In the end, it happened rather simply, with no fanfare, no heartfelt declarations or musical crescendos. It just happened, and in the end, maybe that was the way it was supposed to be.

One night, shortly after Donna finally had the cast taken off her leg, Josh stopped by her apartment with Chinese take-out and they watched an unremarkable movie while lounging on her couch and making snide commentary about actors who should stick to comedy and leave the dramatic stuff to the big boys.

After the movie was over, they turned off the TV and talked for a while, about everything and nothing at all, and then, when there was a comfortable lull in the conversation, Josh leaned over and kissed Donna on the lips. He didn't preface it with anything, didn't state his intentions, just decided that the time felt right and there was no sense in not just doing it, finally.

She kissed him back, first with surprise, then with passion and enthusiasm, and soon enough they were in the midst of an old-fashioned make-out session, Donna's head on the arm of the couch, her legs in Josh's lap, their hands growing more and more bold in their explorations of each other's bodies.

Josh couldn't help flashing back to high school, to post-date necking with Kerry Winston on his parents' couch while Mom and Dad slept upstairs. He felt the same flush of excitement, the same thrill of the forbidden. He covered Donna's breast with his hand and she arched up into him, and the sensation made him light-headed, dizzy as an over-sexed teenager.

"Do you think we could move this to the bedroom?" he murmured against her lips, hoping Donna would have a different answer than Kerry Winston had. He couldn't remember ever wanting any woman more, ever experiencing such an overwhelming need to bury himself inside of someone.

She hesitated for only a heart-stopping moment, then said, "Yeah," and pushed him gently away so that she could get up from the couch. They walked silently to her bedroom, where Josh turned on the lamp on the night stand, wanting to be able to see her, and then took her into his arms once more. They fell down onto the bed, picking up where they left off, kissing and hugging and running their hands up and down each other's chests, hips, thighs. He ran his tongue over the smooth skin of her neck, and was gratified when she let out a gasp of wanting and threaded her fingers through his hair.

When he went to lift up her shirt, however, she froze in his arms. "Don't," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," he said, stricken. "If this is moving too fast --"

"No, it's not that," she said hastily. Her hair was pooled on the pillow behind her, a halo of gold. "It's just...I got pretty torn up in the accident. There's a lot of, of scarring --"

He let out a breath of relief that that was all that was bothering her. "Donna," he said gently. "You're not the only one with scars."

Her blue eyes flickered with shock and realization, then chagrin. "Oh my god, Josh, I didn't think --"

He leaned in and kissed her to silence her, and she placed her hands on either side of his face, caressing his skin in apology. Then he pulled away and straightened up, his legs straddling her on either side of her hips. He took a deep breath, then with slow, deliberate motions he pulled his sweater up over his head and tossed it to the side, showing her his bare chest. And then he waited, silently, unsure how she would react.

Donna's lips parted as she took in the sight of what assassins had wrought. After a few moments of lying completely still, she reached up a trembling hand to his chest. He watched her do it, the only sound in the room their heightened breathing as Donna touched his surgical scar for the first time, hesitantly tracing it with one finger. The bedside lamp cast a dim glow over the white scar tissue; her painted pink fingernail stood out in harsh relief against his pale skin. Donna bit her lip, her eyes suspiciously watery, and he rushed to reassure her.

"It's okay," he said softly. He took her hand in his and pressed her palm to the ridge of scar tissue on his abdomen. "See? It's all healed. It's just skin, Donna. It's just part of who I am, now. Does this --" he swallowed, "-- does this make you want me any less?"

"Of course not," she said immediately. "Of course not," she repeated, more to herself than to him, he suspected. She ran her hand over the scar some more, as if committing it to tactile memory, and then sat up and leaned over so she could press her lips to it as well.

He sucked in a breath at the contact and grew harder than ever, a painful tightness straining his jeans. "Donna," he whispered, the word a plea.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright. "I'm just...I'm just remembering how I felt, when you were shot." She traced his scar again and watched the movements of her fingers, lost in memory. "And I guess I only just realized now that you probably felt the same way when -- when I was in the accident."

"I would've given anything for it to have been me in that car instead of you," he said, a fresh wave of pain washing over him as he recalled that feeling of helplessness.

"Yeah," she said, understanding in her voice. "I know." Something shifted in her expression; she seemed to come to sort of internal decision. She drew in a shaky breath, and then reached for the hem of her shirt. Josh remained quiet, not touching her, as she pulled the shirt up over her head, leaving behind a white lace bra, her breasts swelling enticingly beneath the delicate material.

She sat there, motionless, waiting for him to look, so he forced his eyes away from the creamy skin of her breasts and looked lower, and just managed to hold in a gasp when he saw the tender scar tissue around her rib cage, where they'd had to operate on her collapsed lung.

"God, Donna," he said helplessly. In spite of himself he couldn't help but think about how she must have looked before, smooth, flawless ivory skin, incandescent in the light. He looked back up at her face, and her eyes were panicky, afraid of his reaction in spite of all he'd just said to her. So he kissed her again, gently exploring her mouth with his tongue, trying to show her without words that he still found her beautiful, would always find her beautiful. As he did so he reflected that he would happily kiss her as many times as it took to convince her.

"Lie down," he whispered when their lips parted. Her eyes searched his for reassurance, then she nodded. He moved off of her so that she could lie down full-length on the bed, then he scooted down her body and pressed his lips to her bare skin.

She made a sound akin to a whimper as he brushed his lips over the jagged scar on her torso. The skin was puckered, still, not having made the transition to smoothness that his own had years ago. He placed gentle kisses on it, around it, then drew his mouth across her abdomen, smiling to himself when her diaphragm sucked in with a ragged inhalation of breath. He dipped his tongue into her navel, then worked his way over to her hipbone, nipping gently at the sensitive skin there.

After he'd done this for a while, and she seemed relaxed and responsive beneath him, he reached for the waistband of her pants. He glanced up to see if she would protest, but her eyes were on the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in a hurried pattern that signaled her arousal. He carefully slipped her pants down her legs, then assessed the appearance of her lower body.

He'd seen the damage in the hospital, of course, but she hadn't let him see her bare legs since the cast came off -- he was sure she hadn't let anyone see other than her doctor. Her right thigh was branded with a thick, ugly scar: an angry vertical line with horizontal lines through it where the stitches had been. Looking at it, he thought he could almost smell the antiseptic scent of the hospital, could hear the beeping monitors and the labored sound of her breathing. Phantom pain shot up his neck as he remembered too many nights sleeping in the visitor's chair, contorting his body in ways he shouldn't have at his age. His eyes burned, and he blinked rapidly.

He chanced another look up at Donna's face, saw that now her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, a grimace of discomfort and shame distorting her features. So he reached out and gently touched the scar, running his finger lightly over the raised pink ridge. She squirmed beneath him, and, to his surprise, let out a short laugh.

"It tickles," she murmured.

"Really?" He grinned, delighted at this discovery, and bent his head to caress the puckered skin with his mouth, planting feather-light kisses along the length of the mark. She giggled again and her leg jerked beneath his lips. He decided to give her a break, so he lifted his head and ran his hands up her thighs, over her hips, caressing her skin, all of it, scarred and unscarred, not flinching away from any part of her.

He worked his way up the length of her body until they were kissing again, her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands insistently working at the clasp of her bra. He finally managed to undo the mechanism and she lowered her arms so that he could slip the garment off of her. He traced her lips with his finger; she smiled and placed the palm of her hand against his cheek. He leaned into the touch, then turned his head to kiss her palm.

"How you doin'?" he whispered.

"I'm doing good," she said, tenderly running a hand through his hair. "Better than good. In fact, I think I'm starting to get impatient."

He raised his eyebrows. "So you're saying you want to skip the whole foreplay thing?" he asked mischievously.

She pushed at his chest. "I'm saying I want you to get on with it," she said, her eyes sparkling.

He smirked. "Pushy."

"Damn right."

He lowered his head to her breast and took one nipple into his mouth and sucked on it strongly, and she let out a hiss of pleasure. "Perfect," she breathed.

He couldn't agree more, and so he continued sucking on the hardened peak, flickering his tongue over the tip, nibbling on the edges with his teeth. He moved one hand down and slipped it beneath her underwear, parting her folds with questing fingers. Her hips bucked beneath his touch and she whispered his name. He took that as an invitation to slip one finger inside of her, probing gently, then withdrew his wet finger and swirled it around her clit, gratified when she let out a low, breathy moan.

"Now, Josh," she said, urgent need coloring her voice.

He reluctantly released her nipple from his mouth and pushed her underpants down over her feet, then wriggled out of his boxers. "Are you --"

"Yes, I'm on the pill," Donna said. "Now get up here."

"I have to admit, Donna, I never expected you to be quite this bossy," he said, grinning, nonetheless doing as he was told and positioning himself above her.

"Well, don't let this go to your head, Joshua, but I'm not sure I've ever been this...excited before, if you know what I'm saying."

How could he possibly not let that go to his head? She was blushing now, which only made it all the more arousing. "I can't believe I just said that," she muttered.

"If you think I'm going to let you forget it, you're crazy," he said, now feeling like his grin might split his face.

"I thought as much," she said, rolling her eyes. But then she lifted her legs and tilted her hips for him, and he took that to mean the bantering portion of the evening was pretty much coming to an end, at least for the moment.

She helped him along, grasping his cock and guiding him inside of her until oh god --

"God, Donna," he rasped.

"Yeah," she said, her head falling back on the pillow. "That's..."

"I know." He pulled out, slowly, then eased himself back in, and the warm heat of her sent ripples of pleasure up his spine. Again, and he was already starting to worry about how quickly this might be over. Again, and it felt so good that he wasn't sure he cared.

She helped him ease into a regular rhythm, lifting her hips for him and reaching around him to clutch his ass, pulling him in deeper. "Don't stop..." she whispered.

"I'm trying," he muttered, as much to himself as to her. He tried to clear the luxurious fog of sex from his brain enough to find her clit with his thumb, then started stroking it purposefully, hoping he'd be able to last as long as she did. Her breathing hitched almost immediately, so he thought that was a good sign.

"Please tell me you're close," he panted, his thrusts becoming more and more frenzied by the moment.

She nodded, her eyes squeezed shut, her breathing growing more and more ragged. Her pale skin was flushed, a rose-colored wash spreading up from her chest. "You're amazing," he said, the words leaving his mouth before he could think to stop them. Sex was like truth serum for him: half the time he started babbling like an idiot, and it was always a toss-up as to whether the woman would find it endearing or aggravating.

Her eyes snapped open, and she gave him a toothy smile. Endearing, then. Thank god. "You're...not so bad...yourself," she breathed. "Oh god, Josh, I'm gonna...oh..." The instant she started coming he did too, spending himself inside of her with a frighteningly high-pitched sigh of relief. He was so wrapped up in his own orgasm he didn't get to enjoy hers, but he supposed -- he hoped -- that there would be plenty of future opportunities for that.

Donna continued to make small mewling sounds as tiny little contractions squeezed his gradually softening cock. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, holding on to him tightly, her breathing harsh against his ear.

Finally he slipped out of her and rolled onto his back, blinking rapidly to clear his head and come back down to earth. Donna rolled over on her side to snuggle up against him, her blonde hair falling on his chest.

"That was..."

"Yeah."

He kissed the top of her head, then wrapped his arms around her. They lay in comfortable silence for a few moments, each of them lost in their own thoughts, breathing hard, trying to adjust to the way their world had just shifted on its axis.

"Thank you," Donna said after a while.

His eyebrows shot up. "For what?"

"I don't know." She fidgeted against him. "For making me feel good about myself, I guess. I haven't had that feeling very often lately if truth be told."

"Now that is a crime," he said. He squeezed her tighter. "You should be told how incredible you are at least three times a day."

"Are you volunteering for that duty?" she asked, a smile in her voice.

He sniffed. "Nah. I'm a busy man, I have a lot on my plate."

"Right. I forgot. Well, in that case, I guess you won't have time for any more sex, either."

"Hey! Let's not get hasty," he said, holding up a hand. "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Mmm. Seriously, Josh, are we...? Is this...?"

"We'll figure it out," he said quickly. "I'm not about to give this up."

"Good," she said, "because I'm not about to let you."

He played absentmindedly with the ends of her hair. "How's your leg?" he thought to ask.

She shifted on the bed. "It's okay. A little sore from getting a workout in such an unexpected way. I think maybe if we tried a different position next time I might be able to alleviate the pressure on my leg while still actively participating in the sex act."

His mouth fell open. "Wow," he managed. "That was a little weird. A little too Donnatella Moss, Senior Assistant for our current situation."

"It was, wasn't it," she mused. "I'll have to work on that."

"Yeah. Not that the sentiment you expressed wasn't duly noted and appreciated."

"I understand."

"Good."

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"I kind of like your scar," she said, running her fingers over it as she spoke. "It gives you character. It's...I don't know...rugged."

"Rugged, huh?" he said, enjoying the sound of that. "I have always thought of myself as a little rough around the edges --"

"Okay, settle down, cowboy," she said.

"Donna," he ventured after a moment.

"I know, I know, you're a rugged mountain man."

"That's not what I was gonna say."

"Thank god."

"I was just going to say that I like your scars, too."

She sighed. "You don't have to say that, Josh. I wasn't fishing for compliments."

"And I'm not taking the hook. Look, Donna, it's like how I said my scar is just a part of who I am, now. That's how I feel about yours, too. And there's nothing, Donnatella Moss, Wanton Woman of Pleasure, that I don't like about you."

"Nothing? Really?"

"Well --"

"Don't answer that."

"Right."

"But thanks anyway."

"You're welcome. I meant it."

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to go to sleep now. Could you turn off the light?"

"Okay. I'll be here when you wake up."

"I know," she murmured happily.

And so, in the end, they drifted off into peaceful slumber, their limbs intertwined, her head pillowed on his chest, their hard-earned scars shining in the pale moonlight that filtered through the bedroom windows. And maybe that was the way it was supposed to be.

End.