Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Hope it's worth it. Anyway- small point to clarify: in order to fit in my story line, "Two Cathedrals" takes place in April when, as we all know, it actually takes place in May. I also hope to account for Sam's jittery behavior and his insistence that the disclosure be called off. Beware, major spoilers! Set before and during season finale. Not to mention my sincerest apologies to Aaron Sorkin for stealing some dialogue all in good fun.

Wednesday, April 18^th. 10:32 am. Number of headaches still 1. Percentage of time spent worrying about 3^rd disaster 100. Number of umbrellas found 0. Number of umbrellas borrowed 1.

Today's the day. Every one is so jittery- it gives us a false illusion of action. Like the old days. Instead of running around to accomplish things, we're like chickens with their heads cut off, frantically running in all directions as we wait for things to happen.

The funeral's around noon. The announcement: prime time, eight o'clock sharp. And then the press conference at nine.

Then: all hell shall break loose. As if it hasn't already.

There has to be a positive side. There's always a silver lining, isn't there? Isn't that what people say?

People suck. I have been trying for two days straight now to keep a cheery disposition in the face of adversity. And people not only think I'm insane, but my boss ate me yesterday, and I still have some unresolved feelings about that.

It comes in threes.

Unfortunately, I mentioned this to Sam. Which I probably shouldn't have done, because if he wasn't wound tight as a drum before, he is now. And when Sam gets a hold of something like that- he doesn't stop. I heard him and Toby arguing by Mr. Coffee this morning:

"Threes, Toby."

"Yeah."

"Something's going to happen. Something really bad is going to happen and we are powerless to resist."

"Yeah."

"Armageddon could be approaching right now-"

"Okay, Sam? If you go any where near caffeine today, I will impale you upon the battlements with a large pike."

"The White House doesn't have battlements."

"Won't stop me."

"Okay. I think I'll just see what Josh is up to then."

"Good idea." And Toby took Sam's coffee cup into his custody all morning.

Sam, however, told Josh, who of course mentioned that to me.

"You told Sam that things come in threes?"

"Yes, Josh."

"Albeit that Sam probably already knew that things come in threes, but you had to mention it to him today of all days?"

"It slipped out."

"Yeah."

"But it's true."

"True or not, we do not need a Deputy Communications officer more insane than usual."

"Sam is not insane- he is reasonably concerned."

"Can you just refrain from mentioning this again?"

"I make no promises, Joshua."

"Could you get me some coffee?"

"No."

"It's going to be a very stressful day"

"No."

"You're not as nice anymore."

"So bite me."

"I did that yesterday." Smirk. Good God, he's insufferable when he flirts with me. And cute. And sexy- ding-DONG!

He only got a smile. No coffee. It's a compromise- one of the tactics of good political strategy, according to Mr. High and Mighty Josh. Anyway, he had to go give CJ the tobacco thing before this morning's briefing.

It's been his only source of confidence. Lately I've been hoping just as much that he gets to kick some ass. I carefully reminded him not to tell CJ that his comments were "spicy."

"Why not?"

"Cuz she has enough problems as it is."

"I am lighting a fire."

"I hope that's rhetoric there, cuz you have a rep for burning down the West Wing already."

"Those cigarette companies and their cronies are gonna burn and years from now, it shall be said, Josh Lyman lit a fire."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, then, Miss Smarty-Pants, what should I say?"

"Let Bartlet be Bartlet."

"Let Bartlet be Bartlet?"

"It's his fire too."

"Let Bartlet be Bartlet. I have to remember that."

He actually wore a complete suit today. No wrinkles or stains. A good suit. On par with the Joey Lucas/regular Tuesday suit. And a tie. He's been sitting in his office, having meetings all morning with a tie on. It's almost surreal. I feel a deep-seated need to check to make sure he's not a replicant or an alien bounty hunter or something that might look like Josh but can really suck my blood. Still, despite the dapper outfit, he still looked incredibly weary. Not in top notch fighting form.

And as a result of Toby's threats, Sam was not at his best either for most of the morning. Sad, really, to have a perfectly good speechwriter just snap like that. Josh insisted that it was my fault. Sam apparently wants to call the whole thing off now because it's cursed. Decided not to respond to Josh in any way- that just makes him more annoyed- until had scary revelation:

What if Sam snapping was number three?

Oh dear.

Ohmygoodness, ohmygoodness, ohmygoodness. Charlie just stopped by. I have a job to do. For the president.

Me. Donnatella Moss. My lips were numb, I couldn't even do auto-gibberish.

That is, until Charlie very un-cavalierly mentioned that the president did not specifically ask for me to do him a favor but rather for just some help in a very general sense.

I suppose that's okay too. The only kind of help people think I'm good at providing is the devious kind. CJ thought so when she was under Bast's curse and so did Kathy after she ate another one of Sam's donuts.

But hey, I serve at the pleasure of the president. I just hope I get it right.

Something about a tropical storm? It's moving from Florida to South Carolina and according to Charlie, the president says that he's pretty sure it's weird to have a tropical storm at this time of year.

The omen of "Number Three" rears its ugly head. Some freaky-ass weather is gonna blow a power line and electrocute someone. Note to self: remind Josh to stay away from live wires.

Speaking of Josh, Charlie is also looking for pallbearers for the funeral. Guess who I volunteered?

Uh-huh. And I think I'll go tell him about that right now.

"Hey Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"You almost ready to go?"

"Hmmmm?"

"The motorcade, Josh. It's going to leave in fifteen minutes."

"I only have twenty-after"

"Your watch sucks, Josh."

"Okay." He sighs heavily, tossing the papers he was looking at into yet another one of many piles on his desk. He calls it a filing system. I call it a mess. He gets up and stretches, then is forced to look around for his jacket. Ha-ha, I got it first.

"This is a nice suit." Casually remarked as I help him get the jacket on. "A Joey Lucas suit?"

Angry, exasperated sigh. "Donna, this is my regular"

"Wednesday suit? No- that one generally has lots of stains and wrinkles. Plus no tie."

"I wear ties, " he says sullenly, attempting to straighten his. Ah, it's times like these when a man realizes he really needs you.

Smile. I grip his tie and begin to fix it for him. "Uh-huh. Sure you do." Deep breath. "Josh? Can you be a pallbearer?"

"A what?"

"A pallbearer at the funeral. I volunteered you."

"You volunteered me?"

"Charlie was looking for able-bodied gentlemen."

"And you volunteered me."

"Uh-huh. And you really shouldn't argue with a someone who has the opportunity and means to throttle you."

"Doesn't, you know, the family generally get people to do that?" He sighs, running a hand through his tangled hair.

"She didn't have a lot of family left," I say softly, resting my hands on his lapels. So that line of professionalism is getting a bit blurry. At this point, I don't care.

"Oh. So what exactly do I do?" Looking down on me, as if I have all the answers.

"Sit up front with the others-I think Charlie was going to ask Sam and Toby too. And carry the casket outside at the end."

"I can do that. I'm very able-bodied." Goddamn if he ain't right- and at this close proximity- it's practically verbal foreplay. Oooohprobably not the most appropriate feelings for today but standing close, my hands resting on his chest, god help me, I think my knees are rubbery.

I didn't reply, instead I ended up lowering my eyes and contemplating those rubbery knees. When I look up, I see his eyes full of concern. "I'm sorry, Donnatella," he whispers, rubbing my shoulders.

Why oh why must he be so sensitive and nice?

"I'm fine."

"You always say that."

"So do you."

Silence. All I can do is look at him, as he looks at me, standing still in a half embrace, each of us more concerned for one another than ourselves.

"I didn't light a fire."

"I heard. The Haiti thing?"

"Yeah." I step back, the moment is over. "You should get to the motorcade."

"Yeah." He sighs again, and looks down, before he retreats and turns to get his coat. I begin to leave but stop at the door, following my customary habits.

I feel better now that I've told him. I hope it helps him like it helped me. It's the little things now that matter- that help to get us through the muddle of gigantic obstacles in the face of overwhelming odds.

Sam's still freaking out and lobbying for postponement, Toby's been bellowing at people about the lighting in the Mural Room from the window, Leo's constantly in meetings, CJ's snapping at shadows and no one has seen the President at all. Not to mention Josh's spit-fire being put on hiatus.

We all need those moments of normalcy, of hope. Of fire- to ward off the rain. Now if only I could find my umbrella before the services.

Before he left for the motorcade, Josh saw me rummaging through my desk for the aforementioned runaway umbrella. He lent me his, smiled and went to meet Sam and Toby.

Ever the gentleman. I felt like I should of simpered and curtsied at the gesture, but I just kind of gaped in elated astonishment while he walked off.

Though now his suit will get wet. Damn, and he was looking so good all morning too.

But then, I would probably think he'd look hot in just about anything, so I guess that's a bit unnecessary.

Geez, are the two of us getting sappy. I'm quoting literature to him and he's lending me his umbrella. And we're not even dating!

Yet.

I went to the cathedral with Margaret and Carol. We sat next to each other, right behind CJ. So my view was a bit obscured but the church is so large, it almost didn't matter.

It was so beautiful. The tall white walls and the elaborate rose window in the back. I would kill to get married there. (By now, I should think it's obvious whom I envision the groom to be.) If I had my funeral there, I also wouldn't mind that either- though I hope the marriage comes first, and the funeral long after.

The turnout was amazing. The church was full- not an easy task, mind you. You can lay the Washington Monument on its side and it would fit inside the National Cathedral. But then- everyone knows that.

I sat in my assigned pew, clutching a tissue for the entire service. The funny thing is, I didn't cry. I couldn't cry.

I mean, it's not like I'm impervious to everything that's going on. I'm scared, I'm worried. Heartsick. Grieving. Stressed. Like everyone else.

I guess it's just the Moss way. Forbearance in the face of tragedy, and refusal to admit our true feelings to ourselves and others. Hell, it took me two and a half years to come to the conclusion that I was in love with Josh. And I still won't tell him that.

I bottle things up. It's what I do. It's unhealthy and probably unwise, but it remains locked inside and gets channeled into worry over meaningless things. Like falling satellites and the curse of threes.

Charlie read well. He carried himself with a lot of dignity, I thought. Much more than I would have had if I had read. Then I would have cried- simply because then I would be more embarrassed afterwards.

She was a remarkable woman. There are no more like her left. She buried two sons and a husband. Made it to the White House- three feet away from the Oval Office no less. The President respected her, relied on her, practically grew up with her.

She was more than just an assistant. She believed in him, helped him get through what needed to be done. And reminded him of the things that should be done, lest he forget.

No one wants to eat their vegetables but it's the right thing to do. People may not want to pay higher taxes so that welfare programs can help those in need but it's still the right thing to do, like it or not.

I wonder if Josh feels this way about me. I mean, ever since the Sculpture Garden Epiphany, I have known that he, at the very least, likes me. But I wonder if he thinks of me like the President must be thinking of Mrs. Landingham right now- with admiration, respect and awe. (As Sam would say, three words that mean the same thing.)

Nah. I mean, with the "gomers" I date, he doesn't seem to have much awe for me there. Or with my penmanship. Or with how I refused to loan Mexico money. That is, until he convinced me otherwise.

He took the time to convince me though. He got out his sister's eighth grade history textbook and pled his case to me, right there in his office, as if I were someone that mattered. As if I were more than an assistant.

A girl can dream, can't she?

Have had troubling news since lunch. Kathy heard from Ginger who heard from Carol who spoke to Margaret at the coffee machine around three that the President is making his decision now.

Reelection.

The fate of our futures.

Just him and Leo, in a locked room, contemplating the pros, weighing the cons.

This can't be happening. This can't be how it works.

Must keep reminding self to breathe in and out. Believe that brain has seriously malfunctioned and is no longer obligated to sustain life without constant reminders. If this were a hundred years ago, I would have had the vapors.

My life as I know it could be no more.

And it all comes down to two men behind closed doors, mulling over the biggest decision of their lives.

This cannot be fair. This cannot be how it works. It just can't.

Right now, Josh, CJ, Sam and Toby (or the Big Four, as I am calling them now) are having a council of war in Toby's office. Most likely, coming up with strategy on what to do with whatever decision Leo and the President come up with.

What if he says no? What if, this is it? What is left for me now?

I could always go back to school. I should. I can't meander my way through jobs without a degree.

But what about Josh? What about this life I've made for myself here? Sure, my apartment sucks, my roommate's a bitch, my pay isn't all that great and I have a non-existent love life. But I have friends. And a fulfilling job. And the hope of a love life with the man who just happens to be my boss.

I can't give this up. Where should I go? What should become of me?

What will become of Josh? Will he work for Hoynes? I mean, he did before he joined up with Bartlet. Will he stay in the West Wing for four more years? And if so, with me as his assistant?

President Hoynes. For some reason, that doesn't sound right to me.

I mean, I've met him and he seems like an okay guy. Not a great guy, not someone I'd like to see on a daily basis, but he's okay.

Josh meanders from respect to complete loathing. But I think that's just the jogging meetings talking there.

What if he becomes Chief of Staff? Good heavens, I'd have a melt down like Margaret and start coming up with bizarre conspiracy theories about the mess' salads.

This can't be happening. I don't want my future decided my these men without my input. I don't want to leave, I don't want to be without the place and the people that have been my home these last few years.

Josh is back. That was quick, it's only four o'clock. But Ginger did mention something about Leo making sure Toby had some appointment this afternoon, so I guess that's now.

I have to confront Josh. I need to know what the hell is going on- I haven't seen him since the funeral and I'm pretty sure I missed out on a whole lot of stuff at that meeting. I need him to reassure me that I have a future here.

And that the future is with him.

I should carry a folder in there with me to pretend I need to talk on work related matters. There's a pale blue one that has some recipes in it from the gals that I've been collecting. Good as any, I suppose.

"It was a nice service, don't you think?"

His back is to me, and he's bending over his desk, intent on a file. It's almost like he didn't hear me. As if I wasn't there.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was." Says a disembodied voice that seems to be emanating from Josh. Doom and gloom has descended upon us, I know it. Number three, number three.

"I'm going to run across the street to the OAOB for a minute. The President's still after information on the storm. I'm not sure why he's got it in his teeth."

Great excuse, me! And it's partly true too. I was going to do just that, as soon as Josh tells me that the world remains round and this is not the way the system works and that we will be together and employed for a long time.

"Yeah," says the disembodied voice once more.

Uh-oh. Must have been a bad meeting.

Can't control myself any longer. "Josh, can this really be how it works? We have no idea if he's gonna run again, he's in a room with Leo making a decision? Two people in a matter of minutes? This is how it works?"

The phone rings. Goddammit! I want my answer! I deserve an answer!

A sigh from Josh. He moves aside so I can answer the phone. "It's how it works today."

I cannot believe this. He cannot simply sit back and take this lightly. Well, I know he's not taking this lightly cuz he looks and sounds like he was hit by a Mack truck. But this still is not fair.

I pick up the phone. "Josh Lyman's office."

"Donna. Is he there?"

"Josh? It's Leo." I hand him the phone.

It's got to be the decision. I try to read Josh's face- but curse the man, he can be so unreadable at times, and just as I was about to come to a conclusion as to what the decision was based on Josh's imperceptible physical signs, Toby burst in, scaring the shit out of me.

More than usual, that is.

"Josh? Greg Summer-Hayes was here to offer me a job- Leo got me a life boat. I'm gonna rip his arms off and beat him with his own."

Do you now realize why I live in fear of this man?

Thankfully, Josh interrupted him before he could elaborate further. "That was Leo. He wants us over there." As Josh pushed his way through the door, he said enigmatically, "It's Answer B."

I follow him down the hall on his way to the Oval Office. Toby, thankfully seems to be frozen still in Josh's office. Which, quite frankly is fine by me, cuz I have some more questions for Josh and I like my arms exactly where they are.

"What's Answer B?"

"Donna-"

"What's Answer B, Josh? Does this mean he's running?"

"Donna-"

"How could he decide so fast? There are things to take into account, issues that need to be discussed with people other than just Leo-"

"Donna-"

"What is Answer B?" I'm pleading with him now. I need an answer. We stop in front of Leo's office.

"Go and get the storm info."

"To hell with the storm info. What is going on, Josh? What did he decide?"

"He needs you to do a job right now. Please."

I look away, and see Toby coming down the hall with Sam close on his heels. Damn. "Yeah."

"Thank you," he says with such sincerity I can almost forgive him for keeping me in the dark. Almost.

"I'm using your umbrella," I say curtly. "And I may or may not give it back."

I walk off before he can reply to that. If he isn't going to inform me about my fate, he can damn well get wet. This is a hostage situation.

The umbrella for Answer B.

What a night this has been. I think I must amend my earlier statement- things might just in fact come in fours.

There's asbestos in the East Room. Been there the entire time we've worked here.

I feel ill.

Found out belatedly when I came back from speaking with the head forecaster from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Why am I always the last to hear of these things?

Josh was not in least worried about his health. He should be. He has a delicate system.

He thinks this is another wave of satellite paranoia. I say that if I continue to feel ill, I'm suing the White House.

I don't think I need reproduce Josh's comments on that. He was being very rude.

So I still have his umbrella. I've decided that the hostage situation can and must continue, since technically, he never told me about Answer B.

I had to find out with the rest of the world. When the President answered Sandy's question- after completely ignoring the Times' chief medical correspondent. Lawrence Altman is his name, I think. He was CJ's man.

And I bet she's pretty mad right now.

He's running again.

Though right now, I'm not sure if that's for better or worse. There'll be subpoenas and hearing and mudslinging and long nights and lies and truth and in general, a big mess.

But I'm going to battle it through with Josh.

He told me afterwards that he had thought the answer would be no. He had seemed pretty despondent after I had left. I wonder if Josh?

The little things will see us through. I know it.

And so does the President. I got to talk with him, by the way. Just me and him. I didn't even look at my notes. I answered everything- and I could have gone on even longer if CJ hadn't come in with last minute prepping advice.

He was intent on my every word, hunched over in his seat and clasping his hands together. It was very gratifying.

What sucks is that the storm really is a freaky occurrence. Not once in the last century has a something like this cropped up near Washington so long before the tropical storm season begins (which I now know is June 1^st to November 30^th).

Tell me that this is not a sign. It's an omen if I ever saw one and I don't need to be able to read palms to tell you that.

Yet, the President seemed to find comfort in those factoids so maybe it is just me. Yet, I should think that a man of his great intelligence should have read "Julius Caesar" and everyone knows that a storm is a sign. A bad sign. A portent of things to come.

A Number Four, so to speak.

Leo wouldn't let anyone work on strategy anymore. As soon as the conference was over, he basically ushered everyone to their cars, mandating that they get a good night's sleep in their own beds before the shit hits the morning papers.

Needless to say, I had to practically drag Josh to his car.

At least he apologized for not telling me.

"I just couldn't"

"I know, Josh."

"Yeah."

"In the car, Joshua. You're stalling."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am no-ot!"

"Get in the damn car!"

"Alright already." Yet he didn't move. Sometimes I question if he didn't get those diplomas by mail "I thought it was over, for a few hours there."

"Me too." He's hesitated. He had something to say and he was contemplating whether he should say it or not. Oh no oh no oh no

"I don't know what I would do without you."

GULP. Ohmychristalive. Quip, woman, quip! "Probably end up hopelessly lost in every way while wearing disreputable clothes."

"Probably." He grinned then got all serious again. "Just drive careful, okay?"

"Okay. Get in the car."

"I'd run red lights for you, you know?

"Not tonight, Josh."

"No. Not tonight."

It was really touching actually. I suppose it's my over romantic notions that convolute what he says into this warped fantasy that he would be stricken with grief and fling himself over my grave in tears, crying out my name to the hills, had it been me and not Mrs. L. No, the moors. Like Heathcliff and Cathy.

What is it with me and those Gothic, masochistic heroines?

God help me, I love that man.

I am a woman on the edge. That line of ours is being walked like a tightrope and right now, I'm teetering on the edge. Just because he's going to run doesn't mean he'll win. We're on the brink of what could be the end of it all. I can't really say if it's a triumph or a loss. We're taking the biggest risk of our lives right here, right now.

We're on the brink of something big.

Isn't there some kind of cliché about there being a fine line between insanity and genius?

This is line of insanity.

Of to be or not to be.

That is the question.

As I drove myself home, the sound of the raindrops against my windshield was doing nothing for my morale. So I turned on the radio and flicked around and caught some Bob Marley:

"Get up, stand up. Everythin' will be all right"

Words to live by, my friends. Words to live by.