"It was sad, you know? The whole thing just drove home how needless it all was," Donna said. She was on a sofa with her feet tucked underneath her, her black pumps in front of her on the floor. They were in a spare meeting room in the West Wing. "And it was hard. But I'm glad I did it. I'm glad I went."

"Funerals aren't so much for the person who died as for the people who attend," Stanley said. "So if you feel like you got something from it, I'd say that was an hour well-spent."

Donna nodded thoughtfully.

"So...what are your plans now?"

Donna shrugged. "It's over. There's nothing more to be done. I've given the statement, said my final farewells to Fred. Even got my bank card back. There's nothing else to do now but resume life. I'll have the stitches out in about a week and that will be that."

"Uh huh. And how do you plan on doing that?"

"How do I plan on...resuming my life?"

Stanley nodded.

"The same way I've always done it. I was waylaid for a few days, Stanley, I don't see why this has to change the whole rest of my existence," her body posture became just the slightest bit defensive. "It happened. I came through it. I need to pick up where I left off. And these last few days will become a story I tell people, not the first day of the rest of my emotionally challenged life."

"Just like that?" Stanley asked.

"Well, no, of course not just like that, but..." she breathed out in a huff. "I need more therapy, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Damn."

"Life's a bitch sometimes, huh? How are you sleeping?"

"Fine, actually," Donna said. "Pretty well. I've been kinda loopy off of the Vicodin, but I took the last one last night, and my shoulder hasn't even been giving me much grief today. I don't think I'll have so much pain I can't sleep."

"OK, that's good, but I didn't mean because of your shoulder," Stanley said patiently. "You were afraid to stay at your apartment the night of the robbery, and you've been staying with Josh ever since. Are you having any problems?"

"Not really," she hedged. "I mean, a little, but I think that's to be expected. I'm not really comfortable being alone. In my apartment, I mean," she added at the last second. Stanley didn't get to know about the sleeping arrangements. He didn't get to know that detail. She respected him, she trusted him, but there's no way it wouldn't look like more than it was, and she wasn't going to put herself or Josh in that position. It was a temporary wrinkle. She'd get over it with a little time. All she needed was a little more time.

"Why aren't you comfortable being alone?" Stanley asked.

"I don't...really know. That night, we went back to the apartment, and all of a sudden I remembered what he'd said and I just...I can't shake the idea of him coming to the apartment in the middle of the...he knows where I live, Stanley." She popped up off the couch and started pacing. "And I know, it's ridiculous, he's in a coma. But when I'm there...it was like I could hear his voice. That threat, it played with my head a little. Which I suppose is what it was meant to do."

"I suppose so," Stanley said. "What do you think you'd need to feel comfortable in your apartment again?"

"What do you mean?"

"What would make you feel comfortable staying there again? Having a friend crash on the couch for a few nights? Finding a roommate? Getting an alarm system, maybe? I'd like for you to work through this at your current place, but you might even consider moving if you can't make yourself feel safe enough. Your home has got to be a safe place, Donna," Stanley said. "If you don't have that, it will hold up the whole rest of your recovery."

Donna thought for a minute. "I don't know. An alarm system might be a start. And I definitely think it would help if someone stayed with me for a few nights." She shook her head, trying to ward off tears of frustration. "But that just...feels like a huge step to take right now, I know that's really stupid."

"It's not stupid," Stanley said. "OK, you know what? Let's start with something smaller. Do you think that this afternoon, you could go to your apartment for a little while? Half an hour by yourself. Ease yourself back into it. Sort of reacquaint yourself. Does half an hour sound doable?"

She'd been back to get clothes for the funeral. Josh was with her, but she'd been OK. Half an hour, in the daylight. Check her messages, pick up her mail, return some calls...then it would be over. She nodded. "I think I could do that."

"Then start with that. If it goes OK, try again tomorrow. See if you don't feel comfortable with an hour. Work yourself back up to a point where you think you could spend the night there with a friend," he saw Donna begin to be overwhelmed again. "Don't try to see the whole board, Donna. For right now, for today, you're going to spend half an hour in your apartment alone. That's all."

Donna took a cleansing breath. "OK."

"Once you get to sleep, are you able to stay asleep? Any nightmares?" Stanley continued.

"No, not that I remember," Donna said.

"It's not uncommon," Stanley said. "In fact, I'd bet you'll experience them before it's over."

"Great," Donna mumbled.

"Keep in mind that you'll prevent the nightmares at night with what you do during the day. Confront your issues while you're awake and they'll tend to leave you alone at night, too. Ignore it, and the dreams will probably get that much worse," Stanley advised. "I'm referring you to a therapist with an office on Third. I've sent many patients to him, and he's a great traumatologist but he also really knows how to work with patients on breaking down disturbing dreams. You'll like him."

Donna shook her head vehemently. "I like you."

Stanley cocked his head. "You know, I really don't understand this...attachment White House employees seem to develop to me." He leaned forward in his chair. "Thank you, Donna, but I live on the other side of the continent. And I've gotta go back there, you know, eventually."

"I like you," Donna said again, unfazed. "Can't we do it over the phone? You've talked to Josh over the phone."

"I referred Josh to another therapist, and talked with him on the phone every two weeks because he got whiny if I didn't," Stanley said. "I didn't conduct his primary therapy."

"But when he has an episode, or nearly has an episode, he calls you, not the other guy," Donna protested. 

Stanley sighed. "I know. He...likes me. But Donna, Josh's situation is not the same. He's recovered. His difficulties are few and far between. Most of the time when he calls me he's just shooting the breeze."

"I like you, too," Donna said. "And we've already done all this work. Why couldn't we continue to talk over the phone?"

"Donna," Stanley started. "OK, I'm gonna tip my hand a little here. It's much better, whenever possible, to conduct therapy sessions in person. When I talk to a patient like you and I have done these last few days, I'm assessing a lot of things. Not just what you're saying, and not just your tone when saying it, but your body language, where you look when you say it, what you do with your hands, whether or not you're fidgety. All of it factors into my ability to read you. Doing therapy over the phone...well, it's doable, yes, but it's like working with one hand behind my back. And you're not getting as good guidance and you would from an in-person session."

Donna pouted a little. "I don't want to have to start all over and break in someone else and tell the story all over again."

"You wouldn't have to start all over again. I'd forward copies of my notes. He'd catch up with you," Stanley assured.

"Stanley. I Like. You."

"Donna," Stanley said firmly. "You want to be really careful at this stage in your recovery of getting overly attached to anyone. You don't ever want to box yourself into a position where you're unable to function without a certain someone there. Friend, therapist or otherwise."

Donna's eyes stung at the implication. "You think I'm fixated on you?"

"No," Stanley smiled, a little ruefully. "I'm just saying, you're a people person, and that's a difficulty that extroverts often have in situations like this. An introvert will sometimes pull so far in that they become non-functional. Live like emotional hermits. An extrovert will tend to invest so much in a person or people around them that they become...codependent. It all comes out of a desire to feel better too fast. Don't try to force this thing so hard."

Donna wasn't sure whether she was more pissed off at the remark, concerned that she might be developing a complex, or grateful to him for shining a light on that potential pitfall. "Fine. I will see—" 

"That said," Stanley interrupted, "With the sensitive job position you hold, the world you live in, I understand that you can't allow yourself to open up to new people very much. And you do already know me. I still want you to see this guy on an as-needed basis. And by `as-needed,' I mean as I see fit. But for now, I'm willing to try this with phone conversations twice a week and I'll fly in twice a month for an in-person session."

All of a sudden, Donna could see the other side of the argument clearly. "But you said with Josh, you didn't act as his primary therapist—"

"Donna, what happened to you and what happened to Josh...there are some surface similarities, to be sure, but your state of mind and his, when he was receiving intensive treatment...they're like night and day. We're not even 72 hours from your incident. With Josh, it was months before anyone thought to get him psychological help. Don't compare yourself to what you watched during his recovery. You'll only sidetrack yourself. You're gonna be different."

Donna nodded. "OK."

"OK," Stanley said. He stood. "We're done. I'm flying back to San Francisco tonight. My assistant will call in the morning to set up times for the phone appointments. I'll call you, so give some thought as to what times and days would be best. Twice a week."

"Thank you," Donna said sincerely. "For, just, for everything. Thanks."

"No problem," Stanley said. "Just remember you've got to do your part and get better. And we do get better, Donna, if we just keep ourselves open to it. If you have another episode or another setback, it's not the end of the world. It could happen. But I want you to call me immediately, day or night, if it does."

He pressed a business card into her hand.

"I will."

"I'll talk to you in a couple days," he said as he shrugged into his coat. "You headed back to the bullpen? I was gonna stop and say goodbye to Josh."

"Yeah, I'll walk you."

*********************

"Hey, how much longer do you think you're gonna be?" Donna appeared in Josh's door around 7.

"I don't know," he said, not looking up from the report he was reading. "We finished the follow-up calls for the vote earlier than I expected. I thought maybe another hour. Why?" He looked up. "If you're tired, I can just bring this stuff home."

"No, actually that's perfect," she stepped inside his office. "Stanley wants me to start getting myself back in the state of mind to go back to my apartment."

Josh jerked his head up before he thought better of it. "So soon?" Whoa, that came out sounding weird. It felt like his throat was closing up a little.

"Well, it's probably going to take a while," Donna said, not indicating anything if she'd noticed his reaction. "For some reason, that one comment Bernard made…it just spooked me pretty badly, I don't know." She leaned against the desk and shifted her weight around a little sheepishly.

"Donna, I think that's understandable," Josh said, setting the report flat on the desk. "Stanley doesn't think so?"

"No, he does," Donna said. "So he's asked me to give some thought to what might make me feel safe to stay there again. Like an alarm, having somebody stay there with me for a little while, you know."

"Do...you want me to stay with you at your place?" Josh asked hesitantly.

She smiled down at him. "I'm not ready to go back yet." She stood up straight. "So my assignment today is to spend half an hour alone in my apartment. I thought I'd time it so you can stop by and pick me up on the way home...because I also thought, after the run-in with Stu today, that it might be a good idea for me to leave my car there at night."

Her car. Damn, he'd forgotten all about her car. It had been sitting at the White House since Friday. He'd gotten used to taking her wherever she needed to go in that short amount of time.

"Josh?"

"No…yeah, I'd just forgotten all about your car," he said, breaking his train of thought. "Well, if you want to go now, I'll finish this report, and head out the door half an hour after you leave."

"You sure you'll be ready to leave by then?"

"Absolutely."

She started out the door. "Donna?"

She turned back. "You've got your cell?"

"Yeah."

"So you'll call if you need anything before then."

"Yes, Josh, if, in the half hour we are separated, I think of something I just can't live without, I'll call you," she said.

"Fine," he said, pretending to be annoyed. "Go."

"I'll see you in half an hour."

"Hey, Donna?"

She came back in his office, already wearing her coat. "Yeah."

"Your shoulder's OK to drive?"

"YES, Josh."

"OK. Fine. Go. I'll see you later," Josh said.

"I think you're developing a bit of separation anxiety," Donna said.

"Am not."

"Half an hour, Josh. Is there anything else you want to ask me before that time?"

"Not a thing," he said and she started down the hall. "Keep your cell on!" he called after her.

"OK!!!"

He looked at the clock, then back down at the report. Half an hour. He could do this. He could have her on some other premises for half an hour. "I do not have separation anxiety," he said to the empty room. "I just don't want her leaving, is all."

************

She opened the door and found that the kitchen light and the lamp on the timer were on, just like always. Glancing behind her, she shut the door and locked it, attempting to turn the knob several times to double check. She stood with her back to the door for a moment, surveying every detail of the room.

"This is ridiculous," she said finally, stepping away from the door and tossing her keys and the mail she'd just gotten out of her mailbox on the coffee table. She dropped her purse on the rug in front of the table and shrugged out of her coat, leaving it in the chair.

"Messages..." she said to herself, talking to fill the silence. She hit play on the answering machine and settled down with the pen and pad she kept by the phone.

"Hi, Baby, it's me," came her mother's voice through the speaker. "I just wanted to call and see how you were doing, and tell you I was sorry that I took it so badly when you called. I wasn't angry at you, Donnatel, I never was. It just scared me. I don't think you'll be able to understand that until you're a mother." Donna couldn't help but warm a little at the mangled nickname her family had used since her sister first said it accidentally when Donna was just a baby. "Anyway," her mother paused awkwardly. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. Please call me sometime, and be careful, Donna. Love you."

She scrawled "Mom" on the pad as the next message came on. "Hey, it's me," her sister's voice filled the room. "I just wanted to check and see if you were okay. I tried to give you a couple days, but I couldn't wait anymore. Mom's doing okay, Donnatel, she was just, you know, being Mom. She feels badly about it now. What else is new?" Donna could hear the rueful smile in her sister's voice. "But any hoo, call me as soon as you feel up to it, okay? I'm not gonna ask you about it, I just wanna say hi. Alright, who are we kidding, of course I'm gonna ask you about it. But call me anyway. Be good."

She jotted down her sister's name as the next message came on.

"Hey, sweetie, it's me." It was Heather, her old roommate. "I saw the paper...God, Don, are you okay? Call me, alright? We'll have dinner or something. Bye."

"It's amazing what some people will do to get their name in the paper." That was Suzanne, her best friend from college. "You even got a mention in the Tribune—wire piece." Suzanne was pursuing her Ph.D. at the University of Chicago. She was an American Lit major at UW-Madison, and Donna always joked that she could read her like a book. "You always have to do things the hard way, don't you? Call me, OK? I wanna be there when you get your Purple Heart. Bye, girlfriend." Donna couldn't help but laugh out loud. She hit "Delete" when the answering machine signaled the end of her messages.

She stuffed the callback list in her purse and went through the mail. She found herself wandering slowly around the apartment, looking at her own pictures and knickknacks, almost familiarizing herself with the space again. She stepped into the bedroom and continued with the same leisurely perusal. Finally, she sat on the bed, then, after a moment, leaned back. She smiled as the familiar feel of her bed and pillows surrounded her, smelling like her detergent and fabric softener, the mattress creaking just when she expected it to. She was doing better than she thought. She glanced at her watch. Josh should be there in another 10 minutes. She could do another 10 minutes, no problem.

************

All she could hear was the gunfire. She couldn't see, even when she tried to open her eyes. She could feel his arm still around her, even though it only held her loosely. She tried to roll out of his grasp, but she couldn't move properly with her hands tied behind her. 

She had to get away, though. Had to get to the S.W.A.T. officer. Jackson. Had to get to him. That was where she was supposed to be. "Miss?" she tried to open her eyes again and saw Jackson hovering above her. "We've got to move now," he said, serious expression on his face. She couldn't reach for him, so he reached for her. He was raising her from the floor slowly when Bernard sprung to life, hauling his gun off the floor and firing, hitting Jackson square in the chest as he tightened his grip on Donna again. Jackson was blown clear across the room. Bernard tilted the gun at Donna's head. "You're too valuable to me to let you go now," he growled.

She sat up with a start, nearly slamming into Josh in the process. "Whoa," he said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

She looked at him for a minute, her breath coming in pants. It was a second before she could separate the dream from the reality before her. She laid both her hands on his forearms and the touch grounded her. She breathed out. "I was dreaming."

"I could tell, you were tossing and turning," Josh said sympathetically. "That's why I decided to wake you. Nightmare?"

"Bit of one, yeah," she said. She leaned back into the pillows. "Man, that was weird." She scrubbed her face with her hands, then looked at him through her fingers. "How long did I sleep?"

"I've only been here about 10 minutes," he said.

"So...about 20 minutes," she said more to herself than to him. She nudged him with her knee so she could swing her legs off the bed. "I didn't even mean to doze off."

"You OK?" Josh asked, now standing.

She looked up at him. "God, Josh, yeah, I'm fine. Stanley said I'd probably dream about it."

"Do you remember what it was about?" he asked, almost reverently.

Donna looked at the wall for a second. She remembered her heart pounding, but the images were slipping from her mind's grip as quickly as they'd come. "I did when I woke up a minute ago, but I can't remember much now," she said. "It was about the bank. That's really all I remember."

Josh nodded. "'Kay."

"I'm fine, Josh," she said, reaching out and touching his hand. "Really. Thank you, though."

"Ahkay," Josh said. "You wanna stay for a while longer?"

"No, thank you," Donna said. "My mission is accomplished and I'm ready to blow this joint." She straightened the pillows and turned the light off as they headed back to the living area. 

"What do you want to do for dinner?" Josh asked.

"We've got leftovers from Capitol Grille," she said as she slipped into the coat he held out for her.

"That's right!" he said. "Tonight, we eat like kings yet again! Well, king and queen anyway."

"OK, you know what, I'm really gonna have to teach you about a wondrous place called a grocery store sometime."

"I know about grocery stores, Donna, but I figure I have no need to go to one when you're eventually gonna get fed up and bring me everything I need anyway," Josh said. "If I went grocery shopping I'd just blow all my money on beer and red meat."

"And pork rinds," she said as they went out the door.

"Exactly. Don't talk to me about not having a balanced diet."