He didn't turn on the lights as he walked in. Why bother? It was the same cold, empty apartment he had left that morning, and seemed destined to come home to every night.

He shrugged off his overcoat and let it fall in a lump on the floor. His mind was whirling, but his body was exhausted. He'd sit in the dark for a few minutes and contemplate the epiphany he'd had tonight and then go to bed. With any luck he wouldn't even need to get up; he'd simply fall asleep wherever he landed.

Walking into the living room, he was about to sit down on the couch when a tiny squeak alerted him to her presence. He peered down and saw her white-blond hair reflecting the moonlight from the window across the room. "Donna?"

She immediately sat up straighter and wasted no time in pleasantries but plunged right into her reason for being there. "Why did you say that it wasn't what it looked like?"

He looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"You heard me. And you heard me earlier in the office, too," she complained. "I think I deserve an answer." She sounded angry and hurt, but for once Josh couldn't read her _expression clearly.

He countered her questions with a puzzled, "I thought you were on your way to some romantic, snow-bound chalet."

"I was," she answered defensively.

"So why are you here?"

"I need an answer, Josh."

"I'm not sure what you mean," he deflected. "It was just a phrase. Something I said. It didn't mean anything."

"You don't just say things like that. It had to have meant something."

"It didn't."

She got up and grabbed her scarf and coat from the back of the couch, her shoulders hunched dejectedly. Josh swore he heard her sigh, "I'm an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

She turned and faced him squarely, straightening her shoulders. "I'm sorry to have bothered you at home. I'll see you the day after tomorrow in the office." And with those parting words, she started for his front door.

It was the second time that night she had left him, and Josh felt an aching pressure in his chest. She had postponed her trip to ask him this; the least that she deserved was an honest answer.

"Donna, wait." She stopped, but refused to meet his eyes. Part of him was glad, thankful that she was making his confession easier. "You were right. It wasn't just an offhand remark."

She turned slowly, her hopeful gaze meeting his. "What did it mean then?"

He stumbled, trying to find a way to explain something he himself had just realized. "All those guys � the ones you go out with � none of them realize how special you are. And in the past, I may have �"

"May have?"

"Ok, I did. I manufactured reasons for you to stay at work so that you'd be forced to cancel your plans, or I sabotaged your dates by making you come back to the office."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he mumbled.

"That's not an answer," she snapped.

"I don't know," he repeated. "Maybe because I hate seeing you go out with all those gomers."

"Because�?"

"Because� I don't know! I just don't like it."

She refused to let him end the matter so simply. "Why, Joshua? Why don't you like it? Why do you sabotage my dates? Tell me," she pleaded.

"Because they don't deserve you!" he finally exploded. "They don't realize just how special you are, Donna. But I do. I know how hard you've worked to get to where you are. I know what this job means to you. But it's more than just the job � it's you. I know how you nibble on your lips when you're concentrating. I know how you twirl a pencil in your fingers when you're thinking. I know that you like your coffee sweet and your bagel to be cinnamon raisin. I know that you love to go shoe shopping but hate to be a slave to fashion. I know you like music from the eighties and that your prefer comfort sours to wine. I know how you can curl up and catch a few minutes of sleep no matter where you are. I know *you,* Donna."

By the time he had finished, she was staring at him with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Josh, why couldn't you have told me any of this sooner?"

"I didn't - I didn't know how. I thought that somehow you would understand without me saying it," he told her softly.

"I didn't," she confessed. "I hoped, but I didn't know."

He shrugged, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. He'd said it aloud; there was no turning back now. "Is it too late?" he asked, afraid of what her answer might be.

"No," she whispered. "It's not too late." She started to walk towards him and he held out his arms. She fell into them gratefully and he held her close, gently kissing the top of her golden head.

"We'll find a way to make this work," he promised.

"I know we will. Because now we both know," she answered with a smile. And then she tilted her head upwards and the need for words became unnecessary.

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