They left the party early, both of them having only so much energy or desire for celebration on a night like this. Donna walked Josh to his room, half-afraid that if she didn't he'd wander off yet again and she'd never be able to find him. The halls of the hotel were quiet, far from the sounds of revelry, and she found herself grateful for the silence.

When they reached his room, she opened the door for him, held it open as he stumbled inside.

"Get some sleep, okay?" she said softly. "You need to rest."

"Yeah," he said. He ran his hand over the back of his neck, looked at her with dark, bleak eyes. "I was actually hoping -- I mean -- would you stay with me tonight?" he asked. "I don't mean --" He let out the smallest laugh. "I don't mean like that, I just --"

"Of course," she said, saving him. "Let me just run back to my room and grab some things, okay?" She showed him his cardkey, still in her grasp. "I'll take this with me and be right back."

"Okay," he said, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," she said, and closed the door.

She stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the closed door of room 727, wondering what this meant. She'd spent the past 24 hours more confused than she'd ever been in her life, and this -- whatever this was -- wasn't helping. She thought -- she thought she'd figured out how to protect herself. How to protect them both. But this, this and that hug he gave her earlier, when she thought he might actually crush her ribs, that he'd never let her go, let her breathe -- they were curveballs she didn't know how to catch.

But she had to try.

So she went to her room, grabbed her toiletry bag and an oversized t-shirt, then made her way back to Josh's room, relieved not to run into anybody as she did so. She rapped lightly on the door before opening it, but there was no reply.

"Josh?" She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. The lamp on the desk was the only illumination. Josh was curled up on the bed in a semi-fetal position, still fully clothed, his eyes closed.

But he stirred at the sound of her voice. "I'm awake," he murmured. "Can't sleep."

"Josh." She sighed, placed her things on the desk, and went over to him. "Come on," she said gently. He stared up at her. "You should get out of those clothes." She tried a grin. "And brushing your teeth wouldn't hurt either."

He gave her a small smile at that, and managed to pull himself up out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. While he went about whatever he was doing in there, she turned down the bedcovers and set the alarm clock on the nightstand for a few hours hence. When, she wondered, would either one of them get a decent night's sleep, ever again?

He emerged from the bathroom in his undershirt and boxers and threw his dress clothes in a heap in the corner of the room. Charming. She figured tonight wasn't the best time to give him crap about it, though, so she let it pass. "I'll be right back," she said, scooping up her things and heading into the bathroom herself.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, wincing at the way the harsh light washed out her skin. It was strange to be back here, now, under these circumstances, with pain in her heart and a grieving man waiting for her in bed. This wasn't how she'd imagined election night.

Wasn't how any of them had imagined it.

She shook herself out of it, half-wishing she could be alone, to grieve in her way for a man she never knew as well as she would have liked, but had always admired with all of her heart. But there wasn't time for that, on a night like this. So she changed into the t-shirt, brushed her teeth and washed her face, went to the bathroom. Folded her clothes and left them in a neat pile on the wide counter next to the sink. Steeled herself, and turned the bathroom doorknob.

He was in bed, under the covers, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm surprised you're not asleep already," she said lightly. She left the bathroom light on, but closed the door so that it was only open a crack. "I can't remember when I've ever been so tired." She turned off the desk lamp, walked around the edge of the bed.

"I don't know if I can turn my brain off," she heard him say. "Everything keeps running in my head like -- I don't know, like one of those hamsters." She smiled at the tired metaphor. "Everything that happened today, and everything we have to do tomorrow -- although, it is tomorrow, isn't it? It's already tomorrow."

"It is," she said, slipping into bed beside him. "But you don't need to worry about that now. Right now you just need to worry about getting some sleep." She lay on her back, not touching him, unsure what to do next.

"Okay," he said, and he sounded so young. Lost. Her heart twinged. "Donna?"

"Yes?" She turned her head to look at him; he was barely visible in the dim light.

His voice was very soft. "Would it be all right if I held you?"

Her breath caught; she had to swallow around a lump in her throat. "Yeah," she said, not knowing what else to say.

He pulled her gently toward him, twisting her body so that her back lined up with his chest, then put his arm around her waist, holding her snugly against him. She felt his breath on her shoulder, the rasp of his stubble against her neck. The heat from his body bled into hers instantly, warming her from head to toe. He smelled so familiar, like deodorant and toothpaste and Josh. His hand rested just below her breasts. It was everything they didn't do the night before, and it scared the hell out of her.

"Thanks," he whispered, and she kind of hated that he felt he had to say it.

"Everything's going to be okay, Josh," she said, hoping she sounded reassuring, knowing the words were meaningless on a night like this. "Get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up," she added, sensing that would help.

He nuzzled against her; she could feel his stubble through the thin material of her t-shirt. "Okay," he mumbled. "I can't believe we won." Awe and sleep warred for dominance in the timbre of his voice.

"I can," she said, with his breath warm on her skin.

It wasn't until she heard him fall into the deep, heavy breaths of exhausted slumber that she finally allowed herself to cry.

End.