A Time to Every Purpose

by Vicki James, 2000

Disclaimer: The West Wing and its characters are the property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement is intended.

Please do not post or distribute this story without the author's permission.

Summary: My vision of what took place after Donna informed Josh that his father had died, as seen in the episode In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Part Two.

******

"You've got to get happy, Donna! You've just won the Illinois primary. Come, dance with me."

The exhilaration and delight in his expression made him look so boyish, and I hated so much to be the one to have to wipe that jubilation from his face. But I had taken the call, received the news. The voice on the other end of the telephone had spoken those stark words to me at the same moment the cheering in the room had sounded at the confirmation of the Governor's win.

"No, Josh, your father died," I said, delivering the message quickly and pointedly. Soft words wouldn't soften the blow.

Josh stopped. He just stopped, shut down. That's the only way I can describe it. One moment a look of joy was written on his features and the next his expression was blank, a slate wiped clear. His arms fell loosely to his sides; his body froze.

"What?" he whispered, as though he hadn't heard or understood. But the dawning agony on his face made it clear he had.

"Your...Aunt Sophie? She just called. There were unexpected complications when your father went in for his treatment today, and he died of cardiac arrest. I'm *so* sorry, Josh." Looking at his now obvious distress I in fact felt my sorrow for him as an almost palpable thing. I hurt for him.

Josh nodded at his comprehension of my words and in acceptance of my meagerly voiced condolences. He turned in the direction of our reveling colleagues, ran a hand through his hair, and then swung back to face me.

"I have to go," he said. He brushed past me toward the door.

"I'll help you pack." I darted to keep up with him.

From the corner of my eye I saw Margaret making a beeline toward us, two glasses of champagne in her hands and an elated look on her face. I turned to intercept her.

"Not now," I said, a bit too sharply. Margaret's gleeful expression fell, to be replaced by one of surprise and puzzlement. I felt bad but there would be an opportunity for explanations and apologies later. Right then I followed Josh out the door.

In the comparative quiet of the hallway he paused, shoulders slumped. I gently placed a hand under his elbow and guided him down the corridor toward his room. At the door he fumbled with the key, so I took it from him and slid it into the lock, then I ushered him through the door.

"Do you want to call your mother?" I asked. "I have the number for the hospital."

He shook his head. "I'll call her on the way to the airport," he advised before disappearing into the bathroom.

Josh's suitcase was still mostly packed, though everything inside of it was jumbled about haphazardly. I grabbed the two suits he had hanging up and folded them neatly on top of the mess just as he came out of the bathroom with a shaving kit in one hand and a bottle of shampoo in the other.

"Dad was going to call me tonight after we won, to share in our victory," he murmured as I took his toiletries from him. "Instead, I get a call telling me he's dead."

I tossed his items into his case without looking, not wanting to break his stricken eyes' hold on mine. His grief was almost tangible and I wished I could take it in my hands and lift it from him.

Before I could offer any inadequate words to console him he spoke again.

"I wasn't there, Donna," he rasped out, his voice catching on the words. "He died and I wasn't there."

I swallowed back my own cry of anguish. I could grieve for Josh in private. Right now I could offer him strength and support. Though we'd become comfortable with each other in the brief time we'd worked together, our relationship was one of boss and employee. Oh I suppose we were friends to some degree but there was still the boundary of a working relationship between us. Yet I had no qualms about breaching that wall in my need to offer comfort to Josh.

"You didn't know," I whispered. I took a step toward him and put my arms around him, pulling him close.

His arms wound about me without hesitation and his head dropped to my shoulder. We stayed like that for I don't know how long. Josh didn't shake, so he didn't cry, at least not on the outside. But I felt his chest rise and fall against mine as he drew in deep breaths. I like to think he drew some strength from me, and God knows I would have offered a portion of my will up to Josh had that been possible.

Eventually he disentangled himself to step back, only to place his hands on my shoulders and look me square in the eye.

"I haven't said this before and I'll probably never say it again, but it was a smart thing I did, hiring you."

The corners of my mouth turned up in a tremulous smile. "Working for you is the best job I've ever had," I offered softly. It was true. I didn't mean working on the Bartlet campaign, I meant working for him, for Josh.

"I suppose now you'll want a raise?" The shadow of a grin teased briefly across his face.

"Just as soon as Bartlet gets elected president," I shot back. I was getting subsistence pay, though I largely suspected it was coming from directly from Josh's pocket.

Josh shoved a few items into his backpack as I closed his suitcase. He took it from me and I followed him from the room. As we made our way through the hotel and out to the street to find Josh a cab he kept up a steady litany of things he needed me to attend to. Too many things, in fact. I had to shush him to get him into the cab.

"Josh, wait," I said as he opened the car door. "Do you want me to go with you?" I didn't entirely feel it was my place to do so, yet I hated the idea of him having to spend all that time travelling alone with his thoughts.

After a moment's hesitation he shook his head. "No," he replied. "I'm okay." He really did sound like he was, at least for the time being.

"Take care," I told him, leaning forward to give him a light kiss on the cheek. "And don't worry! I've got everything here under control."

"You're a good friend, Donna," was his simple response. Then he got into the taxi and it sped him away.

Our relationship reached a turning point that night, and though I was still filled with grief for Josh, the thought warmed me.

As I turned back to the hotel, I stuck my hands in my pockets and my fingers encountered a flat object. I pulled out an envelope that contained a silly card I had bought for Josh, both to congratulate him on tonight's victory and to thank him for giving me a chance. I hadn't had an opportunity to give it to him.

I'd hang on to it. There would be a time for that later.

******

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-4

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