Donna waits for Josh to return with her drink and hopes no one is staring at the bandage around her shin that peeks out from underneath the hem of her rose-colored dress. She's sitting at one of the unoccupied banquet tables, her cane leaning against the chair next to her. She's finally out of the cast, but still hobbling a bit and under strict orders not to put undue weight or pressure on her injured leg. So with her fancy dress she is wearing pale pink ballet slippers instead of heels; it's been an odd sensation, these past few weeks, to be a couple of inches shorter than Josh than she normally is. If she's honest with herself, she admits she kind of likes it, and is frustrated with herself for being so pathetically girly.

Josh returns with their drinks, weaving through the scattered tables and various state dinner attendees, and she can't help but admire how handsome he looks in black tie. She's seen him in formal wear so many times now, and yet the sight never fails to make her heart beat a little faster. Something else for which she is not entirely happy with herself.

"One whiskey sour as requested," he says as he hands her the drink. She accepts it gratefully and takes a sip, enjoying the burn of alcohol down her throat. She's felt self-conscious from the moment she arrived at her first formal function since the accident and needs all the liquid courage she can get. She probably wouldn't be here at all if Josh hadn't pleaded with her so vociferously earlier that day.

Josh sits down next to her and takes a swallow of his own drink. "You doing okay?" he asks, doing his best mother hen impersonation.

She nods. "I'm fine, Josh. And you don't have to baby-sit me all night. You should go mingle. Talk to some senators and pretend that you like them."

"I told you, Donna, it's no problem," he says, but even as the words leave his mouth he's searching the room, looking for people he should be speaking to about the appropriations bill. She watches him and tries to figure out how she can convince him to go ahead and do his job -- it's not an argument she ordinarily needs to make for him.

Salvation soon arrives in the form of Ginger, lushly pretty in a hunter green dress, who sits down on the other side of Donna and starts talking about some guy from the DoL who was supposed to meet her at the dinner but apparently hasn't shown up yet. As Ginger rattles on Donna catches Josh's eye and signals that it's okay for him to escape; Ginger will take care of her and she knows Josh doesn't want to listen to this anyway. He mouths a thank you and slips away, leaving the two women alone.

"Josh looks good tonight," Ginger observes, and Donna snaps her gaze away from her boss' retreating back.

"I suppose so," she says nonchalantly.

"So nothing happened between you two in Germany," Ginger asks for what must be the twentieth time since Donna returned to work.

"No, and I wish you would stop bugging me about it," Donna says.

"I'm just saying. If I had been in an accident, I can't see Toby dropping everything and hopping on the next plane across the Atlantic," Ginger says, and Donna can't help but acknowledge the truth of it. For the twentieth time.

None of that changes the fact that nothing happened in Germany. Or here, for that matter.

"Why don't we talk about something else," Donna suggests, none too subtly. Ginger raises an eyebrow but accedes to the request, turning the conversation back to her alleged suitor.

Out of the corner of her eye Donna can see Josh engaged in intense conversation with Congressman Fayette, and she's glad that he's finally getting in some power schmoozing. She turns her attention back to Ginger so as not to get caught watching her boss again and soon enough she's laughing appreciatively as Ginger relates the most recent of her dating horror stories. They're both surprised a short while later when a tall, well-built blond interrupts their conversation and asks Ginger to dance. He turns out to be her mystery man from the DoL, and with an excited grin Ginger excuses herself and takes his hand. Donna watches them make their way to the dance floor and smiles as she takes in all of the finely dressed couples who have similarly migrated to the center of the ballroom.

She glares at her cane and lets out a heavy sigh. Even if she had a dance partner she wouldn't exactly be able to trip the light fantastic this evening. She tells herself not to be bitter, but the internal pep talk doesn't work very well.

She's sitting with her chin in her hand, still watching the assorted dancing couples and trying not to think dark thoughts, when Josh re-appears at the table.

"Wanna dance?" he asks, putting his drink down.

She gestures to her foot. "I don't think I should," she says glumly.

Josh shrugs. "No fancy footwork, I promise. Come on. Lean on me." And he extends his hand.

Unable to refuse him, Donna smiles shyly, says, "Okay," and takes his hand in hers. He supports her with one arm and helps her limp out to the dance floor. She places one hand on his shoulder and keeps the other clasped in his, and his hand settles firmly on her waist, and they start swaying gently back and forth in time to the music, which Donna is pretty sure is Glen Miller's "Moonlight Serenade." No state dinner would be complete without it.

"This all right?" he asks, and she nods. She's favoring her right foot so that she puts weight on it for only the barest of moments before shifting back to her left, and he tailors his movements accordingly, careful to keep things at her pace.

As Donna relaxes a fraction and assures herself that her leg isn't about to give out from under her, she finds herself more and more aware of the intimacy of what they are doing. She's danced with Josh before, of course, at various events, but that was before he flew to Germany to keep vigil at her bedside, before something in their relationship shifted in a way that neither of them has quite been able to identify. And the simple swaying somehow makes everything seem more intimate -- they're not engaging in a predetermined, objective series of steps, but rather connecting with the music in the most basic of ways, finding their own rhythm, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

Josh must sense it too because now he pulls her closer, his face mere inches from hers, and clutches at the silken material of her dress at the small of her back, sending electric currents up her spine. Donna swallows hard and grips his hand just a little bit tighter. She can smell his aftershave and his distinctive Josh-scent and the proximity of his lips to hers is making her a tiny bit light-headed.

They keep dancing that way for a while, faces close and bodies closer, and then Josh deliberately takes her hand that is clasped in his and brings it up around his neck, then moves his free hand down to join his other hand around her waist.

Donna freezes in shock for a moment, then follows Josh's lead and moves her left hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, so that now his arms are around her waist and her arms are around his neck and they're not so much dancing as they are embracing. This is not, Donna realizes, doing anything to help her light-headedness. She feels self-conscious again, but in a way that has nothing to do with her injury.

Then Josh's head drops and he buries his face in the crook of her neck and Donna's mind reels. She has no idea why Josh is suddenly acting like her prom date, but she doesn't exactly want him to stop, either. She takes a deep breath and after a few moments' more hesitation she tentatively, gingerly lays her head against his shoulder. She instantly feels safe and warm and happy and feels she would give almost anything for this moment to never end. She closes her eyes and loses herself in him, playing with the coarse brown hair at the back of his neck, reveling in his warm, solid weight beneath her cheek, and trying not to notice that his breath is growing ragged against her ear.

"Donna," he whispers, and his nose nuzzles her hair ever so slightly. He pulls back and she lifts her head so that their eyes meet. He reaches up and runs his thumb down her cheek. His liquid brown eyes are filled with something unnamable that makes her heart skip a beat. She holds her breath as he says "Donna, I --" and moves his head in even closer --

-- and then the song ends and the crowd applauds.

Josh doesn't move, just keeps staring at her, and then finally he raises his chin and places a soft kiss on her forehead. His lips burn like fire on her skin.

"I'm glad you came out tonight," he whispers.

"I'm glad you bullied me into it," she says in return.

He guides her back to their table, and she eases back into her seat, ignoring the slight throbbing in her leg. He sits down next to her and shifts his chair so that he is facing her, their knees almost touching.

She worries again that he's babysitting her out of obligation. "Aren't there things you should be doing right now?" she asks.

"Donna. I told you. As long as you need me, I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly.

"I always need you, Josh," she says, and almost wishes she hadn't.

"Then I guess I'm staying right here," he says simply, and rests his arm on the back of her chair. They sit together in companionable silence and watch the colorful glittering sea of dancers.

End.