She stopped him as he trudged his way back up the aisle of the jet after...after whatever had just transpired between him and the Congressman. "Josh."

He paused, looked down at her. "Yeah. Leno?"

She shook her head. "How'd it go?" she asked, jerking her chin toward the closed door of the Congressman's office.

Josh looked up and down the aisle, caught Otto's eye, told him, "Make sure the McNally call goes through," then turned his attention back to Donna. "Fine," he said. He jiggled his hand in his pocket. "He's just on edge. We all are."

"We are," she agreed. "And you look like you're about to fall over on top of everything else. Sit."

"Donna --"

"Sit," she repeated. "We're about to take off anyway." She patted the empty seat next to her.

He seemed about to protest once more, then blew out his breath and fell into the seat provided. "We're late," he said, rooting around for his seatbelt.

"I know."

"What about Leno?"

"Annabeth and I decided to take a catnap and regroup later. We were at the point of considering Leno in tights."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like it would be good for anybody," Josh mused.

"Exactly. So. How did it go in there?" she asked again, more gently this time.

"I told you, it went fine." He bobbed his knee up and down, rubbed his eyes. "He just needed a nudge back in the right direction," he said. "Back to what will make a difference in the next 48 hours and what won't."

"Like wearing tights on national television."

"Yeah."

She eyed him thoughtfully. He seemed older, these days. Older and wiser and she hadn't truly expected that to happen, not to this extent. She was glad to be wrong. "He needed that, Josh. You did good."

"I -- yeah. I know. I think." He stretched out his legs and leaned his head back against the chair. "I'm so tired," he said, as if surprised by the fact.

"You look it."

"Thanks," he said dryly. He eyed her up and down. "How come you look so good?"

"Makeup," she answered truthfully, although she was secretly pleased by the left-handed compliment.

"That seems like an unfair advantage," Josh said.

"Do you want a makeover? We have time to kill on the way to Houston."

"You really are quite the comedian," he said, mouth quirking on one side. "Maybe you should be on Leno."

"Maybe I should," she said in satisfaction.

The pilot announced they were ready for departure, and Donna uttered her ritual please God don't let us crash to herself before returning her attention to the exhausted man next to her. "You should take a nap of your own," she said. "Then you can help us with the Leno thing."

"Okay," he mumbled without argument, which meant he really must be tired.

They spent take-off in conversational silence, listening to the roar of the engines and the scattered pockets of quiet chatter surrounding them. The dim lights of the cabin and the lateness of the hour were getting to everyone, Donna sensed, in spite of all they still needed to accomplish.

Donna, for her part, could feel her eyelids starting to flutter; she glanced over at Josh, saw that his were drooping too. "Five minutes," she heard him mutter.

She smiled to herself, knowing famous last words when she heard them.

When they reached cruising altitude, Donna tentatively let her head fall against his shoulder, seeking comfort in the cushioning of his rumpled suit jacket, the warmth of his body. He stiffened at first, and she wondered if she should pull back; but then he relaxed. A moment later she felt him gingerly rest his cheek on the top of her head.

She smiled again and closed her eyes, sleep tugging at her like a siren song; re-opened them when Josh awkwardly laced his fingers through hers.

Donna tried to stay awake a little while longer, to enjoy the feel of their bodies touching, their fingers intertwined; but all too quickly she surrendered to sleep, lulled by the rhythm of Josh's breathing matching her own.

End.