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The World of 'What If?'

Who We Are: Part 1

Author's Notes: This is actually the first JD fic (first TWW fic) I've ever *written*, although I did post that other stand-alone story last week (See, I wrote that last week. This I wrote months ago!). The reason I haven't posted this yet is because it turned into the start of a series, which still isn't finished, but is a lot closer to it now. I figured that if I started posting it, it'd give me that final push to finish the damn thing!

Many thanx to the usual suspects, and especially Mel, just for the following question: "would sex kill you?" Had me laughing off my chair! Honestly though, the people who got subjected to this beforehand - you're all brill!

Disclaimer: This stands for "See You Around" too, since I forgot to disclaim (is that a word?) that one! Doh! I do not earn any money from this, I don't have any money, and in fact, writing fic is probably costing me money since I'm not doing my uni coursework and hence may not pass my degree (just kidding, parents!)

Feedback: Oh, yes please! After last week, I remembered how much I love FB. Now I'm craving it again, damnit! Also, let me know if I should keep posting the other parts!

He's quiet in the emergency room, quieter than I think I've ever seen him. He stares at the floor between us, but I'm not sure if it's the floor he's seeing. I'm not sure I want to think about what he's seeing right now. He's pale and sweating slightly and he keeps rubbing his temple with his un-bandaged hand.

I manage to stop staring at him for a minute to look through the windows that surround us. For Christmas Eve, the ER is surprisingly bare, although Josh and I have been sitting in this room for over half an hour now, waiting for someone to come look at his hand.

I turn back to him and find him looking at me.

"You don't have to stay, Donna."

"Ah, see Joshua, that is where you're wrong." I'm not sure if banter's the right way to go right now, but I take the chance anyway. I release the breath I didn't realise I was holding when he drops his head and smiles slightly.

"Why am I wrong?" That wasn't the answer I was expecting. Something like, 'I'm never wrong, Donna' or, 'It's you that's wrong', maybe. Perhaps a smug smile to go with it and that glint in his eye which just yells "I'm da man!"

Okay, so, banter or serious?

"Because, five minutes after I walk out of that door, you'll be walking out of it after me. And then your hand will get infected and the infection will spread and you'll lose your hand."

"I'll lose my hand?" He's smiling again and I can't help but return it.

"Yes."

"Then I won't leave. I can't lose my hand!" And then the smile suddenly drops from his face. "I'm already losing my mind."

I don't know what happened in that room today, but I do know that that's just not true.

Also, that this isn't the time for banter.

"You're not losing your mind, Josh." He looks up and just… looks at me; looks at me like he wants so much for me to be right, but still can't quite believe it. Seeing Josh this unsure of anything is rare and I don't know what else I can say. So I reach across and place my hand over his uninjured one. He surprises me by turning his hand over so that they're palm to palm, and suddenly, we're holding hands. I look up from our hands to his face, a lot closer now since I've had to lean forward, to find him looking at me again. I feel the reassuring smile that I hope I am wearing fade as I look into his eyes. *Gaze* into his eyes. I could get lost in those eyes.

"Mr. Lyman." Which, of course, is when the doctor finally turns up. Thankfully. I think.

We pull back from each other quickly, almost guiltily, and I stand up to move out of the doctor's way. I move towards the door and stand leaning back against the wall, watching the doctor clean and bandage Josh's hand.

"How did this happen, Mr Lyman?" Josh doesn't look at the doctor; he looks directly at me as he replies.

"I... broke some glass." I hold his gaze for as long as I can but he drops his face almost as soon as he stops talking. I can hardly believe it, but I think Josh is, well, ashamed. I guess I can understand it, a little, from his point of view. Josh likes to think that he's always in control, it's part of this whole ego thing he has going on, and sticking his hand through his window doesn't fit the image.

What puzzles me is why he thinks he has to keep that image up around me. After Rosslyn, I saw him every day, went through every stage of his body's recovery with him. I thought, maybe, he'd have a problem with that once he was back to work, but it never happened. We were fine.

We leave the hospital and head towards Josh's apartment. When we get there, there's no question as to whether I'd go up with him - he holds the door to his building open for me to precede him.

When he opens his apartment door, he freezes. I look over his shoulder and see the boarded up window right in front of us. The holidays must have caused a delay in getting it replaced. I put my hand on his back and take a step forward so I'm standing beside him.

"Josh?" He turns his head towards me, slightly but suddenly, as if startled. "Do you want to grab some stuff and stay at mine tonight?" He sighs.

"What about your roommate?"

"She's gone home for Christmas, but you have to be nice to the cats." I smile and he huffs out a breath of air in an aborted laugh before offering his own small smile. His eyes are sad, though.

"Okay."

I guide him into the apartment, my hand still at his back, and turn him towards his bedroom almost immediately so he doesn't have time to dwell on the window. Josh makes a mumbled protest about the force I'm using to guide him but his heart's not in it. We throw some sweats, t-shirts, boxers and a jumper into an overnight bag. Josh goes to grab a suit when I remind him that it's Christmas Day tomorrow hence there is no way that I'm working and since I'm not working, he can't work. He didn't even attempt a protest at that. I tell him that he should grab some jeans and a shirt for dinner at CJ's. As soon as I say it, I wonder if he even wants to go to CJ's tomorrow, but he interrupts my thoughts.

"Donna, why don't you go home for Christmas?" There's a simple answer to that.

"I am home, Josh." He's going to assume I mean DC. I don't; I mean him.

"What about spending the holidays with your family? Don't you want to go back to Wisconsin?"

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, Joshua, but we don't usually stop working until the afternoon of Christmas Eve and we start back Boxing Day. I'd be in Wisconsin for less than twenty-four hours." I smile to emphasise that it doesn't bother me.

"I'm sure your boss would give you the time off."

"And risk the office falling around him?" I laugh slightly as I grab his arm and pull him out of his bedroom.

"Hey! I'm sure he could survive without you for a few days!" Josh doesn't sound convincing and, by the look on his face, I don't think he even convinced himself. I just start laughing again though, this time at the way he managed to sound indignant whilst talking about himself in the third person. Only Josh…

"Are you suggesting that he doesn't need me *all the time*?" He pulls his front door shut and we head down the corridor. "Because he could have fooled me!"

Josh doesn't reply and we spend the ten-minute walk to my building in a somewhat comfortable silence. Josh not being, well, Josh, is throwing me off a little. Honestly, I'm not sure I can be myself when Josh isn't…himself. I mean, I'm always going to be *me* but when I say I can't be myself I mean… this is making my head hurt. Hallelujah! When I walk up the steps to the front door, Josh finally speaks, ending the monologue in my head. In style, I might add.

"I'll always need you, Donnatella." I turn around slowly and find him looking up at me from the bottom of the steps with eyes that are a little too bright. See? Josh not being Josh! It's unnerving! Worried that he's going to suddenly back up and walk away, I hold my hand down to him and, thank God, he takes it.

We enter my apartment, our hands still joined until I turn to close the door behind us. Then the Josh we all know and… want to hit frequently, resurfaces. He dumps his bag, walks straight over to the sofa, shrugs his coat off and drapes it over the back before sitting down and putting his feet up on the coffee table. He grabs the remote and puts CNN on.

"Make yourself at home, Josh." Oh God, I think I actually sounded more relieved than sarcastic! I pick up his bag and drop it off in my room with my coat before heading to the kitchen to look for something for dinner.

"Thanks," he yells. "Hey, any chance of some coffee?" He'll never stop trying.

"Not a chance in hell!"

"Aww, come on Donna! I have… " He stops suddenly and I wait for him to carry on. Then I walk into the lounge/dining room to see what's stopped him.

He's looking down at his bandaged hand in his lap, the sadness clearly showing on his face again.

"Josh?" I sit on the coffee table in front of him, having to straddle his legs and make room for his feet, which are still resting on the table.

"Josh?" I rest my hand on his crossed ankles lightly and he looks up at me with this look of total devastation and vulnerability. It's like the time I had to tell him his father had died - the night of the Illinois Primary. Even then, although I didn't know Josh as well as I do now, I knew that look was extremely rare - it goes back to the ego thing. You don't associate vulnerability with someone who has an ego the size of Josh's. It just doesn't fit. "What is it, Josh?" He takes a deep breath.

"I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Donna." His voice is so quiet I can barely hear him, but *what* he said couldn't have been clearer. I knew it had to be PTSD or something similar, but I didn't think he was going to actually admit it. I watch the tears fill his eyes and realise that maybe he needed to admit it to someone. "And I need therapy for it." I see a single tear drop from his eye and roll down his cheek, and I realise that I'm crying too. He takes his feet off the table and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging low. He wipes his eyes with his uninjured hand before any more tears can fall.

I…, there's nothing I can say, so instead I go to sit beside him. I wrap my arm around his waist, my hand finding its place on his chest (over his heart, I realise later), and I rest my head on his shoulder, hugging him a little from behind as his body practically vibrates from tension. After a couple of minutes, his other hand, the hand he put through his window, comes up to rest over mine. A little while after that, after he seems to have calmed down a bit, he speaks.

"Well, it's not like I haven't done the therapy thing before." And then he immediately tenses back up again. He thinks I don't know about the other Stanley. Or why he used to see the other Stanley. He's wrong on both counts. Josh really shouldn't drink without proper supervision. And by 'proper supervision', I mean me.

"I know, Josh." He turns his head towards me to try to look at me.

"You know?" I just nod my head slightly. "How?"

"Just over a year ago you turned up here, yelled at my roommate's cats, collapsed on this sofa and told us all about it."

"Us?" He's not letting go of my hand, and I'm not moving it.

"Me and the cats, Josh."

"Ah." He turns his head away to look back at the carpet between his feet. "What did I say?"

"You told us about your sister, about what happened to her, and that you'd been seeing a therapist on and off for a few years."

"Did I… did I tell you I ran out of the house?"

"You were just a kid, Josh. You were supposed to run out of the house."

"That's what Stanley said."

"Which one?" Josh huffs a self-deprecating laugh.

"Wonder if all my therapists are gonna be called Stanley."

"Josh, it's not like you're the only person who's been to therapy, and it's not your fault either. None of it."

He's quiet for a long time but we stay as we are, with him holding my hand to his chest. I can feel the tension slowly releasing from his body again. I tilt my head sideways so I can rest it more comfortably on his shoulder, and begin to get lost in what I call 'The World of What If'. And which part of this world do I frequently visit? Well, 'what if Josh wasn't my boss'-ville, of course! It's a beautiful town.

"Y'know Donna, you're amazing. I know I'm not the easiest person to work with, but you not only manage to do that, you manage to take care of my whole life too. And sometimes I worry that I take advantage of you, that I may take you for granted, or not tell you, show you, how much you are to me." He turns his head towards me again, forcing me to lift mine off of his shoulder. He looks straight into my eyes as he says the next bit. "How much you mean to me."

He meant that in a platonic, working-relationship kinda way, I'm sure of it. Josh couldn't say what he just said and mean it any other way. And even if he could, he just wouldn't. Josh doesn't do that.

Oh, who am I kidding? Josh may be an arrogant, egotistical politician in work, but he's not like that 24/7. The beautiful note he wrote in the book he gave me last Christmas is proof enough that Josh can be just as caring and sweet as any other guy, even if he doesn't like to show it too often. Anyway, since Josh's behaviour has thrown me off-balance several times already tonight, I'm not ruling out anything.

Besides, there's nothing platonic anywhere in those eyes right now. Nope. He's looking at me like… like I'm his world. It's that look I thought I caught a glimpse of every now and then during his recovery after Rosslyn, but he always looked away before I could work out what it meant.

Well, now I know.

He wants me. Bad.

Yes!

No!

Oh God! He's still my boss. We still work at the White House. We can't… we can't!

I think I'm going to cry again.

"You're a brilliant assistant, Donna." He has to stop talking. Just, stop talking Josh! "But sometimes, I wish you weren't." Damnit Joshua!

I bury my head in his shoulder, just praying that I won't cry again. Josh isn't so easily fooled, though. He twists a little, finally releasing my hand from his and using his other to lift my head off his shoulder. He sweeps my hair back gently with both hands and waits for my eyes to meet his before smiling softly.

"Hey." I take a deep breath and sigh as I release it. Then I return the smile and the greeting.

"Hi." His fingertips explore my right cheek with a feather-light touch and it's all I can do to stop my eyes closing to concentrate on the feel of them. It probably helped a bit that my eyes were trapped by Josh's.

"You know what I was saying then, don't you? That the only reason I wouldn't want you as my assistant…" I stop him before he states the impossible. He's done enough of that already tonight.

"Yes, Josh." And then he kisses me, almost before I'd finished saying his name.

Despite the speed he moved in with, and let me tell you now that he was *quick*, the kiss is a soft, lingering brush of lips. Neither of us takes it any further, but when we break contact we don't pull away from each other either. Our eyes meet again as we breathe the same air for a few moments. The only thing I can hear is my pulse, which reminds me that if we go not-that-much further than this, I'm not going to be able to stop.

"But I *am* your assistant, Josh," I practically whisper. "And you're Deputy Chief of Staff of the White House. It's who we are."

"Yeah," is all he whispers back. A few moments more and we finally pull back, but I need some more space. I stand up, and then realise I should really have a reason for standing up.

"How about some music?"

"No!" Whoa!

"Josh?" His face just lost a couple of shades and once again the tension is back. Forgetting the space, I drop to my knees in front of him and make him look at me. "What is it?"

"Music. It's…, to me it's…" He takes a deep breath. "…sirens." He looks vulnerable again and this time I just pull him into a hug. "It's what triggered all this."

I stroke his back in what I hope is a soothing manner, whilst I consider that the stroking movements his hands are making at the small of my back are anything *but* soothing.

"It'll get better, Josh. Soon, music will just be music again."

"Yeah…wait!" He pulls back out of the hug so he can look at me. "How do you know that? That's exactly what Stanley said." I'm about to ask 'which one?' again but the suspicious look on his face stops me.

"I…" I begin to answer as I sit back on my heels. Then suddenly, his expression changes.

"…Researched. There's a surprise!" This time he full-out grins, dimples and all, and I grin back.

"Well, with you not in the office yelling my name, I had some free time."

"You should have done something else. Wasn't there anything you wanted to do?"

"Yes, and that's what I did." I stand up and walk into the kitchen. Josh follows.

"I don't suppose you found anything about a fear of rectangles during your research?" Just the idea of a fear of rectangles makes me laugh. Josh being scared by one of the cats jumping on the counter behind him almost has me collapsing in hysterics. When I finally recover, Josh is standing there watching me with the same sincere look he had when he called me a "brilliant assistant".

"You don't laugh enough, Donnatella."

"True!" I agree as I pick the cat up off the counter.

"Devil cat!"

"Be nice, Joshua." I stroke the cat a few more times before letting her go. She runs out of the kitchen, probably to jump on my roommate's, Kate's, bed. I turn to Josh and find him yawning.

"Think I'm going to try to get some sleep."

"Okay. You know where everything is, yeah?" He nods. "Night, Josh. And Merry Christmas," I add as an afterthought. I'd almost forgotten that it's Christmas Day tomorrow.

"Merry Christmas, Donnatella. Sweet dreams." He kisses me quickly and softly on my temple and heads for my bedroom, but stops and turns around just before leaving the kitchen. "Donna, about Joanie. The guys at work…" Does he think I'd tell them? Although, to be honest, I thought they already knew.

"I wouldn't tell them, Josh."

"No, I know you wouldn't, Donna. I think they all know that Joanie died in a fire anyway, but they don't know the whole story. The bit about me running out." He can't look at me when he says that. Instead, he looks at the floor.

"Josh." He doesn't raise his head, but he looks up with his eyes. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know. It's just, I'd rather they didn't…"

"I won't tell them, Josh." He's tired. There's no point arguing right now that these people are his friends and that they wouldn't judge him on what happened when he was a child. Especially since all he did was the right thing.

"Thank you." I smile and expect him to leave, but he just stands there, wondering about something or other.

"Josh?"

"What about the cats? Will they say anything?" He's grinning again. God, he's a bit like Jekyll and Hyde tonight!

"Leave!" I order, and he does. I get myself a glass of water and head to Kate's room, realising that I haven't actually changed and that all my nightclothes are in my room. I resign myself to borrowing something from Kate instead of disturbing Josh and enter her room.

I lie awake for what seems like hours, living it up in 'The World of What If' and imagining what our lives would be like if Josh and I weren't who we are.

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