Author: Coffeeplease
Rating: R (Character Death)
Category: Heavy angst, adult themes, tragedy and
melodrama. Not for the kiddies. AU
Spoiler: Everything’s game up to “Impact Winter”
Disclaimer: John Wells, Aaron Sorkin, NBC, WB... I
have nothing to give you. I gain nothing from this.
Please have mercy.
E-mail address: jamhandy1@...
Archiving permission: Sure, just tell me before you
do.
Notes: My first fan-fic. Just decided to turn WW into
a sudsy soap opera. Inspired by the Roy Orbison song
“Crying”. Feeback is manna from heaven.
He started to cry.
He remembers being in Leo’s, well now CJ’s, office and
being told to sit down. He told them he’d be more
comfortable standing. He thought it was about MS or
China or asteroids or maybe the fact that he had felt,
just a tiny bit, like he had outstayed his usefulness
here. It had to have been big news. Toby, Leo and C.J.
all standing around. Not Kate. Not Annabeth. Not even
Will. Why was C.J. crying?
“What’s wrong, C.J.?”
They had told them to drive to the White House, now.
Maybe they had told him not to stop for red lights, he
didn’t really recall. It was one of the many, many
early morning phone calls he had received over the
years and he wasn’t phased. The only thing he
remembered that they told him, adamantly, over and
over again.... Why did Toby’s voice sound so soft?...
was not to turn on the news. Don’t turn on the TV,
Josh. Don’t turn on the radio. Just get here, as fast
as you can.
“Sit down, Josh.”
Oh God, the President. It must be worse then what they
had been told. Much, much worse. Maybe the
unthinkable had happened. Maybe he had.... he couldn’t
have. MS wasn’t fatal. They knew that much. But C.J.
was crying, Toby looked like he was about to be sick.
Leo looked like after Rosslyn, Mrs. Landingham, Zoey
and a heart attack. Ashen. Sad.
The morning sun cast a dim light over the room. Josh
wouldn’t sit down. Whatever it was, he could take
standing. Sam, something must have happened to Sam.
Josh’s stomach fell into his shoes. Not Sam...
No, it wasn’t Sam.
And a horror, dim in the back of his head, announced
itself. All of a sudden he knew. And he couldn’t
breathe.
Leo told him and he didn’t start crying. He was still
standing and he wasn’t crying. C.J. was sobbing into
her hands and Toby placed a comforting hand on her
shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to make her think...” C.J. wailed and
Toby’s hand clenched and his lips became an even
straighter line.
They would tell him later that all he said was “No.”
“No” to all of it. “No” to too many pain meds and a
half bottle of Merlot found near her bed. “No” to the
fact that it could have been an accident, but no one
knows yet and DC police are talking to Margaret and
Charlie. “No” to the fact that he, later, would have
to talk to the police to see if he noticed anything.
No, they were all very sorry for him. No, he could
take as much time as he needed. No, the funeral would
be on Wednesday. No, the President was on the phone
with her parents now.
“Josh...” Toby’s voice was horrible, soft, invading.
And he stood there. He wasn’t crying.
Vaguely, he knows that someone called for Dr. Bartlet.
Margaret was back from her interview and she was
crying, sobbing hysterically in her office. Ginger was
hugging her, crying. Every damn person around Josh was
crying. And looking at him, as if they were waiting
for something. No one was meeting his eyes.
The first thing he really remembers was that Toby
turned on the news.
“Former White House staffer Donna Moss was found dead
today...”
And then they rolled the B-roll. Toby grabbed for the
remote to turn it off, but it was too late. The
convention, the second one, he was hugging her, she
was wearing red.....
Toby turned off the television.
Josh swallowed hard and didn’t really know if he was
still in his body or not, if he was still alive or
not. He was in shock, of course. He knew he was in
shock. They were all in shock. But the feeling of his
mind not being at all connected to his body was
something new. He hadn’t felt this way since he was
shot.
But because appearances can be deceiving, Leo kept
talking to him. It must have seemed like Josh could
hear what Leo was saying. DC Police were going through
her apartment.
“Josh, I’m so sorry..” C.J. sobbed.
Everything was fuzzy after that. Not until he woke up
much later in the day, when the sun was going down. He
had been sedated. He was being watched. Dr. Bartlet
was crying. She was rubbing his hand, motherly, trying
to tell him something. Something beyond that he had
been sedated and being watched and...
“They found an e-mail. She.... she e-mailed you, Josh.
Right before she died.”
She had quit. Right in the middle of the bullpen. She
had taken her smile and her long blond hair and had
left, left him. He had cried in that hotel room in
Houston, the one with the scratchy sheets. He had
punched in her number.
“Josh, the police read the e-mail.”
She hadn’t understood. That was the thing. That was
what happened when things had to be unspoken for so
long. God, it had been years. So many years and the
touch of her hand to his still drove him crazy. He had
used up a whole box of kleenex in that damn hotel,
alone and crying.
He was going to call her now and tell her that.
“Josh, it wasn’t an accident.”
Of course it wasn’t an accident. It had been an
explosion in Gaza. “Explosion in Gaza... some
fatalities” was what C.J. had said. An accident was
when someone didn’t mean for something to happen.
Obviously the terrorists had meant for it to happen.
It didn’t matter, he hadn’t stopped for red lights,
anyway.
“Josh, Donna meant to do what she did. She e-mailed
you... she e-mailed you a suicide note, Josh. Can you
hear me? Josh?”
He didn’t cry. And he was going to call her now and
tell her that. That he didn’t cry. Didn’t he Sam and
Toby used to go on and on about being “da men?” Hadn’t
he told her to bring him the finest muffins and begals
in the land? Back then, it had been more lust then
love, but he didn’t suppose he should tell her that,
when he talked to her.
“I’m going to call her.”
Dr. Barlet looked terrified. Her hand left his.
“Josh... oh my God.... Josh, you can’t. She’s dead.”
But hadn’t he said “no” earlier? He had said “no” to
all of it. He was the Deputy Chief of Staff, when he
said “no”, didn’t it mean something?
It became fuzzy again and remained fuzzy for days,
weeks, months, years. His mouth was so dry and
parched. Like he had smoked a thousand cigarettes in
ten minutes. Big Tobacco, the hotel in Manchester, by
then it was definitely love and he had wanted to make
love to her on that bed and just forget Big Tobacco
and MS and Bruno. And later, he wanted to forget Cliff
and diaries and Amy and Jack and hospitals in Germany.
At the hospital in Germany, he had wanted to marry
her.
They made him read the e-mail, in the end. Toby was
furious with him. Wouldn’t speak to him. Even years
later, when Josh was drunk and alone and obviously
crying, Toby wouldn’t take his calls. Toby blamed him.
Toby blamed himself. Toby and Andi, when they had
reconciled completely and decided to adopt, had named
the baby girl Donna. Kept honoring the dead by naming
their children... Josh didn’t have any children and he
didn’t date.
C.J. had read the e-mail with him. He had asked her
to. She held his hand, much like Abbey had. C.J.
blamed herself and once, years later, drunk, told Josh
about her conversation with Donna during that lockdown
many years ago. Now Josh blamed her, too. Josh and
C.J. didn’t speak anymore.
Leo saved his life. It seemed, over the years, that
only Leo really understood. Leo, whose father had shot
himself and whose wife had left him. Josh, whose
sister had died in a fire and whose assistant had died
running away from him. Father, wife, sister,
assistant... the one that sounded the most benign was
the one that had caused the most pain.
Sometimes he was angry. Most of the time, though, he
just cried. Leo watched over him. Understood that
Donna's death was something he wasn’t going to just
get over, as some brunette put it when she stood
outside his door months later in a red dress. He had
told her he never wanted to see her again. He blamed
her, too.
The e-mail had told him to marry Amy and be happy.
Have children. Elect another president. Mock
Republicans. Forget about her. Forget about the touch
of her hand and how she felt on his lap riding back in
that over crowded taxi. She wasn’t worth it and she
knew he didn’t love her. She loved him, but she knew
he didn’t love her.
That was when he started to cry.