It was blissfully quiet when the sounds of an electronic samba shook him from his final early morning dream.

Stanley cracked one eye open to glare at his cell on the nightstand. The phone was undeterred, and continued to cheerfully chirp and light up beside the alarm clock, which read 5:23 in obnoxiously big red numbers.

Stanley clumsily reached for the phone and tilted it toward him, squinting at the Caller ID. He turned his face into the pillow and groaned, but flipped it open anyway and hit "Send."

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"Hey, it's me."

"No kidding," Stanley said grinding the heel of his hand into his eye.

"What's going on?"

"Josh, what time is it where I live?"

"It's...8:37. Give or take, my watch kinda sucks."

Stanley looked back over at the clock. 5:24. "Yeah. Yeah it does. But that's, well, approximately what time it is where you live. What time is it where I live, Josh?"

"Uh..."

"Five. Thirty. In. The. Morning." Stanley said. "A.M.!!!"

"Did I wake you?" Josh asked innocently.

"At 5:30 in the morning? No, no, I'd just come in from mowing the lawn, but I was about to head back out to weed the flowerbeds. Of course you didn't wake me."

"Why aren't you up yet?" Josh asked, bemused.

"You need a reason other than that it's FIVE THIRTY IN THE MORNING?"

"So you haven't heard from Donna yet, then," Josh said.

"Not today, no," Stanley said. "Should I have?"

"She had a pretty bad episode after a nightmare last night," Josh said as he wound his way down the Pennsylvania Avenue sidewalk. "And the night before, actually, but last night was just, I mean, off the scale. I wanted her to call you then. But she said the earliest she was willing to call was 7:30. She said she wanted to wait until a somewhat decent hour."

"Donna's very thoughtful," Stanley said through a yawn. "It's possible she meant 7:30 my time, Josh. That time's generally more acceptable in polite circles."

"I don't live in polite circles, Stanley, I live in Washington."

"I know," Stanley said, throwing the covers back and swinging his feet to the floor. "I'll expect her call, but let me ask you a question."

"About the dreams?"

"About the—no. Not about the dreams. I don't want you to tell me about her dreams, Josh. That's what I'll talk to her about." Stanley exhaled loudly. "We can't do this, Josh. we're already dancing up and down the patient confidentiality line, you and I."

"No, we're not, Stanley, come on—"

"Josh, why did you call me? To check up on Donna, see if she called like she said she would?" Stanley asked. "Technically, unless she's been ordered into counseling by the White House, I can't even tell you that."

"I wasn't checking up on her, Stan—"

"And if that's what you were doing, I'd have to say to you that I really don't appreciate the position you're putting me in because of our past history," Stanley said sternly. "But I think you and I both know that's not why you're calling."

Josh fell silent on the other end of the line.

"Is it, Josh?"

"I'm not trying to put you in a bad position, Stanley," he said softly. "But she wakes up scared out of her mind after these things, and I don't know how to help her avoid them, and I don't know what to do for her after she wakes up, and..." he stopped and turned, looking down the street at nothing in particular, clenching his left hand around the coffee cup he was holding and tightening his grip on the phone with his right. "I feel absolutely useless to her since this thing happened. Half the time I'm scared I'm making things worse inadvertently, and I certainly never feel like I'm making it better."

Stanley hung his head a little in frustration. Ideally, he shouldn't be advising Josh on Donna while treating Donna. But these people...and the lives they lead. Not to mention that these two in particular weren't great with asking for help when they needed it, and here they were both asking at the same time. It never rains, but it pours.

"I've got to stay away from specifics, Josh," Stanley said. "And I haven't even talked to her yet anyway. But I can tell you that the only thing you can do is be a friend to her. Do what your heart and your common sense tell you to do. If you listen to her, and to your inner voice, I seriously doubt you'll make it worse."

"My inner voice?" Josh said incredulously.

"Hey, who called who at 5:30 in the morning? You wanna lay off the mocking?"

"Sorry. Inner voice." He seemed to choke on the words.

"Donna's recovery has got to be her own, Josh. You can't do it for her, you can't show her the way. It's going to be different from yours and it's going to be something you'll be an outsider for, largely. I know it's not gonna be easy, but you're gonna have to rein in your fix-it complex."

"Thanks, Stanley. I'll give that a go."

"Ah, and now we move on to the sarcasm," Stanley said. "I can't give you a bulleted list of things you can do to help, Josh. Just be there for her. Do what you can to help her feel safe, secure, cared about. You can figure out how to do that on your own, can't you?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something," Josh said as he passed through the White House gates.

"I take it you're still having...issues about the other thing?"

"The other thing's not an issue," Josh said a little too quickly. "My issues aren't the focal point here, and I understand that. This is about her. I can't go off indulging some line of thought that...it can't be an issue. I'm handling it on my own. It's not gonna be a thing for her. I'm keeping it away from her entirely."

Stanley sighed. As much as he could hear Josh twisting himself into knots over his newly admitted feelings for Donna, the truth was that this was exactly the wrong time to tell Donna and throw that into the mix on top of everything else. "Okay. I'll talk to you later."

"Hey, I really do apologize if I'm putting you in a position where...should I stop calling you until you're done seeing Donna?"

"It's fine, Josh. Actually, it's great that you care so much. If you knew how many patients' families don't bother to even try to understand what they're going through...that's Donna's greatest advantage. But you've gotta understand that I'm not gonna be able to discuss this with you in the detail you're gonna want to most of the time."

"I know," Josh said as he slid his card into the security checkpoint in the Northwest Lobby and entered his code. "So, safe, secure and cared about. Do what makes sense."

"Well, what makes sense in your upside down world, anyway."

"Gotcha," he grinned. "I'll let you get back to your polite circle."

"No need to worry about that, Josh. No one in my polite circle is up this time of morning."

Josh pretended not to hear as he disconnected the call.

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

Donna was hunched at her desk, pouring Advil out of the bottle she kept in the top drawer. She downed four with a sip of coffee and closed her eyes a minute, gripping the mug as if it was her last shred of sanity.

"Headache?"

She opened her eyes to see Danny Concannon standing over her.

"Hell of a headache," she corrected.

Danny winced sympathetically. "How ya doin'? I mean, otherwise."

"Fine," she said shyly. "OK."

"Shoulder healing up alright?" Danny asked, leaning against the desk.

"Yeah, it's doing fine," she said, reaching up and touching the bandage through her sweater. "It was pretty sore the first couple of days but I'm hoping when I go to the doctor Friday they'll take the stitches...hey, wait a second, how did you know that? CJ didn't release any details of—" 

"I work here, Donna," Danny smiled gently. "Hell, I practically live here. Word gets around."

"Tell me about it," Donna moaned. She cast her eyes toward her monitor, then squinted at the bright light and looked away.

"I've been trying to steer clear," Danny continued. "Give you a little space, but I wanted to say that I'm glad you're OK. You scared the hell out of us."

"You knew while it was going on?" Donna asked.

"I knew something was going down at the bank, heard it on my scanner. I didn't find out you were in it until the next day," Danny said.

"Then how did it—"

"I was scared retroactively. I was worried for you in retrospect. I'm trying to be nice here."

Donna couldn't help but smile. "Well, you're doing a good job."

Danny paused awkwardly for a minute. He didn't know how to broach the next subject. "Listen, I don't know if you've had a chance to read The Post yet…"

Donna lifted the rolled-up paper out of her work bag. "I haven't. I had to get Josh off to a breakfast meeting. And since then I've been, you know, sitting here in agonizing pain."

"What are you, hung over?"

Donna looked up at him guiltily.

"Ah."

"Yeah. Don't let it get around. It'll ruin my good girl image," she said. "You have a killer story this morning?"

"All my stories are killer."

"I mean, why did you ask if I—"

"Oh. Well, not to add to an already monstrous headache, but I just wanted to apol—" He was cut short as CJ passed by, smacking him soundly in the back of the head with her hand.

"Get away from her," she said in a sarcastic singsong tone.

"I'm not! I'm not asking for a comment, I'm just talking to her! You can't keep me from talking to her, CJ," Danny whined.

"Really?"

"No."

"Let's see if I can. Let's see if my clever brain can devise a way to make it more costly for you to talk to her than not to talk to her. Hmm, how would I do that?" CJ put a finger to her chin in mock thought.

"Look, I stayed away for four days, when all I wanted to do was stop by and see how she was doing. But I respected her privacy. I respected that ridiculous decree that you made to the press corps that she was untouchable. I respected you for reasons that elude me at the moment. You're not gonna pin this on me, CJ. I didn't write the thing. I didn't even know about it until I saw it this morning with the rest of the readership. I am not Stu Winkle, and I'm not taking his punishment for him," Danny's voice was rising steadily.

"'Kay, guys, what I need is for us to take it down a few notches," Donna moaned with a hand on her head.

"Sorry," they both said simultaneously, never taking their eyes off each other. They were squared off for battle.

"I walk in here after that delightful little tidbit in your paper got my day started just perfectly, and I see you leaned against her desk sucking up," CJ countered. "So you won't take the rap for Stu Winkle, but you'll suck up for him? Is that your latest assignment?"

"First of all, I wasn't sucking up for anybody, and secondly, if you polled, well, everyone on Earth, I think you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who has a lower opinion of Stu Winkle than me," Danny said through a clenched jaw.

"What's going on?" Josh asked as he walked back into the bullpen from the lobby, an amused expression on his face. It appeared he had a front row seat for Danny vs. CJ, Round 457.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I'll lay odds CJ throws the first punch," Donna said looking up at Josh. Her expression changed slightly when she saw the large Starbucks cup in his hand. He held it out to her wordlessly with a sheepish smile as Danny and CJ continued to go at it. She could tell by the smell. Vanilla breve. Her favorite. He'd brought her a vanilla breve. How sweet was that?

"What did he do?" Josh asked lowly, motioning at Danny.

"I don't know. He stopped by and said hello, asked how I was doing, asked if I'd seen The Post this morning. I said no, and then Attila walked by and started World War III," Donna whispered conspiratorially.

"…And just because you're the White House Press Secretary doesn't mean you can bend the First Amendment until it breaks every time you—wait." Danny turned to Josh. "What did I do?"

"…And I don't know when you're gonna get it through your head that being a reporter doesn't exempt you from every rule on the face of the—Attila?!?!" CJ looked down at Donna.

"Shhh," Donna whispered, closing her eyes.

"The Hun." Danny jumped in. "The legendary tyrant who terrorized most of a continent on a whim."

"I don't need a continent, Danny, I'm happy just terrorizing you."

"Well, as long as you've got some way to pass the time between stand- up sets in the Press Room. And where the hell are you going?" He pointed at Josh, who was trying his best to back away from the discussion quietly. "Why do you automatically assume it's something I did?"

"Because it's always something you do," Josh said.

"It is NOT!"

"Eloquently put, Daniel," CJ said. "And you," she turned to Donna. "You would side against me and with him? My heart is saddened, Donna, because today, you have betrayed the Sisterhood."

"I did not side with…listen, is there any way we could not have this conversation today? I think my head may explode," Donna dropped her head to the desk and laid it on her forearm.

CJ smiled a little sympathetically. "That's what you get for…wait a minute. Did you say you hadn't seen The Post this morning?"

"Not yet," came Donna's muffled reply.

"Me either," said Josh from behind the open A-section. "Why are you jumping on him, CJ? He wrote a pretty standard story on the vote, nothing too out of the ordinary…"

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

"Just wait and see what I write when the Senate approves the funding," Danny muttered.

Josh looked up, trying unsuccessfully to hide the fear in his eyes. "I meant, nothing out of the ordinary except for the exceptional writing and…research. Along with a sort of artistry that I think is rarely seen in—"

"Oh, shut up," Danny moaned.

"I'm not talking about his vote story," CJ said. "I was talking about…" she looked down at Donna. "I didn't realize you hadn't seen—"

She was cut off by the sound of crinkling newsprint as Josh tightened his grip on the morning edition. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Who?" Donna lifted her head.

"Stu Winkle," CJ said.

"Why." That time it wasn't a question.

"He led off his weekly column today with an item on you," Danny said.

"WHAT?!?" Donna sprung out of the chair to read over Josh's shoulder, clamping her hand over her forehand at the pain the shouting and sudden movement had caused.

"'Since her close call in Friday's fatal bank robbery on E Street, this doe-eyed White House staffer has been the subject of much speculation. Can she possibly be as sweet and innocent as she seems?'" Donna read aloud.

"'Friday night, numerous senior Bartlet advisers rallied around her as local journalists began to cover the story at George Washington University Hospital, shielding her from press cameras outside the emergency entrance,'" Josh skipped ahead. "`Saturday saw the release of a personal statement from the President thanking emergency workers for their efforts to ensure the safety of this young staffer and Monday, she attended the public memorial for the hostage fatality in the robbery at Arlington National Cemetery with senior Bartlet advisers Sam Seaborn and Josh Lyman acting as—' Oh, come on!"

"'As a personal security detail,'" Donna read. "'A defensive Seaborn and a protective Lyman deflected press requests for interviews as a visibly shaken Moss left the service.'"

"'While there's admittedly some danger of sugar shock, it does appear that this young assistant is a bona fide sweetheart. And while Beltway insiders might be plotting how best to get to Lyman through his assistant, who is, we now know, a true softie, we'd just like to note that this all-around terrible situation couldn't have involved a nicer person and we wish Ms. Moss well in the future,'" Josh finished. He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm just gonna kill him."

"I'm sorry," Danny said to Donna. "And that's what I was about to say before I took a blow to the head over here," he hooked a thumb at CJ. "Nobody in the room knew he'd written it until we saw it this morning. Katie didn't, my editor didn't, I sure as hell didn't. I've already been 10 rounds with his editor this morning and I'm planning on having a little sit-down chat with Winkie when he finally decides to roll into the office. Mazie's keeping an eye out for me."

"You've got him under surveillance?" CJ said incredulously.

"CJ, this guy…first of all, nothing in there is news. Everybody already knows Donna was involved and who she works for. They know she was treated and released at GW that night, and we've already covered the President's statement. The fact that she attended the memorial is...well, sweet, but it doesn't warrant special coverage. Winkie wouldn't know a real news story if it kicked him in the ass. And believe me, something is definitely going to be kicking him in the ass today," Danny said.

"Multiple somethings," Josh said as he scanned the piece again.

"Why do you call him Winkie?" CJ asked.

Danny blinked. "Because I hate him. Beyond that I don't really need a reason."

"I wasn't visibly shaken," Donna said softly.

"It's not just him, actually. It's what he represents. People hate journalists because of slime like him, and it makes my life harder. That's why he's deserving of my wrath," Danny said to CJ.

"The President's statement thanked everyone involved for the hard work that they did to bring all the hostages through the incident safely," CJ said. "It wasn't just about Donna. I want a correction on that."

"Don't talk to me. Talk to Winkie."

"Count on it," CJ said.

"Do you think I was visibly shaken?" Donna looked at Josh.

"No," Josh said. "You were...well you were a little upset, obviously. A little sad. But it was a sad thing, you know?"

"Softie...bona fide sweetheart...sugar shock?" Donna asked as she scanned the piece again.

"Well, look at it this way, you don't need to worry about your good girl image," Danny offered.

"It makes me sound like an overgrown candy striper," Donna moaned, reaching in the drawer for more Advil.

"Well at least it doesn't make you sound like a bouncer," Josh groused. "Sam and I are reduced to Secret Service wannabes."

"Josh, the only person who paid attention to that part was you," CJ said.

As if on cue, Sam burst into the communications bullpen, a copy of The Post rolled up in his right hand. Toby was hot on his heels. "Have you seen this?"

"I didn't think I was visibly shaken, did you?" Donna asked.

"Defensive?" Sam whined, opening up his copy. "Personal security detail? What am I, a goon for hire?"

"He's been ranting like this for ten minutes to no one in particular. This is the best morning I've had in weeks," Toby said.

"Protective?" Josh whined.

"Doe-eyed?" Donna wondered aloud.

"I think you're gonna have to eat that one, there, Bambi," Josh said.

"You think I'm doe-eyed?"

"I...I don't know, I don't really...look...at...them...your eyes...that much," he mumbled, burying his face in the paper.

"Well, Concannon, what do you have to say for yourself?" Toby jumped in.

"I say I wrote a great story on the vote last night, though, if you ask Josh, it's quite commonplace. I say I'm not Stu Winkle, if you haven't noticed, and the way that you should know that is that I'm considerably better looking. I say that nothing in the column is news, and he ought to print a retraction if for no other reason than that it's ludicrous to insinuate that Sam and Josh could fend off anything, be it a throng of reporters or a band of rabid squirrels."

"That was my favorite part," Toby said, getting a far-off look in his eye. "This guy has a flare for writing comedy."

"I'm gonna go call Winkie's editor," CJ said. "You," she flattened Josh's newspaper with her hand to get a better look at him. "Stay away from him until I've gotten back to you. You two," she turned to Toby and Sam, "go work on the UN address and stay out of trouble. You," she looked at Donna, "should drink more coffee. You look like hell warmed over. And you," she turned to Danny, "should be thinking of nice things you can do for me since I'm not going to take this out on you."

"Not going to take it out on me?" Danny said as he followed her toward her office. "What the hell have you been doing for the last 10 minutes?"

Josh dropped the paper on Donna's desk in disgust and she picked it up, staring at column.

"I'm sorry about this," Josh said.

Donna looked up. "Oh, it's okay," she looked back at the column. "This whole thing just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"CJ's gonna make him wish he was never born," Josh said. "And anyway, the stuff he said about you wasn't that bad. It makes you sound cute and approachable. Sam and I are the ones who end up looking like bit part actors in The Bodyguard."

"I think the only people who've noticed that you and Sam were even mentioned by name in the column were you and Sam," Donna said, leaning her head back on the chair and closing her eyes.

"You OK?"

"Why...the hell...did you let me drink that much last night?" Donna moaned.

"You're a big girl, you call your own shots," Josh said. "You should eat something."

"Please don't talk about food," Donna moaned, then cracked one eye open. "Thank you for the breve."

"I ordered it and the guy behind the counter looked at me like I was a woman," Josh said. "So that's the last one you get."

"Fair enough."

"I brought you my toast from breakfast," he said sheepishly.

Donna opened her eyes to see Josh holding out a napkin-covered triangular package. "Where did you have that?"

"When?"

"Up until now?"

"In my pocket," Josh said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "It's plain, you should try to eat it like that. It'll help."

He turned away from her like he was headed into his office. "You talk to Stanley yet?" He knew, of course, that she hadn't. But if he didn't ask she'd suspect that he'd checked up on her.

"It's still too early there," she said, looking at her watch. "I wanna give him 'til at least 7:30."

Josh allowed himself to smirk at the comment since his back was to her. "Good idea."

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

"Any commonalities in the days or evenings before you had the dreams?" Stanley asked. "Any patterns that could be instigating the nightmares?"

"The only pattern that I can think of is that I can't get away from this damn thing for five minutes," Donna sighed. "Even today, there's a piece about me in a gossip column in The Washington Post. I'm apparently the newest fascination inside the Beltway."

Stanley was silent, and Donna finally spoke again. "This guy, the one who wrote the column...he was at the memorial service, the one I went to for Fred, and he said in the column that I was 'visibly shaken.' What the hell is that supposed to mean? I was sad. I was upset. Is that not allowed? It was a funeral, for God's sake."

"That's allowed," Stanley said calmly.

"Well then, I wish people would just let me do it, instead of watching me like a hawk and then telling the world about it," Donna said bitingly. "'Visibly shaken.'"

"Is there something wrong with being visibly shaken after what you've been though?" Stanley asked.

"Well...I don't suppose so. But I don't see why it has to find its way into print," Donna said.

"If that's all that's bothering you, Donna, I've got good news: they're gonna loose interest in the bank robbery, the people there, and the aftermath long before you do. You'll have all the privacy you want and then some soon enough."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it," Donna said sarcastically.

"'Visibly shaken,'" Stanley quoted.

Donna sighed. "Yeah." After a pregnant pause, she started again. "It's not the 'shaken' I mind so much...I mean, I do mind it, don't get me wrong. But I think it's the 'visibly' part that really makes me nuts. No pun intended."

"Why does the 'visibly' bother you?"

"Because it means everybody else can see how badly I'm handling this," Donna said without thinking about it. The answer carried an unabashed honesty with it. "Maybe I should write a guest column, share my nightmares with everyone who reads The Post. Like a public dream journal."

"Well, from your description, it sounds like the nightmares have been very intense, but that's not unusual for someone in your situation," Stanley said. "I'd focus less on how disturbing the dreams are and more on why you're having them."

"I'm having them because I'm in the middle of an emotional meltdown," Donna said woefully.

"If you can make that statement then I'd say it's false," Stanley said. "People having emotional meltdowns aren't aware that it's happening. They're too busy going crazy to notice that they're, well, going crazy."

Donna let out a frustrated breath and tried to collect herself. "I'm having them because I was traumatized."

"More basic than that," Stanley prompted.

"I'm having them because I was held hostage in a bank robbery," Donna tried.

"No, Donna, stop focusing on the reality of the situation, and focus on what's going on in your brain. We've talked about what actually happened. That was the first step. What's happening in your head that's causing you to have these dreams?"

"I don't know. How can I control what I dream about, Stanley, especially when the dream doesn't make any sense?" Donna said exasperatedly.

"Actually, if you're open to it, dreams often make more sense than they might seem to at first," Stanley said. "Nightmares, for example, are usually manifestations of latent fears that we're unwilling to acknowledge on a conscious level."

"So I was scared by the robbery," Donna said. "And that's why I'm dreaming about it."

"Yes and no," Stanley said. "You were scared, sure, and it's been an element of your dreams, but that hasn't been the crux of the nightmares you've told me about. You've got to look at what you dreamed about, not what you think you should be dreaming about."

He was met with silence.

"Donna," Stanley said. "Why do you suppose you're having nightmares about Josh being killed?"