Title: Ground Zero
Author: A.j.
Spoilers: Post-ep for “In The Shadow of Two Gunmen”, Donna pov.
Notes: Because everyone and their cousin has written one of these.  Might as 
well imitate a lemming.

Summary: It's the waiting that kills you.

[()]

She can’t see the clock from here, but Donna thinks it's morning.

Her eyes are glassy and grittier than she can ever remember them being.  It’s 
like someone dumped the contents of an ashtray right on to her cornea’s and 
skipped merrily onward.

She needs caffeine.  She needs a shower.  She needs to brush her teeth.

Mostly she needs to not be here like this.

She feels small inside her skin.  Reduced somehow in ways that will only 
become apparent years down the road.  Because she's standing just that side 
of a gate, and she can't see right or left yet.

There is beeping in her ears.  Machines going about their business, doing 
what needs done.  She knows there was a time when her life consisted of more 
than these machines and this room and feeling like she's been hit by a board 
and that time was yesterday afternoon.

She still hasn't cried.

On some level she knows she's waiting, although for what she's not incredibly 
sure.  

Being here feels strangely wrong in a way she can't pin down.  She's used to 
being part of a moving, weaving dance of activity.  Sitting still, sitting 
|here|, has unbalanced her.  There's nothing for her to do with her hands.  
No reports to file or meetings to be on top of.

Josh's schedule is going to be fairly clear for a while.

She blinks her dry eyes and tries to remember when they didn't feel like they 
needed a shower.

Donna knows that she's a placeholder.  Here because no one else can be just 
yet.  His mother is on a plane from Connecticut, and the rest of the staff 
trying desperately to keep things running despite this massive and dramatic 
pause in their everyday lives.

The House is still in session, the trains are still running, and call her 
crazy, but she's fairly certain that the sun has, in fact, risen.

Josh would be so crushed to find out he isn't the center of the universe.

Donna blinks again and sucks air through her nose.  The EKG machine bings 
again and she relaxes her fingers.  It's stupid and possibly sad, but she 
misses him.  She talked to him yesterday - had a nice long verbal skirmish, 
actually - and she misses him.

She's his assistant.  But there's not really much assistance she can give him 
right now.  Not like this.

She thinks she should probably be crying.

"Donna?"

Her eyes jerk up and find him there, and she's suddenly not alone in this 
room anymore.

"Hi."  She's not really quite sure what else to say.  He's awake and groggy 
and unshaven and his mother should be here for this.  Not her.  Not for this.  
But she is here and this is now and despite wanting to jump out of her chair 
and run screaming for her apartment and afghan and yesterday, he doesn't need 
that.  He needs help.  He needs her.

"How're you?"

"You really shouldn't try to talk, Josh.  I know it's going to be a 
challenge, but you've got to buck up there."  And it's probably not a good 
idea to be berating him while he's flat on his back with lots of stitches.

"Kay."

Her lips quirk, dry eyes burning in the fluorescent light, and she reached 
over to stroke his hand.

"Hurts..." Josh's voice cracks and she mentally starts apologizing for every 
petty prank she's ever pulled on him.  He is broken in this place.  Laid bare 
and not whole.

She doesn't know how to be strong for this.  She's not sure she can do this.  
This?  Is |definitely| not in her job description.

"I know."

His shoulders shrug gracelessly and she winces, her brain readying itself for 
his whimpers or gasps.  The drugs they have him on must be stellar because 
after a few seconds he settles down, eyes drooping heavily.

His fingers are warm and dry under her hand.  She waits because they've done 
this before - not |this|, but this - and whenever he passes out in her 
presence there's a ritual.

"Tell me?"

Her fingers tighten on his convulsively, her chest hurting at the sudden 
lightness in her mind.  "It will get better."

"You said it right," he whispers, and smiles just a bit before drifting off.

Donna bites her lip softly and listens to the echo of the machines.

-fin-