"Zzzz."

"Josh?"

"Zzzz."

"JOSH!"

"Zzzz."

"JOSHUA!"

"Ahhh!" I scream, as a pair of hands grip my shoulders and shake me violently.

"Wake up!" roars in my ear. I open one eye, see Donna glaring at me, close the eye and grunt loudly. "Josh!"

"Go 'way," I grunt again, but the hands don't stop their shaking so I give up all hope of going back to sleep, and open both eyes. "Whaaaat?"

"It's seven o'clock," she smiles brightly. "Time to get up."

"No," I say, ready to kill her because she's still shaking me. "I'm sleeping." I close my eyes again to show her I mean business.

"If you were sleeping, you wouldn't be talking," she points out sensibly, and I whimper sadly. "Although, knowing you-"

"Shut up," I growl. "Shut up and go away and leave me alone."

"I don't think so." She stops shaking me and, instead, starts tugging at my hair. I reach up to push her away but her fingers start rubbing my scalp which feels extremely nice.

"My head hurts," I say, pathetically, so she won't stop. "I think I'm dying."

"Stop with the histrionics, Josh," she demands. "Get up."

"Can't I just sleep a little longer?"

"No. You need to be an adult and get up."

"I hate you," I cough, trying to clear the fur from my throat. What on earth was I drinking last night?

"And I love you; open your eyes, I have coffee for you."

I crack open my eyes and try to focus on her as best I can with my head pounding away. "Aspirin too?"

Donna nods, and stops stroking my head to reach for the box on the nightstand. She pops the seal and passes me two pills, along with a cup of - and I hope to God she's not teasing me about this - coffee.

I toss the pills into my mouth and take a long gulp. The coffee is very strong and very hot and I swallow it quickly, grimacing as it burns my throat.

"What time is it?" I mutter, after another boiling swig.

"I told you already, it's seven."

I rub a hand over my face and try not to groan. "In the morning?"

Donna smiles patiently at me. "Yes, in the morning."

I drink some more coffee, and blink blearily at her. She seems to have two heads, and both are smiling at me. Better than glaring, I suppose.

"Better?" she asks and I nod, carefully to avoid shaking my brain any more than necessary. "Good."

She gets up from the bed and goes to the window to open the blinds. The sunlight streams in and I groan, and close my eyes yet again. "Just ten minutes more sleep?" I try to bargain, and she sighs.

"No, Josh, drink the rest of the coffee and let the caffeine do its job so you can go do your job."

I feel the bed dip as she sits on the edge again but I keep my eyes closed. The sun is just a little too bright for me. "I don't feel so good."

"That, Josh, would be all the alcohol you imbibed last night," Donna says sternly.

"What have I told you about yelling at me when I'm sick?" I whimper.

"You're not sick, you have a hangover." Despite the fact she's started patting my arm, I can hear no sympathy in her voice.

"I do not have a hangover," I say firmly. "I am suffering the Wrath of Grapes."

"Ah... okay," she pauses for a second. "That's a hangover, right?"

"No."

"Why not?" I can hear the humor in her voice and it annoys me. Her hand, on my arm, is distinctly starting to feel like she's not comforting me, but trying to punish me.

"Men don't get hangovers," I explain with complete and utter seriousness.

She snorts with laughter, and I crack an eye open to glare at her. "Okay, I'm just not even going to go there."

"Why are you so mean to me?" I whine, trying to get her to feel sorry for me again - if she ever felt sorry for me in the first place.

"Because it's fun," she shrugs, and gives me a final, very painful, pat on my arm. "Coffee kicked in yet?"

"Yes," I nod, and pass her the cup. My eyes have adjusted to the cold light of day and I open them fully. "Oh God," I groan. "Why does my head hurt so much?"

"I told you," Donna says, as she puts the cup on the nightstand, "you were drinking."

"Yes but what was I drinking?"

"Everything the bar had to offer," she grins. "Except I don't remember you drinking any wine so your Wrath of Grapes theory doesn't fly. But, considering you downed half of Mexico's stash of tequila, I'd say you were suffering the Wrath of Worms."

"Be nice to me," I beg. "I'm sick."

"Oh God, you're not sick, Josh. You're hung over and pretending you're not, and I'm losing patience with you."

She's glaring and I rack my brain trying to remember why she could be mad at me. I have no idea what happened last night - apart from drinking way too much - to make her mad at me. Maybe that's the only reason why.

"Donna?"

"Yeeees?"

"What happened last night?"

Donna shrugs. "You drank your body weight in alcohol and sang a lot."

"That's it?"

"That's it," she nods.

"I didn't say or do anything stupid?"

"More stupid than normal?" she smiles wryly and I nod. "No, Josh, you were the same as always. You drank, you argued, you sang songs from musicals and everyone laughed."

"You know, for some reason I don't trust you but I am too sick to argue. Sick!" Donna rolls her eyes and I give it a last ditch attempt, frown sadly at her, and whimper, "My head hurts; I think I have a fever." She pauses, her shoulders droop, and I figure she just might be falling for it.

"Okay, Josh, let me check." She rests a hand to my forehead; it's soft and cool and I push my head forward a little. "No, you don't have a fever."

"Are you sure?"

Donna removes her hand, wraps it around my neck, and bends down to press her lips against my skin. Her mouth is softer than her hand, but much warmer and I sigh, and mutter, "You smell nice. All fresh and clean. Flowery."

She pulls away and rolls her eyes at me. "You smell stale and smoky." Her fingers stroke lightly on my neck as she adds, "You need a shower, and you really need to brush your teeth."

"You've already showered?" I ask, trying hard to stay awake; her hand, still drawing patterns on my neck is relaxing me back to the edge of sleep.

"How else would I be all fresh and clean?" she smirks. "I've showered, dressed-"

"Obviously," I interrupt. "You're certainly not sitting here naked in front of me, something I wouldn't have a problem with you kn- oww!" I roar as her fingers pinch my throat. "Okay, sorry."

"Behave, Josh," she grins, and her hand gently pats my poor, damaged skin.

"Yes, Ma'am. Have you had breakfast?"

"No," she shakes her head. "I feel a little nauseous. The thought of food..." she trails off and shakes her head again. "I can't."

I slide my hand out from under the comforter and stroke her knee. "You'll be fine in a few hours. I, on the other hand, could really do with something very greasy."

"I'm sure you could," Donna grins. She drops her hand from my neck and rests it on my fingers which are still rubbing her knee. "I'll make a deal with you."

"'Kay."

"If you get up, get out of those dirty clothes, and have a shower, I'll ignore the fact I'm about to throw up and make you breakfast."

I look down at my undershirt, and then back up at Donna. "I didn't get changed last night?"

"No, Josh, you were too drunk to manage anything other than your jacket, shirt and belt."

I try to make her feel guilty for no other reason than it's fun. "Why didn't you help me? Maybe I wouldn't offend you so much with my stench if you'd actually made me wear jammies."

"You think I'm your mother?" Donna hisses in annoyance.

"No, you're my-"

She interrupts me. "It's not my job to undress you, Josh. You're old enough to manage that on your own." She picks up my empty coffee cup and continues, "I helped you with your tie, but only because I didn't want you to choke to death during the night."

"You're all heart," I grumble, and then flash a quick grin. "If I had died, you could have given me CPR."

"Not with that breath, Josh. And not even I, with all my brilliance, can actually bring someone back from the dead," she snaps back.

"Well, almost dead," I compromise, "and I know if I was on the verge of death because of a tie, you'd do everything you could to stop me from actually, you know, dying."

"Only because I wouldn't be employable with 'Killer of Josh Lyman' on my resume." Donna stands up and, with her free hand, pulls back the comforter. "Come on, Josh, get in the shower."

"But-"

"I don't care how much you drank last night, or how much your head hurts, you still have to go to work." She slaps her hand on my knee. "Up!"

I realize I have two choices. I can lie here until she yells at me again and physically drags me from the bed and into the shower or I can ignore the repetitive pounding in my head and obey her now.

Of course, having her manhandle me into the shower would be a lot more fun, but the touching would be accompanied with slapping which would not help my headache.

I opt for the obeying, and sigh loudly, "Oh, all right." Satisfied, she turns on her heel and marches from the bedroom. "Donna?"

She pauses at the bedroom door, and looks back. "Yes?"

"If I died on your watch, you'd really only care about how it would affect your career?" I ask, affecting a sad, pathetic frown to try the guilt again.

"Of course," she grins, "reputation is everything in this town." She sticks out her tongue and disappears into the hall, calling over her shoulder. "Get in the shower before I put you in there myself!"

I smile, and reconsider the idea of having her manhandle me but when I hear her roar "NOW, OR NO FOOD!" from the kitchen, I drag myself from the bed, shucking my pants and boxer shorts, and pulling my undershirt over my head. I leave everything on the floor for her to pick up, and shuffle into the bathroom.

I stare at myself in the mirror and groan. Bloodshot eyes, hair sticking out in all possible directions, stubble fourteen hours past a five o'clock shadow. How is it that, when I'm still young and very handsome, I look like shit when I have a hangover?

Turning on the sink faucet, I quickly brush my teeth then pee and switch on the shower. I step in - bravely - and the icy flow does its trick, blasting me with enough cold for my brain to start working properly.

I shiver for a few seconds then turn the hot tap on full, finally relaxing when the heat starts steaming up the bathroom. I lean against the tiles and begin humming; I don't remember much about last night but I do remember telling Donna I loved her, a lot of very bad singing, and her then laughing at said singing.

Grabbing the shampoo bottle, I squirt a blob into my hand, and scrub vigorously at my scalp. I read somewhere that stimulating hair follicles causes them to grow faster. I rub harder, wishing that Donna was in here doing it for me. She looks beautiful this morning, and smells even better. Then again, she always looks fantastic.

I'm not exactly sure what I did in a past life to be able to have her in this one - something pretty damn incredible, I guess. I roll my neck around to rinse my hair out and soap up the rest of my body, paying particular attention to those parts of me that require a lot of attention but not enough attention to actually get anywhere.

Maybe after breakfast I can convince her to help me get there.

Finally clean, and hopefully not smelling of beer anymore, I switch off the shower, grab a towel hanging next to Donna's stockings on the towel rail, and wrap it around my waist. The bathroom is full of steam and I have to keep wiping the condensation off the mirror as I shave.

I wander back into the bedroom, throw open the doors of the closet, and survey my choices. The shower has cleared my head but obviously not enough to focus on choosing what wear and besides, whatever I do choose, Donna will no doubt negate it.

"Donna," I call out. "Donnnnna!"

"Whaaaaat?" she yells from the kitchen.

"Fooooooood," I demand loudly. "I've had a shower, where's my food?"

"Are you dressed?" she yells again.

"I don't know what to weeeeeaarrr," I scream. "Food will help me decide!" I pause for a second and then scream once more, "DONNNNNNA!"

"Don't yell at me!" roars in my ear, accompanied by a sharp pinch to my waist. I jump and then glare at her as she snickers.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" I gasp and she nods.

"Yes, I am."

"Whhhhy?" I whine. "Why would you want me dead? Haven't we already decided that it would be a bad thing for you?"

"Yes, but my life would probably be a lot easier," Donna smiles. "And I'm sure I can talk my way into a new job, I'm very good at that."

I frown, and give her a sad look. "Donna."

"Oh God, not the eyes," she groans. "Stop it!"

I don't say anything; I just stand there in my towel and blink sadly at her. Any second now...

"Okay, I don't want you to die, Josh."

"Really?" I ask pathetically, trying to milk it for all it's worth. "Considering the person we work for, I'm sure there'll be another chance for the random crazy people not to miss the mark." The minute the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Donna's eyes fill with tears and she presses a hand over her mouth.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, come here." I reach out and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close. "You're not going to cry, are you?"

"No," she whispers against my neck, and sighs. "I was going to, but now you've completely wet my clothes because you're too lazy to properly dry off and I'm mad at you for it."

I laugh into her hair. "Okay, well I'm sorry. You know I say stupid things that I don't mean, and hey, if I can joke about it after all this time, surely you can too."

Her fingers wander across the small of my back as she rests her head on my shoulder and sighs again. "I don't want you to die, Josh, because there'd be no one to yell at me."

"Or demand food," I add.

"And coffee," she continues, "and everything else you're unable to do for yourself despite being old enough and, to some extent, smart enough."

"You just hit the nail on the head, Donna," I smile, and nuzzle my nose against her hair, "I'm too smart to do all the mundane, commonplace things in life."

"Which is why you have me do it," she finishes. "And maybe we should stop hugging now because my clothes are soaking up all the water and you're just standing here in a towel which isn't good."

"Okay." I stop cuddling her and spin her around to face the closet. "What should I wear today?"

"Do I have to remind you again that I'm not your mother?" Donna mutters. "One day you're going to have to learn to dress - and undress - yourself, yourself, if only on the basis that I'll have other people to dress and undress."

"Yourself, yourself?" I grin, and rest my hands on her shoulders as she starts rifling through the coat hangers. "That sounds wrong, somehow."

"You're still drunk, aren't you," she mutters again. "Because otherwise you'd realize that 'yourself, yourself' is a perfectly acceptable phrase."

"Drunk? No, no. Noooo, well," I pause, "maybe just a little but I'm sure the President won't mind. Neither will anyone else. And I bow to your wisdom of phrases and all other things because I'm too drunk to argue."

"Excuse me?" she laughs. "Josh Lyman is never too anything to argue. That's all Josh Lyman does. Argue and whine about things."

"And run the country," I add, giving her shoulders a little rub. "Don't forget about that." Her hand passes by a suit and I ask, "Can I wear that one?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because your face is grey, Josh. You wear a grey suit and you're going to look monotone."

I rest my chin on her shoulder, and slide my hands around her waist. "You tell me to learn to dress myself and yet you totally shoot down my ideas. What's up with that?"

"You want me to let you go to work looking stupid, Josh?" she mutters. "Because I can let you do that. And would you please let go of me?"

"You're drying me off here so… no, I think I'll keep holding onto you. And if I wanted to go to work not looking stupid what would I be wearing?" I ask.

"You can wear your charcoal suit," she decides, pulling out of my grasp to grab it from the closet. She turns and hands it to me with a smile.

"Okay hang on, I thought you said no grey?"

"Charcoal isn't grey and I'm not going to debate that with you," she holds up a hand to stop me from arguing, which I was about to do.

I finger the suit and sigh in resignation, "So I'll look grey in different shades then. Two tone."

"Wear this as well," she pulls a dark blue shirt from the closet. "And if you team it with your tie with the blue pinstripes you'll look suave and sexy and ready to run the country."

"I'll look sexy?" I raise my eyebrows and flash her a teasing grin. "You think I'm sexy?"

"Shut up." She hands the shirt to me. "Wear your dark grey socks as well."

"Anything else?" I smirk. "What about underwear?"

"You can wear anything you want because no one will see it."

"What if I don't want to wear underwear?" I turn to throw the clothes on the bed and then smile at her.

"So don't." She starts rummaging through the chest of drawers for some socks. "No one will know that either."

"God, I love you so much. What would I do without you?"

Donna pauses in her search, and then smiles softly. "I guess you'd eat, drink, and work yourself into an early grave."

"So it's a good thing I have you to take care of me."

"Good thing." She throws a pair of socks at my head. "But maybe you shouldn't say you love me just because I take care of you. If you really do love me, you have to have other reasons."

"Well, obviously I have other reasons," I shrug. "I just can't remember them now because, you know, I'm still drunk."

"Of course." Donna sits on the edge of the bed and rubs her hand over her face. She looks up at me and smiles, a little sadly. "You going to get dressed or go to work in that towel?"

I waggle my eyebrows at her and flex my biceps. "Well it's one way to get people on my side. They wouldn't be able to resist my very sexy body."

"Josh, people would agree to anything because they'd be laughing so hard at the sight of your flabby, naked body." She smiles again, this time much happier because she's found a way to insult me and I grin back, and sit next to her on the bed and take her hand in mine.

"Donna..."

"Yes?"

"I do love you." When she opens her mouth, I add quickly, "I'm not saying that because I'm drunk, or want you to do things for me. You know I love you for a lot of reasons and most of them have nothing to do with what I can get from you."

Donna smiles at me, her eyes again filling with tears, and I use my free hand to wipe away the ones that splash onto her cheeks. "I love you too."

"I know," I smile. "But you have to stop crying. What is it with women and crying when a man says he loves them?"

She sniffs, and smiles shakily. "How many other women have cried when you said you loved them?"

"Well since you're the only one I've said it to, I'd have to admit my average is a hundred percent."

"You're an idiot," she sniffs again. "And you need to get dressed and eat breakfast so we can go to work and, you know, run the country as you so egotistically put it."

I survey the clothes lying on the bed. "I need my tie."

Donna stands up and goes to the closet; I follow her and, as she reaches inside, I lean against her back and move my arms to her waist, holding her firmly.

"Josh..."

"Yes?"

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing," I lie. "Nothing at all.

Donna tries to pull from my grasp but I refuse to let her go. "Can you please stop doing that particular nothing?"

"Mmm." I pretend to think about it for a moment while examining the back of her neck. Her hair is twisted up in a complicated little knot thing, leaving a long expanse of pale skin available for the taking.

"Josh?"

"Yes?"

"I told you to stop it," Donna says angrily.

"What if I don't want to stop it?" I ask. "What if I want to do... this?" I blow softly on her neck; she shivers and I take that as an opportunity to press myself closer.

"Josh!"

"What? You shivered, I thought you were cold," I explain in what I hope is an innocent voice. "I'm just warming you up."

Donna sighs as I rub my hands over her stomach. "This isn't a good idea you know. We have to go to work."

"We have to do this," I say firmly and slide my hands across the waistband of her skirt. "And then we can go to work." With a hiss of frustration, she drops her head forward as I plant a tiny kiss on her neck.

"We don't have time for this," she insists. "And it's not a good idea; I mean we haven't really-"

"You already said it wasn't a good idea, Donna," I grin. "And yet you don't seem to be pushing me away. Which leads me to believe you want this as much as I do."

"You're still drunk," she says with a sigh. "I don't want to have sex with you when you're drunk. I'm still mad at you."

I smirk and lean in again to kiss her neck. "I think after an orgasm or two, you won't be so mad at me."

"I can't believe you just said that!" she huffs angrily, and twists around to face me.

"What?" I decide I like this position better as I slide my hands down to the small of her back and pull her firmly against my growing erection.

Donna glares at me, "You think that giving me an orgasm is going to make me not be mad at you anymore?"

"Well firstly I don't understand exactly why you're mad at me and secondly, I think you're going to stop being mad at me because you love me," I explain, giving her my best boyish smile. "And I love you, so you can't be mad at me anyway."

"You're only saying you love me because you're horny. I could be a tree, or a lamp post and you'd still find me irresistible."

"Mmm, maybe," I grin, and rub my erection against her hips. "But you're too soft to be a lamp post, and you're definitely not a tree although you still look a little bit green. You didn't drink last night, did you?"

"No, Josh, I didn't. But yes, I still feel sick. Properly sick, not hangover sick like you."

"I don't have a hangover!" I insist loudly. "I am perfectly in control of all my faculties which is why I really, really think we should have sex now." I lean my head forward and press my lips to hers, gently tracing my tongue against them until she opens her mouth to allow me access.

I tighten my grip across Donna's back, holding her close and, as we continue to kiss, her arms wrap around my neck. Her tongue flicks against mine for several seconds until she pulls back, and gives me a little smile.

"If you don't have a hangover, then you're perfectly fine to get dressed and go to work," she says with a triumphant grin.

"You really have to stop arguing with me about my hangover, Donna."

"I like to argue with you," she replies with another smile. "You end up getting very loud and whiny with this high pitched voice when you lose - and you always lose when you argue with me."

"That's because I let you win," I explain.

She smirks. "Because you love me."

"Yes," I nod. "And if I let you argue with me some more, and promise to let you win, can we have sex?"

"Josh, I really don't want to have sex right now," Donna stops smirking with a short, sharp sigh, "I feel ill and we'll be late for work."

"I'll fix it up with the boss," I offer. "Although I'm almost positive he'll be late as well. And if being late is your only excuse..."

"I feel sick," she says again, but her hands start playing with the hair at the nape of my neck so I figure she's running out of excuses and is about to give in.

"Sex is a good cure for a hangover," I try to convince her. "So it'll help you feel better."

"Trust me when I say this isn't a hangover," Donna says and then adds with a little smile, "I believe it's actually called morning sickness."

I laugh. "Okay so we'll both call what we have morning sickness so we can stop arguing and have sex. And I'll be gentle. And tender, loving, wonderful... all those things men are supposed to be. And... I love you."

"So you told me," she smiles again. "And, seeing that I love you too, maybe I can be persuaded..."

"What can I do to persuade you?" I say quickly, encouraged by her teasing grin and the fact her hands have now moved from my neck and are sliding down my back. I jump a little as her fingers squeeze my ass. "Or maybe you don't need persuasion?"

"How much do you want me, Josh?" she asks softly and, when I rub my erection against once more, her smile widens.

"More than I'm able to describe which, considering my excellent verbal ski-" I stop talking as she presses her lips to mine. She tastes of toothpaste, fresh and clean. It mixes with the smell of her perfume and her shampoo, and I suddenly feel a little dizzy.

Her hands work at the towel around my waist as mine start pulling her blouse from the waistband of her skirt. She's much faster than me and almost immediately I feel a cool draft against my naked ass which is quickly cut off by her hands, once more caressing my skin.

Still kissing her, I yank at her blouse, desperate to free it from her skirt, and slip my hands underneath and up her back to unhook her bra. Problem is, I have absolutely no coordination this morning and it takes several pathetic fumbles before she takes pity on me and does it herself.

Within seconds she's removed her blouse and dropped it on the floor along with her bra but, as she reaches to strip off her pantyhose and underwear, she says, "I'm still mad at you, okay? And I still feel sick so I'm only doing this because otherwise you'll bug me all day."

"We're doing it because we're in love but whatever reason you want to give," I shrug, "it works for me. Come here." I pull her flush against my body; I'm naked but she's still wearing her skirt and I slide my fingers up underneath to stroke her thighs as I kiss her again.

The idea of making love to her while she's half dressed turns me on, so when she reaches for the zipper of her skirt, I murmur, "Don't," and pull her on top of me as I sink onto the bed.

"Fine, have it your way," she mutters and I chuckle.

"My way is you on top."

"Why do men always want the woman on top?" Donna frowns as I fall back against the pillows. She slides across my body to straddle me, resting lightly on top of my hips.

"I can't speak for other men because there shouldn't be any other men you climb on top of and I should stop talking about other men, right?"

"Probably a good idea there."

"Right. Well, I love having you on top of me," I respond, my voice suddenly raspy because her fingernails have started making gentle scratches across my chest. "I love seeing you there, so wonderfully gorgeous. With your beautiful hair and, oh God, your absolutely perfect breasts." I reach a hand to palm one while my other hand slides once more under her skirt and between her legs.

"Flatterer," she mutters but I can see she's hiding a pleased smile which changes into a lip bite when I tweak a nipple with one thumb as the other flicks gently at her damp clit. She wriggles a little, shifting her knees wider on the bed so she's pressing firmly against the side of my erection, and I stroke her a little harder. "Oh, God!"

"Yes, my child?"

"Shut up," she snorts with a laugh that quickly dissolves into a gasp as I continue to massage her clit with my fingers. "Is this going to be all about me, or did you want in on the action?"

"Just getting you ready, Donna," I offer genially. "I don't want any complaints later that I was selfish."

"Well aren't you a gentleman?"

"I try," I say, trying also to be modest about it yet unable to resist waggling my eyebrows at her, "but honestly, with you sitting on me all flushed and panting, I don't think I can't wait any longer so... come on."

"Literally come on?" Donna gasps as I rotate my hips underneath her, and she rises up to allow me entry, "Or do you mean... ohhh, yesss," she trails off as I finally thrust up inside her. "Oh, Josh."

I drop my hand from her breast to wrap my fingers around her hip but I keep my other hand between her legs, stroking her towards orgasm, as I push up into her. She moves with me, up and down, and I watch, fascinated, as her hair starts to loosen from its tight knot to fall over her face.

My brain is beginning to shut down on me though, and I close my eyes and give in to the sensation of sliding her body over and over; the scrape of her fingers on my skin; the softness of her legs against mine.

"Josh."

"Hmm?"

Donna scratches at my chest with her nails. "Josh!"

"Mmm," I groan.

"Josh, stop!"

"What?" I open my eyes and, through the fog of my gathering orgasm, I see her staring at me, eyes wild with panic. "What?"

"Oh God, please stop. I can't-" she breaks off, claps a hand over her mouth, and then leaps off me.

"What?" I gasp again, this time very confused because I was almost there, and now I'm not and for some reason my cock is suddenly devoid of its previous warm, wet surroundings and is waving feebly in the cold air and... hang on a second, where has Donna gone?

I raise my head from the pillow and stare blankly around the bedroom. "Donna?" She doesn't answer but, suddenly, from the direction of the bathroom, I hear the sound of violent retching. Oh.

I look down at my cock, now well and truly deflated, and terribly lonely, then sigh, and slide from the bed to head towards the bathroom. The noise has stopped so I poke my head in to find Donna hunched over the toilet.

"Donna?"

Donna looks up at me with tears filling her eyes, and my own queasiness at the sight and sound of her heaving vanishes instantly when I see how sick she really is.

"Are you okay?"

"Sorry," she murmurs. "I couldn't help it."

"Oh, Donna," I sigh softly as I pull a towel from the rail and kneel on the tiles next to her. I drape it over her naked shoulders and continue, "Granted, it's not every man's dream to be allowed to make love to a gorgeous woman who then decides to vomit during the actual act. It doesn't exactly inflate the ego; in fact, it tends to deflate it and certain things."

She smiles weakly. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. You're hung over. I shouldn't have pushed you." I rub her back and she leans against my leg and sniffles. "Okay, you're not crying because you were sick, right?"

"No... yes... no. I mean," she pauses and rubs a hand over her eyes, effectively managing to smear her mascara onto her pale cheeks, "it's my first time... I just hope every other time won't be as bad as this. It's no fun to start heaving with an empty stomach you know." Donna rubs her face again, and clambers to her feet, wrapping the towel around her body as she leans over the sink to rinse her mouth out with water.

"So you got sick? Well, so what?" I shrug, and lean against the wall while she brushes her teeth. "We'll just have to avoid having sex when we're hung over. Or maybe next time, you should be on the bottom. I'm sure all that vigorous bouncing didn't help matters."

"Oh, Josh, you don't understand at all," she says wryly when she's done brushing. "I just need to lie down for a few minutes, okay. Then we should go to work."

"But we-" I quickly stop talking when she gives me a look. "Okay, a nap sounds good. Work can wait a little bit."

"Good." Donna shuffles out of the bathroom, trailing her fingers across my chest as she passes. "You might want to put something on though. Or are you happy staying naked?"

"Naked is fine," I shrug, and follow her back to the bedroom. "Naked is good, in fact."

"We're not going to have sex again," she warns me as she drops the towel, unzips her skirt, and climbs - now naked herself - into bed.

"I know." I slide in next to her and open my arms; she pauses and then, with a tiny sigh, snuggles against me. I pull the comforter over our bodies then gently start stroking her back; it's only now sinking into my brain that she's not too happy with me. All morning she's been saying she was both upset and sick and, while I didn't exactly think she was lying, I also didn't believe her.

Sometimes my jackass tendencies scare even me. I guess I probably shouldn't have been pushing her for sex but she looked - looks - so beautiful that I couldn't help myself. I love her and I want to be with her all the time. That doesn't make me necessarily evil just... jackass-ish.

"I love you," I whisper in a childish attempt to get her to not hate me.

"I know. Be quiet, Josh."

"'Kay."

We lie silently for awhile, me resting my cheek on her hair and my arms encircling her waist, her nuzzling against my throat. I'm amazingly content just to lie here with her, despite my complete lack of orgasm earlier. Maybe it means I'm growing up?

I swallow a snort of laughter at the idea and Donna rolls her head back to look up at me. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're laughing?" Her voice is full of incredulity and I quickly rush to reassure her.

"Not at you, never at you, swear to God."

She eyes me for a second and then sighs forlornly.

"Donna... are you happy?" I ask softly. I know she is of course, I just... wonder about things sometimes. My illogical fear of losing the best thing that ever happened to me, I guess.

"What?"

"Are you happy, Donna?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well," I begin, irrationally desperate to ask her if she's about to get up and leave me forever because of my jackassishness, but sensibly banishing the thought before my big mouth can verbalize it. I really want to find out why she's angry at me because I don't want the woman I love to hate me. "I don't know... I remember that last night you were really quiet."

She shrugs, and rolls out of my arms and onto her back, resting her hands on her naked stomach. "I wasn't quiet, Josh although you were loud enough for the both of us. And you drank more than enough for the both of us."

"This is why you're mad? Because I got drunk?"

"You got really, really drunk, Josh. So drunk that you could barely walk. I had to half drag you to the car, and you practically passed out once your head hit the pillow."

"And this is the only reason you're mad at me?"

"Not the only reason," she mutters. "And no, I don't feel like telling you why just yet so you'll have to be patient."

"Okaaay then." I roll onto my side and prop my head in my hand to look at her. She's staring at the ceiling, her hands idly rubbing her naked stomach. "If I kiss you, will you tell me?"

"Nope."

I try another tactic and ask, with a teasing smile, "If I hit you will you tell me?"

Donna turns her head to look at me. "Would you hit the woman who loves you?"

"Yes, because she constantly hits the man she loves. Turnabout is fair play, you know," I smirk.

She stares at me for a few seconds and then says, "Okay, would you hit the woman carrying your child?"

"Uh..." I blink at her as she smiles. "No, I wouldn't."

"So don't hit me then."

"Um..." I'm a little bewildered here. "How can you be pregnant, Donna? We kind of stopped before anything happened that could actually, you know, create a baby."

"Idiot," Donna mutters. "It happened on one of the many times we've previously had sex." She raises her eyebrows at me, waiting patiently while the news slowly sinks into my alcohol-addled brain.

"Wow..."I pause, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Um... wow."

"Well done, Josh. I tell you that you've done your duty as a man, and the only thing you can say is wow?"

"We weren't trying though. I mean, yes we were sort of going to try, but not really because, you know, the Midterms and everything, and we agreed it wasn't the best time, um..." I trail off because she's giving me a murderous glare. "This is why you're mad at me? You can't get mad at me because you went and got yourself..." I stop again, wondering why the hell I can't stop saying all the wrong things.

Donna's staring at me, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and absolute fury. "Josh."

"I don't mean it that way, I don't," I babble. "I mean, it's not your fault; it's nobody's fault and oh my God, why can't I just shut the hell up here?"

"Because you're a moron," Donna sighs and gives me a small smile. "It's happened, it's done. Deal with it."

"I'm trying," I pause and then ask, tentatively, "So you're mad at me because...?"

"Josh, this morning I was mad at you because you drank a lot last night. Yes, it was a celebration of keeping both the House and Senate, so I don't blame you for drinking to the point of unconsciousness."

"But... you didn't drink last night?"

"Oh, so you did notice? No, Josh, I didn't drink because, well, obviously because I'm pregnant. And before you ask I only found out a few days ago and I thought it was probably best to keep it quiet until after the election. I didn't want to add to your stress."

"Donna." I reach my hand out to touch her but she pulls away. "You should have told me."

"I was planning on telling you last night. I thought we could come home and have our own little private celebration but once we did get home you were such a slobbering wreck, singing and demanding food and, at one point, concubines to bring you donuts because you were victorious, that everything was ruined and when you finally passed out in bed I was so upset that I went to sleep on the sofa which was damn uncomfortable."

She takes a deep breath and continues, "And when I woke up, I felt violently ill and you kept whining about your stupid hangover. It made me feel better to hate you because then I didn't have to concentrate on how nauseous I was. I know it was unfair of me to be mad; I blame all these extra hormones or something... I'm sorry."

"Well you couldn't have been that mad at me because we ended up having sex. Or started to have sex before you decided to go vom- um..." Her mouth drops opens in astonishment and I quickly backtrack. "Okay, well I mean... I mean. Oh God, see this is why I shouldn't drink. Because I say stupid things. And do stupid things."

"So you'll never drink again?"

"Never again. Never," I shake my head definitively. "Except, wait... what about at celebrations? Or parties? Or... okay toasting the birth of my first child?" I grin hopefully at her and she bites back a smile. Score! I learned long ago that she has difficulty resisting my full on dimpled grin.

My grin widens, and she switches instantly to a stern frown. "Josh, I'm not your mother. Drink what you like, when you like. Just don't expect me to care for you the next day. I have other things more important to take care of."

"Of course you do and that's why I'll take care of you when you're sick," I promise her.

"Josh, you can't stand the sight of sick people. God knows how you're going to cope when I'm actually screaming in the delivery room amidst a mess of blood and gook while I heroically give birth to the next Lyman heir."

"I'll be there; I just won't have my eyes open."

"Again with the generosity," she says sarcastically. "Today you've certainly proven that you're a shining example of the ideal man."

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that you were... and if I did, I wouldn't have complained. Or talked you into sex or," I frown as I remember, "made idle jokes about death and oh God, I'm sorry and I mean... wow. Wow. Okay, I'm sure I can come up with something more verbose about this whole thing but all I can say at the moment is wow."

"I get the picture," she smiles at me, her eyes soft and gentle, and I know I'm forgiven. "I'm not angry, really. I'll just blame the hormones. My excuse for the next eight months. Although you better be careful in the future because making a pregnant woman mad, or upsetting her with stuff - even in jest - is never a good thing."

"Okay."

Donna nods. "So you're going to have to be nice to me and not demand I make you breakfast when the sight of bacon makes me want to hurl."

"You made me bacon?" I grin.

"Actually, no. As I said the sight of it, pink and white and greasy, made me feel sick. So I made you fruit salad and also toast, which is no doubt stale and cold by now."

"It's the thought that counts. Maybe I'll be a good husband and make the bacon."

"Oh God, please don't talk about bacon." Donna stares up at the ceiling and sighs, "I think I'm going to be sick again."

"Will this be a common occurrence?" I ask. "Maybe the bacon started you off but you didn't throw up until we were halfway through sex. Will you always throw up when we have sex? Because I don't know if I like that trade off."

"So we won't have sex until my morning sickness is over. I think that's about two months away, at least according to the books."

I raise my eyebrows. "You've read books already? Okay, don't worry about answering that, of course you've read books." I pause, and she smiles softly at me. "Sooooo, anything I should know right now? Is it a boy or a girl?

"Josh, it's only about five weeks old and therefore barely the size of the tip of a pen. There is no way of knowing yet."

"Oh, so it's not a Josh Junior?"

"If you really want to, we can call it Junior for the time being," Donna smiles. "It'll still be awhile before we know if it's a boy or a girl."

"How about Baby Moss-Lyman?" I offer and she nods. "It's not nice of Baby Moss-Lyman to make its mother very sick because it means its father can't have sex with her."

"Josh, we can still have sex," she grins. "Just maybe not in the mornings when I feel so deathly nauseous."

"Okay, I like that idea. Promise to tell me when you're willing and able?"

"Cross my heart; when I want to have sex again, we'll have sex." She gives me a winning smile and I smile back. Excellent.

I wriggle closer to her and lift my hand over her stomach. "Can I?"

Donna smiles again, and nods. "Baby Moss-Lyman is half yours, Josh, so you're welcome to do what you want." She reaches for my hand, and presses it against her skin. "Except asking me for sex, that is."

"Right," I look down at our fingers intertwined together, and say, "okay, as my first um... fatherly thing, I feel it's my duty to ask you, Baby Moss-Lyman, not to make your mother so sickly green in the morning so maybe sometimes I can have sex with her before work."

"Josh," Donna groans, and with her free hand reaches to slap my head. "I don't look green!"

"You did before. Now you just look pale and disgusting."

"Hey!" She slaps me again, much harder.

I groan in reply, mine more of pain than of exasperation but - my earlier promise forgotten - as I remove my hand from hers to return the slap, something occurs to me. "Speaking of green, did you know that our names are similar?"

She reaches up to my head again, to rub the spot she'd just smacked. "How so?"

"Both green. Kind of green anyway. Moss is green. Lyman is like lime, which is green as well." I chuckle in amusement. "I never realized that before. Weird, huh?" I smile but Donna stares are me, silently, and I raise my eyebrows in question. "Why are you giving me that look?"

"What look?" she asks softly.

"Shock? No, wait..." I shrug, unable to determine the expression on her face, "I don't know, you sort of look freaked out?"

"I just..." she pauses for a second, and stares at me searchingly, then smiles. "Just a feeling of... dejà vu, I guess you could call it. Anyway, I suppose that means you and I were meant to be then."

"Well I always knew we would end up together," I say, full of confidence. "From the very moment you talked your way into a job, I knew you and I would end up married with a family."

"Oh please," Donna rolls her eyes and stops playing with my hair to slap me again. "You never even noticed me until I left you during President Bartlet's final year. But feel free to rewrite our history to make yourself look good."

"I noticed you. Believe me when I say, I noticed everything about you... I just..."

"Never pulled your head out of your ass to do anything about it."

"Do you want me to slap you now?" I threaten, hooking my leg over both of hers so she doesn't decide to kick me in retaliation.

"You already said you wouldn't slap a pregnant woman," Donna smirks and, after I heave a noisy sigh in defeat, she asks, "You think maybe we should go to work?"

"No."

"I'm sure President Santos and the First Lady are awake and waiting for their Chief of Staff to continue to lead them boldly through the reelection campaign."

"I think they've both got hangovers," I reply. "Either that or they're celebrating our Midterm success in their own way and are hoping the Chief of Staff and his wife have hangovers as well so they don't get interrupted. Or that the Chief of Staff and his wife are celebrating themselves... okay, actually, I hope they think we have hangovers. Nothing else."

Donna laughs. "Since I didn't drink last night, I can't have a hangover, but we'll use yours as an excuse for being late since you're so freaked out at them imagining us having sex."

"I don't want the leader of the free world thinking about you and me and sex... and I don't have a hangover!" I insist for the five hundredth time that morning. "It's just, uh..." I give her a smile and snuggle closer, "morning sickness."

"Smart." Donna slowly walks her fingers down over my stomach. "Um... Josh?"

"Hmm?" Her hand closes around my cock and I twitch involuntarily. "God, Donna! You just can't grab that without any warning."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh please, you're actually complaining about where my hand is? I thought it would be the best way to let you know that I don't feel so sick anymore."

"You could have just told me."

"Yes, but this is more fun, and because I did leave you somewhat in the lurch before, I've decided to be a good wife and make it up to you."

"Well, when you put it like thaaaaahhrrgghh..." I trail off in a groan of pleasure when her hand starts making little swirly movements.

Four hours later, when Donna and I finally wander into the White House, the President gives me a knowing smile but, thankfully, says nothing.