d rather die of pneumonia. 

He was quiet on the ride over. Donna looked over and found him with his head on the window, eyes half closed. Every few minutes he’d cough, and in between was forever clearing his throat. 

Donna pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car, but Josh made no move to get out. 

Sometimes, Josh was all at once twelve and eighty. He bounced from boyish energy, trying to do pull-ups on her door frame, setting her off just to grin at her annoyed face, to the weight of the world on his weary shoulders, and every worry etched into his face. 

He had both his arms crossed and he was curled into his seat, and he looked so tired, so weighed down. 

“Do you remember,” Donna said evenly. “Three weeks after I came to work for you on the campaign-“

“-hired yourself,” Josh corrected hoarsely. 

“-hired myself,” Donna rolled her eyes. “I broke that mug at like 2 AM?” 

Josh actually laughed a bit, a little of the weight disappearing from his shoulders. 

“How could I forget?”

THREE YEARS PRIOR

They’d been up late again, another late night in a string of late nights, looking over early polling data for Nevada. 

“And voting trends in Nevada skew mostly-“ Donna asked, going over to the kitchenette of the little motel room to get her cup of coffee out of the microwave. 

“Republican, though you can generally count the Strip to go blue,” Josh said. “And issues of high importance in Nevada include-“ 

“Anything affecting blue collar workers, tourism, and immigration.” Donna remembered, which was a miracle in and of itself, since it was nearing 2 AM and she was pretty sure her brain was turning into mush. She took another sip of her coffee. 

Josh grinned at her, a wildly blinding thing that showed off his dimples. 

“Right! You’re picking this up quick.” He said. 

“What did I say, I told you that you’d find me-“ 

“Invaluable, yes. I can remember three weeks ago, Donna.”

“Well, it was just in case, since you can’t seem to remember that staff meetings start at 8 AM, not 8:15.” 

She raised her eyebrows over the mug, and Josh looked decidedly irritated, and clearly about to argue with her, so she put her mug down on the table. 

Ah, except it was 2 AM and she was really tired, Toby had yelled at her today over something dumb and that had made her cry, and she may have more slammed it down. The mug fractured against her hand and lukewarm coffee spilled down her leg while searing pain immediately made itself known to her across her palm. 

“Oh, Jesus!”  

Josh stood still for a half second, staring at the blood beginning to gush from her palm, before he rushed forward with a stack of Dunkin’ Donuts napkins from the table and held them against her hand. 

“Donna, you cut your hand!” He said, pushing more pressure against her palm. 

“Yes, Josh, I can see that!” Donna’s voice was an octave higher than usual. 

“We gotta go to the ER.” Josh decided. 

“Josh, you’ve got a breakfast meeting with Leo and the Governor tomorrow-“ 

“Donna! ER! Stop arguing with me!” 

Josh had frog-marched her to CJ’s room, where he had banged on her door until CJ had woken up and forfeited her car keys without so much as a word in argument, driven her to the ER, sat with her as they stitched her hand, and driven her back to the motel as the sun rose. He had met Leo and the Governor in the lobby as they walked in and told her to take the morning off. Donna watched as he took off for the dining room, having not slept a wink in over twenty-four hours, already gesticulating wildly and arguing with Leo. 

“Do you still have the scar?” Josh asked. He had picked his head off the window and was staring at the innocuous building in front of them, seemingly steeling himself for appointment. 

Donna took her hand off the steering wheel and examined her palm. There was still a thin while line, extending from the outer edge of her hand to the middle of her palm. 

“Yeah, a little.” She said. 

“Let me see.” 

Without waiting for her to extend it, Josh grabbed her hand and examined it closely. 

“Hmm. Not the coolest scar.” He said, letting go and turning towards the window to cough. 

“Is that what you were looking for?” Donna teased. “I thought you wanted to know how well I’d healed up.” 

“Nah. It’s only about the coolness factor of the scar, baby.” Josh said, sounding serious. 

However, he was currently wearing his ratty Harvard sweatshirt that was too big, so he rolled it at the wrists, and he was so congested he barely sounded coherent. Donna was less inclined to see him as Josh “I am the law” Lyman, and far more inclined to see him as Josh “fell on his ass on the slippery floor of the Dirksen building because he was wearing new shoes his mother bought him” Lyman. 

“Now, see, THIS scar-“ Josh pulled down the loose collar of his sweatshirt, exposing the top edge of the neat surgical scar Donna knew better than the front of her hand. “This scar is cool. Chicks dig this scar, Donna.” 

“Uh huh.” She said dryly, resting her head on the steering wheel and turning to look at him. “How many chicks have dug it since you got it?” 

She knew full well the answer was zero, but it was fun to watch him squirm. 

He wrinkled his nose at her. 

“Well, none, but it’s the theory of it- hey, don’t laugh at me, I’m sick, you’re supposed to be nice-“ 

“I’m always nice to you, Joshua.” Donna sighed. “Even when you try and distract me in the car so we don’t have to go in.” 

“I wasn’t trying to,” Josh protested. “It just happened. Me and doctor’s offices, we just don’t mix. Like two magnets, you know, with the same poles, and the-“

“Let’s go, Josh.” Donna interrupted what was sure to be an enlightening lecture about the physics of magnetism, and opened the car door. “We gotta see how much effort it would take for me to kill you right now.”

“Probably not much.” Josh sighed, opening his own door. 

“Well, I got good news, and I got bad news for you, Josh.” Dr. Langdon said, pulling out x-rays and slipping them on the light board. “Which one do you want first?” 

Josh, in the middle of pulling his  t-shirt over his head on the exam table, stalled for a second, so Donna answered for him. 

“Bad,” She supplied, gripping her purse a little tighter.

“What If I wanted good?” He protested, pulling his t-shirt hem down to his hips. 

“Too late.” Donna shrugged. 

“Well, Abbey was right, though when isn't she?  You’ve definitely got pneumonia.” Dr. Langdon pointed at the x-rays. “See this cloudiness here and here? It means you’ve already progressed into bilateral, both lungs.” 

“Oh, good.” He said glumly. 

“Now, you said these symptoms came on suddenly?” Dr. Langdon asked, pulling out a clipboard. 

“Yes,” Donna said. “Fever and shortness of breath about two days ago, and then fatigue and that awful cough.” 

“Hmm. That’s awfully quick for pneumonia to develop.”

“Well,” Josh started, then coughed harshly and leaned back against the wall. “I was having symptoms before that.” He avoided meeting Donna’s glare. 

“Mm-hmm. And when did that happen?” 

“About five days ago? I was just getting tired and my chest was tight, but that’s not out of the ordinary-“ 

“No, I should think not-“ the Doctor said, nodding at the large amount of reconstructive material that now made up Josh’s rib cage on the x-ray. 

“-but I didn’t keep up with my meds and I didn’t check my flow, so.”

“We could have caught this days ago.” Donna said tightly, staring at him. 

“Yes?” He said sheepishly. “Sorry.” 

The doctor stared at the paperwork in front of him, then looked up. 

“Well,” he said. “Here’s the good news. While this is certainly not a common cold, I don’t see any good in admitting you unless you progress. I am going to be starting you on a pretty severe course of antibiotics- I’m actually going to call Abbey and see if she feels comfortable starting an IV for you, as I’d like you to be receiving some vitamins and saline as well. I’m also going to call in a prescription for an inhaled steroid. Given your significant trauma, I don’t think we should play games.” 

“Absolutely not.” Donna said. 

“Okay,” the doctor smiled at Donna. “I’ll call her now. Let me give you my business card. If anything happens while you all are in town, you can always call to set something up, or have Abbey’s staff call.”

“Thank you,” Donna said warmly, taking the card and putting it in her wallet. It wasn’t lost on Josh that it’d be given to her instead of him, but he’d probably lose it anyways. 

“Give my best to the family,” the doctor said. “And Josh, let this young lady take care of you. It seems she knows what she’s doing.”

“She does.” Josh said. “She definitely does.” 

Mrs Bartlet was kind enough to set Josh up on the couch of the living room in the guest house, where there was a TV to entertain him. 

“I could have just done work, I don’t watch a lot of TV anyways” Josh frowned, holding out his arm for her to insert the IV. 

“Josh, I know you can’t hear yourself right now,” the First Lady said, inserting the needle deftly and taping it down. “But you sound like you gargled rocks. Bar a nuclear disaster, you’re on strict no-work orders, as is my husband. Don’t even try to get around it, I’ve got everyone on my side.” 

“The sisterhood.” Josh nodded sagely. Mrs. Bartlet made a confused face as she connected the tubing of the IV. 

“The what? Actually, I’d rather not know. Listen, I’m going to be coming in every few hours  to check your temperature and lungs. I know Robert didn’t want to admit you- he seemed to think you might have had your fill of the hospital, lately-. 

“He was correct.” 

“-but I don’t want to take chances. If you get worse, I’m admitting you myself.” Mrs. Bartlet straightened up and started the pump. Josh looked up at the machine now delivering antibiotics directly to his veins.

“How come you guys have this stuff here anyways?” He asked. 

Mrs Bartlet’s face changed, subtly, quickly. 

“Just in case,” she said lightly. “I’ll be back soon. Try and watch some TV. I’ve been told that’s what normal people do.” 

Josh fell asleep again to the sound of midday reruns, and when he woke up, it was getting dark out, and Donna was across from him, eating ice cream out of a mug and staring intently at the screen. He felt significantly worse than when he had fallen asleep, and when he looked up, he saw a different bag hanging from the pole. Ugh. 

His sweatshirt suddenly felt sweaty and hot. He kicked off the blanket that had appeared around his waist. It landed on the floor, which got Donna’s attention. 

“Hi,” she said, putting the mug down. “How do you feel?”

“Did I miss dinner?” Jesus, his voice WAS bad. It was starting to hurt to talk. 

“Yeah. Are you hungry?” 

“No.” He said. He actually just felt nauseous. Blah. 

“I didn’t think you would be. Mrs. Bartlet changed out your meds.” 

“Yeah.” Josh said. “I’m just really hot.” 

Donna raised her eyebrows at him. 

“Josh, honestly, sometimes I think your ego has gone straight to your-“

“Donna!” He whined. He could feel sweat soaking through his collar. 

“Sorry,” she grinned. “I thought it might make you laugh.” She came over and felt his forehead. Her hand was cool to the touch, and Josh closed his eyes and leaned into it. Frankly, he felt like shit. If he could just lay here and Donna could stay right there...

Donna moved her hand down from his forehead to his cheek and kept it there for a second. When Josh opened his eyes, he saw a look on her face he couldn’t quite make out. It was gone within a second. 

“Well, Mrs. Bartlet was by only about half an hour ago and she said your fever hadn’t gotten worse. We can’t take off your sweatshirt cus I’m afraid I’ll kill you if I mess with this IV-“ 

“That’d work too,” Josh mumbled. Donna valiantly ignored him. 

“-but I could open the windows? It’s pretty cool out right now.”

“Alright.” 

Donna took her hand off his cheek and Josh immediately regretted having her get up. But as soon as the windows were open, a cool clear breeze floated through the room and it almost made up for it. 

“How’s that?” She asked, settling back into her chair. 

“Better,” Josh said. 

Donna turned up the TV, and Josh realized she was watching reruns of that dumb political show she wouldn’t stop talking about. 

“This show is so unrealistic,” he complained as characters got into a screaming match in the Oval Office. “Mrs. Landingham isn’t nearly as attractive as that woman.” 

“Shut up Josh, some of us like a little escapism every once in a while.” Donna said without tearing her eyes from the screen. 

Josh sighed and turned his head towards the ceiling. It was turning to dusk, there was a cool breeze flowing, and he could hear the chatter of the TV. So he closed his eyes again. 

“Well, well, well, there he is- the invalid himself.” 

Josh cracked his eyes open blearily, and found CJ, Toby and Sam looking at him from the doorway. CJ was holding a glass in her hand, and was clearly tipsy. And if CJ was tipsy…

 “The three drunk-ateers.” Josh mumbled. “I thought you’d forgotten I’d existed.” 

“Not at all!” Sam said earnestly. He was holding a bottle of Sam Adams loosely, and Josh desperately either wanted to make a joke or steal it from him, but found he didn’t have the energy for either. 

“Donna wouldn’t let us.” CJ said. 

“It was like The Rules all over again.” Toby said forlornly. “ ‘don’t bother Josh, he’s sleeping, don’t wake him up for the basketball game, don’t let him have alcohol’...if I wanted to be bossed around, I’d move back in with my mother.” 

Josh screwed up his nose and looked over to Donna’s seat. 

“Where is she, anyways?”

“Showering.” Sam said. 

“Okay.” Josh said. He honestly felt worse than he had all week. His stomach was churning painfully.  A different bag hung off the IV pole and he stared blearily up on it, wondering if perhaps he was gonna- 

Oh no, he was definitely gonna- 

Sam seemed to realize what was happening- bar Donna, he had spent the most time with him after Rosslyn- and flew with surprising speed to shove a nearby waste bin under Josh’s mouth, just in time for any small amount of food he’d managed to eat to come right back out. Jesus. His throat was so fucking sore. 

“Holy shit!” he heard CJ swear. 

“What?” That was Donna. Josh managed to lift his head and make eye contact with her for approximately .5 seconds before he dove back into the bin. A part of him was slightly embarrassed to be so clearly retching in front of his coworkers and friends. Another part of him had rationalized that they’d all already seen him hungover to the point of corpse-like quality and also in the middle of a full-blown-not-in-reality flashback, so this probably didn’t mark very high on their lists of “Intensely Intimate and Embarrassing Things Josh has had Happen in Front of Me”. Of course, all of this was occurring as he was gagging so hard he thought he might break a rib. 

“Josh is throwing up!” CJ said.

“I can see that!” Donna sounded slightly alarmed, but honestly not enough that Josh in turn felt alarmed. 

“Toby, go get Mrs. Bartlet. Tell her she was right.” 

“And she’s gonna know what that weirdly ominous and vague-” 

“Toby!”

“Ow! You don’t have to hit me, I’m going, I’m going-” 

The door opened and closed. Josh gagged again, if only for the acid now coating his entire mouth, and was suddenly acutely aware that his entire face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He lifted his head out of the waste bin and leaned it all the way back on the couch. Donna was sitting on the other end of the couch with a glass of water and a wet rag, clearly trying to give him space but wanting to help. God, he loved her- you know, as a friend. Assistant. Whatever. 

“Hi,” She said. “That sounded like fun.” 

Josh huffed a laugh, and immediately regretted it, coughing harshly and spitting into the bin. 

“Sorry, I’ll stop trying to make you laugh!” Donna said. “Though I’ve got say, I’m not sure this Noel Coward-esque wit can be contained-”
“ Donna. ” Josh groaned. He turned his head and looked at her sideways. Her hair was still wet, pulled hastily into a ponytail, and she was wearing an oversized Yale sweatshirt that looked familiar. 

“That’s my sweatshirt.” Josh noted. He took the proffered glass of water from her and took one sip, just testing to see if his stomach would reject it. He didn’t throw up, so he took another sip. “You’re a thief.” 

“I am not a thief.” Donna said, leaning over to wipe off his forehead with the cool rag. “You left it at my apartment, so it was fair game.” 

“You didn’t go to Yale Law School.” Josh mumbled. 

“Yet.” Donna corrected. “Give me a few years.” 

“Mm.” Josh agreed. “I don’t feel so good.” 

“Hate to break it to you, but you don’t look so good either, Caspar.” 

Josh looked over and realized, again, that CJ and Sam were still in the room. CJ was swilling around her martini glass and looking at him over the top of her glasses. 

“You want some?” She offered the glass towards him, grinning. 

“I’ll pass.” Josh mumbled. “Though I’d take a tranq, if anyone’s got any of those.” 

“Sorry, Josh,” Sam said sympathetically. He had already drained his entire beer. “I left those behind in my college days.” 

“Are we talking about drugs?” Mrs. Bartlet came in through the door with her ever-present black bag and Toby trailing her. 

“Just about how I’d like some.” Josh said. Mrs Bartlet sat on the coffee table in front of him and crossed her arms. 

“How ya feelin, Joshua?”
“Bad.” Josh said simply. 

“Nauseous?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s the antibiotics. Luckily, Robert prescribed you an antiemetic after I told him about your delicate system-”
“Traitor.” Josh muttered to Donna, who lightly whacked his arm. 

“-and we can start that now.” 

“I gotta say, Josh, this whole pneumonia shtick you’ve got going on is really putting a damper on the R&R thing.” CJ sighed into her empty martini glass. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” Josh said as Mrs. Bartlet pushed up his sweatshirt sleeve to check his IV. “But I have to stay the center of attention somehow.” 

CJ laughed. She got up and stretched. 

“Well, mi amour, I can’t speak for these other two skateers here, but I promised the President I’d be back for another scintillating round of trivia about fifteen minutes ago.” 

“Go. At least I got out of that.” Josh mumbled. Mrs. Bartlet had pushed cold saline through his IV and he shivered. 

“Say, Josh, any way you can infect me within the next, I don’t know, thirty seconds?” 

“Get out, Sam.” 

“Going.” 

Josh closed his eyes as the door slammed behind them. Mrs. Bartlet finished administering the medication, and Josh suddenly felt exhausted. He was vaguely aware that Mrs. Bartlet and Donna were talking, and that someone was pulling a blanket over him, but before long, he couldn’t distinguish between the TV and the conversation and from what was dream and what was reality. 

When he woke again, his stomach was blessedly calm. It was definitely much later; the breeze coming in through the window had turned icy. The TV was casting a dim white glow on most of the room, playing old reruns. 

“I was wondering when you’d wake up.” 

Josh looked over and found the President in an armchair, reading by the low light of a lamp, legs crossed. 

“Mr. President-” Josh tried to scramble up, but found his head swimming, and could only manage to sit halfway up, propped on his elbow. 

“Stay down, Josh,” The President was...laughing? He put his book down and looked at Josh over his glasses, smiling. “Abbey told me everything that was going on. Stay down.” 

“Yes, sir.” Josh allowed himself to lean back against the couch. “What time is it?”

“Ah, past one, I think. Abbey isn’t letting me work, except my daily briefings. I can’t remember the last time I went to bed before two.” 

They had been pulling some late days lately, hadn’t they. 

“Quite a stunt to pull, Josh, waiting to get pneumonia until we’re all gathered in New Hampshire.” 

“Hand to God, sir, it wasn’t on purpose-” 

“Oh, I’m sure it had nothing to do with ignoring your assistant there?” 

The President nodded at the chair next to him, where Donna was curled up under a blanket and clearly dead to the world. 

“Maybe.” Josh admitted. 

“Yeah. And you’re sure it had nothing to do with getting out of trivia night?” 

“Sir, really, I think I’d get shot again to get out of-” 

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Josh.” The President got up and shut his book. “But listen to me. You be nice to her, you hear? I hear a lot of things- I don’t understand most of it- but I hear a lot, and from everything I hear, Donna has done a pretty good job of keeping you together this year.” 

“Yes, sir.” Josh’s mouth was dry. “She has.” 

The President stopped and looked at him intently. 

“Don’t take that for granted, Josh.”

“No, sir, I won’t.” 

“Okay. Get on up to bed. Abbey already came by and took off all your tubes and whatnot. Make sure Donna gets up too.”

“Yes sir. Good night, Mr. President.”

“Good night, Josh.” 

The door shut behind him, and Josh spent a moment sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the screen, and wondering what taking it for granted looked like. Donna, ever a light sleeper, woke up with a start. 

She stretched off the chair and rubbed her eyes, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Josh suppressed a smile. A really small part of him wondered if they could just fall asleep together, like they had before, blame it on the drugs and how tired everyone was, and get up the next morning and pretend it never happened. 

“Wha’ time is it?” Donna asked blearily. Her hair was sticking up and the lines of the chair were imprinted in her cheek. 

“Late. We should go to bed.” Josh said. He tried getting up again and found that it was easier, this time. He managed to stand up, and even go to the chair to offer Donna a hand. She took it, and then stood there in front of him, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, face half-illuminated by the TV, and studied his face. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked quietly. 

“Alright. Better.” Josh responded, equally as quiet. They weren’t touching; they were well-versed in these moments, in completely toeing the line and being able to back away with full deniability. 

Donna searched his face for a few more seconds.

“Good.” She said. “Come on, let’s go to sleep.” 

And then the moment was gone, cataloged with the dozens of others under what almost was , and Donna was offering her hand as they walked up the stairs, and Josh was taking it, because he knew once they got to the top, they’d drop it, and he’d go to sleep in his little bed, and she’d go to sleep in hers. 

But at least for now, they had this.