Title: Inevitable
Author: A.j.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Follows events in “Gaza” and “Memorial Day”, but takes a hard right 
before The “NSF Thurmont”.
Notes: This is that thing I was kinda telling Amanda about last week.  It's 
short, it's experimental, and I'm not 100% certain it worked.  ANGST!!

Summary: They lose Donna on a Thursday.  Josh is already gone.

[()]

The funeral is on a Tuesday.

It's a warm, sunny day in June.  The birds are singing, the air is clean, and 
Josh Lyman is staring straight ahead while Donna's mother sobs on her 
father's shoulder.

Everyone is crying.

Josh is not.

The service is tasteful and mercifully quick.  People stream around the 
grave, placing dirt and flowers on the shiny black coffin before disappearing 
into limos and suv's and sedans.  A sea of people all in black.

Josh is not the last to leave.  He places his rose just on top of CJ's.  
Accepts the back slaps and Leo's pained looks.  Sits quietly while the limo 
speeds towards the airport and nods when spoken to.

No one is surprised when he doesn't speak to anyone the entire flight back.  
No one sees how white his knuckles are on the arms of his seat, even though 
they are looking.

That Wednesday morning he isn't the first person in the bullpen, but he is 
there.  He interviews temps and finally settles on a middle-aged woman named 
Susan.  It is Friday.  She smiles at him and knows how to use the intercom in 
the first ten minutes.

Leo calls Stanley on a Monday.  It is rainy day in July, and Donna is nearly 
two months in the ground.  He tells the doctor about Josh's even temper and 
his kindness.  Speaks of how everyone is worried and how Susan brings Josh 
coffee in the morning and never lets him miss an appointment.  Says he 
doesn't know what to do.

Stanley just smiles sadly into the phone and says Josh is coming to see him, 
and that's all he |can| say.

Josh is cautious when anyone corners him, unsure in ways no one would have 
ever associated with him.  Looks sad.  Looks haunted.  Shakes his head and 
shrugs.  "What's next?" he asks.

People learn not to question this.  It is easier, and Josh is still doing his 
job.  Possibly better than before.  He is focused.  Sure.  Determined.  His 
success on the Hill is unprecedented and brutal.  Things fall into line for 
Josh Lyman.  Josh Lyman gets things done.

It's obvious he really doesn't care.

Leo and the President watch him with shuttered eyes and heavy hearts.  But 
they are two old men with nothing to say.  So they say nothing.

Time moves on.  Seasons change.  Years pass.

On January 21, Josh smiles at his friends and tells them he will be in 
Manchester at the end of the week.  They are smiling now too.  They are used 
to the rings around his eyes and the tension in his posture.  They smile and 
wave.  They have ended their time in the west wing.  It is a time of letting 
go.

Abbey Bartlet kisses him on the cheek and hugs him for a full five minutes 
before walking away.  She doesn't look back.

He never arrives.

Two years later, a postcard with a grainy photo of the Grand Canyon on the 
front arrives in Manchester.  The only message is a slanted "Goodbye" that 
both is and isn't completely Josh.

Josiah Bartlet smiles down at the tiny donkey on the front and hugs his wife 
to his side, possibly a little tighter than normal.  It is not a happy smile.  
"I'm not surprised."

-fin-