Title: Confluence

Author: freak-pudding

Disclaimer: The West Wing and all associated articles are the sole property of Aaron Sorkin and NBC. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: Tragedy, media mix-ups, and a living funeral. Just how much is it going to take? JD AU-S.5 ending

Author's Notes: Inspired by the episode of MASH where the Army thinks that Pierce is dead. I was awake and bored, and this is what came out. Dialogue ganked from Gaza and Memorial Day where appropriate. 8:15 AM US/Eastern 3:15 PM Asia/Jerusalem. Chapter titles are taken from WW episode titles; some may be slightly altered. I honestly don't know where this is going, but hang on. Don't expect regular updates. School cuts in, so do my other fandoms. I'll write when I find the inspiration.

Prologue: What Kind of Day Has It Been

Prologue: What Kind of Day Has It Been

Josh tilts his head back, squinting into the harsh Israeli sun. Sweat pours down his back in uncomfortable rivulets, soaking into his jeans and sticking his shirt to his skin.

"…briefing books should put you right out."

"Good idea. I should get somebody to hit me over the head with one."

Dust floats in lazy clouds across the horizon, herds of swirling devils crossing the dirt path and hindering the progress of cars and mules alike. Everything is bright and blurry across the yard, and Josh pulls his sunglasses down over his eyes with a grimace.

Congressmen add ambience, though he wishes they'd just shut up.

"They're a displaced population."

"Displaced? The Palestinians moved what—15, 20 miles? Did you ever move? I grew up in Dayton."

"They're still refugees."

Andi and Fitz join at last.

"You know," the admiral remarks casually, "after 50 years, one option might be to get over it."

Josh grins at this, keeping his eyes trained on the checkpoint gates and the two figures near it.

"They look cute together," Andi observes, leaning contentedly out from the interior of an SUV. Josh cuts his eyes at her, refusing to take the bait. He takes a swig from the water bottle in his hand, droplets flinging onto the parched ground and peppering the front of his shirt with darkened specks.

"How long 'til we go back?"

"Can't stand the heat, son?"

Fitzwallace claps him hard on the shoulder, and Josh winces at the strength. The admiral chuckles at him and moves toward the second SUV. Josh makes a face at his back, and Andi laughs.

"Shut up."

- - -

"CJ!"

"CJ!"

8:37 AM

"CJ!"

Day of the Explosion

"Hang on!" CJ snaps, stuffing the earpiece in, hands flailing in a frantic motion of stop. "All right, I have to listen in while I'm speaking; I'll tell you everything I know as I learn it!"

"CJ!"

"At approximately 3:15 PM, local Israeli time, a bomb went off at the side of a road at the Erez Checkpoint in Gaza, hitting the last of three black Suburbans carrying members of the Congressional—"

"CJ! Is anyone dead?"

"I-I don't—I don't know! We're getting…Yes, we're getting preliminary reports from unidentified Israeli sources—"

"Is anyone dead?"

"I don't—"

- - -

"Donna!"

The orange scarf flutters around her face as she laughs, green-tinted sunglasses setting off her alabaster skin. Josh cups his hands to his mouth.

"DONNA!"

She casts one petulant glance over her shoulder.

"And they say looks can't kill."

"Shut up," he sighs, shading his face with one grime-covered hand. Andi laughs again. "DONNA!"

She gives him the full-on death glare this time, and he winces again. Colin glances his way as well, leaning in to whisper something in Donna's ear. She giggles.

That angry red-hot feeling in his gut is only the humidity.

"DONNA!"

- - -

"All right, I've got some new information."

"CJ, is anyone—?"

"Have they confirmed—"

"—retaliatory measures—"

"Still just the three confirmed," CJ interrupts.

"Was it a suicide bomber?"

"It was not a suicide attack," she says firmly. "I've already…"

"Are they—?"

"—two more from—"

"No claims of…"

The clamor grows, oddly proportionate to the throbbing in her head.

"HEY!"

Silence reigns suddenly.

"Is this working for you?" she asks, anger flooding her tone. "Now if you'll ask your questions one at a time like, oh, I don't know, every other time we've done this the past five years maybe you'll come away from this with something to write and maybe I'll still be speaking to one or two of you when I climb down from here."

She sighs, relishing the fleeting calm.

"Yes, Katie."

"Is the administration considering military action in response to today's attack?"

"The immediate focus is on gathering information on who might have been responsible and bringing them to justice."

"Will military action be more likely because a member of the White House staff was on the trip?"

Her voice hardens around the edges, and she graces Danny with one of her rare glares of rage.

"I'm not going to let you take me down that path. Steve."

- - -

"DONNA!"

"Your boss is a little commanding," Colin says, accent rolling his words through the air. Donna refuses to look over her shoulder again.

"Yeah, he is," she sighs. "Look, it was really great meeting you and seeing all those things. I never would've—"

"DONNA!"

"You should probably go," Colin nods, throwing a quick glance at Josh.

"Yeah," Donna sighs again. After an awkward moment of hesitation, she sticks out her hand. "Well, it really was wonderful to meet you."

"You as well," the photographer replies, kissing her knuckles. "Goodbye, Donna Moss."

"DONNA!"

"I'm coming!" she shouts back irritably. "Bye, Colin. You should come to the White House some time."

"I will," he promises with a wink.

"DONNA!"

"I'm coming!"

- - -

"CJ—"

"Hang on, Danny!" she practically snarls, digging the earpiece in. "Chris was first."

"CJ—"

"I said Chris!"

There is fleeting silence in the press room.

"CJ, has anything been confirmed?"

"We know that there are fatalities," CJ nods. "I've just been handed a memo from Leo's office—"

"AP's reporting five!"

"I've still only got three confirmed here," she sighs. "Two unidentified bodies. No names yet. Yes, Sandy!"

"CJ, what does the President plan for retaliation?"

"Well, I don't know, but I'll run right down to the Sit Room and find out for you," CJ says dryly.

"Will the president ask the Israelis to carry out any military retaliation?"

"We're strongly urging Israel and the Palestinian Authority to refrain from doing anything to further enflame tensions in the region. Steve."

"Will there even be retaliation?"

"A CODEL envoy was bombed. You bet your ass there'll be retaliation."

"CJ!"

- - -

She walks leisurely to the cars, head held high.

"He was cute," Andi grins. "You enjoy your break?"

"No," Donna sighs, casting Josh one deeply hate-filled glare. "It's not what you think. I spent the whole time getting nagged."

"I don't nag," Josh pouts.

"So how was he?" Andi asks, giving Donna a significant poke. The women seem to be ignoring Josh's presence.

"Couldn't tell ya," the aide sighs, giving her smirking boss another scathing look. "His name is Colin Ayres, he's a photojournalist, and I'm betting he would've been great in bed if certain irritating persons were not present at all times."

"He's Irish," Josh scoffs.

"My father's Irish," Donna returns crossly. Josh doesn't even have the decency to look sheepish.

"Let's go, folks! We're moving out!"

"Whatever," Josh replies, that damnable smirk still in place. Donna whacks him not-so-lightly with her overlarge purse as she passes.

"Come on, Josh. You're holding up the motorcade."

"Motorcade," Josh mutters, closing Andi's door as she slides onto the leather seat. "It's three damn SUVs, Donna! That's not a motorcade."

"Black cars?" she says to Fitz, ignoring him again. "Good choice for this climate."

"—barely even dignified as a—"

"Just get in the damn SUV, Joshua!"

Fitz laughs, holding open the door for Donna.

"Everybody's this angry now, what must it have been like before air conditioning?"

- - -

Toby paces back and forth, between CNN and MSNBC, between sanity and psychosis, between depression and elation.

"Are you sure?" he says into the cell phone he grips tightly in one hand. The other is at his mouth, teeth gnawing worriedly at the thumbnail.

"Toby, I'm fine," Andi assures him, sounding exhausted and scared and too far away.

"You should probably get checked out, just in case."

"I'm fine. Toby…"

He can hear the tears in her voice, and he doesn't want to know.

"Toby, they were—"

"No," he says firmly. "I've got AP screaming about ten bodies, Reuters telling me that Israel's jumping on the offense, the president in the Sit Room with his finger hovering on the nukes, and I am not going to listen to you tell me that Josh and Donna are dead!"

The office around him goes suddenly quiet.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he shouts, pulling the phone away for a moment. "Get the hell back to your jobs; this isn't a circus!"

The scurrying begins anew; Ginger bowls over Will as he races into the bullpen.

"I just heard—I've been trying to—"

He sees the phone in Toby's hands, the terror in his eyes, and CJ on the television behind him.

"Is Andi—is she—?"

"She's okay," Toby says.

"What about—?"

"We don't know."

"Toby—"

"Get the hell on the plane, Andi, and get home now."

The words are terse and short; he hangs up soon after. Best not to linger, not to tell her how much he loves her, how happy he is she's alive, or they'll just end up fighting again.

He and Will stare at each other across the cluttered space, frantic energy vibrating the air around them. They are a momentary oasis in a world of chaos.

"How long's she been in there?" Will says, gesturing with a jut of his chin to the TV behind Toby's shoulder. The older man turns and cranks up the volume.

"Again, Mark, what I'm getting confirmed officially is from unnamed sources—"

"AP's reporting five bodies, CJ. Has the president commented?"

"Yes, of course, Mark, I have his comments right here, for despite the fact that I have been in here with you for the past three hours, I found a way to astrally project myself to the Oval Office and ask the president for his opinion."

"So that's a no?"

"We need more information," Toby sighs. "Feel like being deputized again?"

"I do," Will sighs, tossing his coat over a chair. "Where d'you need me?"

"Phones."

Toby tosses him a cell and a list of numbers.

"I wanna know where they are right now."

- - -

He clambers into the SUV, Donna scooting to the far side.

"You can't preemptively call shotgun," he grumbles.

"Josh, he's an admiral and the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs," Donna hisses at him. "He can do whatever he wants."

"Damn right I can," Fitz says, climbing into the front seat. He looks over his shoulder, grinning at the other occupants. "You comfy back there, Josh?"

"Yes, sir," Josh drawls. "Congressmen?"

"No complaints," Korb nods, failing to conceal his smile. As the SUV rumbles into motion, his Cheshire grin turns to the only female occupant of the car. "So, Donna…that was quite some reporter you were getting acquainted with."

"Wasn't he charming?" Donna beams.

"Sure," Josh replies, sarcasm dripping from his every syllable. "In a bodice-ripping, Heathcliff-on-the-moor, I'm-too-sexy-for-my-camera sort of way…"

She punches him on the arm, and Fitz laughs.

"So what do photographers say in the digital age," he says, winking at Donna, "now that the old 'Come up and see my darkroom' line has gone the way of the dodo?"

Josh beats her to the punch this time, draping one arm over her shoulders with that irritating smirk.

"They offer their high speed internet connec—"

- - -

"Yes, I'm now getting confirmations that they've IDed the last two…"

She closes her eyes, listening close.

"AP and our as-yet-unidentified Israeli sources are saying that there are five confirmed fatalities, and I've just been told that the families are being notified."

"It's been six hours, CJ, can't you give us—?"

"I'm aware of how long it's been, Chris. I've only been standing up here the most of the time."

"CJ, can you—?"

"I can't tell you the names until I know them, Phil."

- - -

A fireball of orange and black lights the midday sky. The car flips up and over, an impressive arc as it twirls, like some kind of demented football spinning with the laces, and smashes to the ground in a terrifying quake.

She barely registers that the scream is her own.

- - -

Carol scurries from the shadows and drops a Post-It on top of the memos. CJ snatches it up, having long since abandoned the earpiece.

"Okay!" she shouts, clearing the noise. "I've got confirmation right here that the president has contacted the families of the victims, and I can now release the names."

Toby and Will appear in the upper press room, faces frozen, knowing what's coming but so damn powerless to stop it.

"Sources are confirming five fatalities, all Americans and members of the Congressional Delegation. They are as follows: Admiral Percy Fitzwallace, Congressmen Thomas Korb and Daniel DeSantos and—"

She reads the next names before she speaks them, and something catches in her throat. A sick, squirmy feeling starts to work its way from her gut to her throat.

"CJ?"

Danny's voice is quiet, worried, like he knows, like he can possibly—

She looks up, sees Toby, begs him in silence to tell her it's wrong, it's a lie, it's a really bad joke being played by mean, mean people. He gives one small shake of his head, and she's gripping the podium.

"Senior Advisor and De…Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman, and…and Senior White House Assistant Donna…Moss."

The constant clicking of flashbulbs is like the buzzing of incessant insects.

"These are all…they've been confirmed and…"

She twitches, trying to remember why she should care, what she should be saying.

"The president's prayers are with each of their families tonight."

She stumbles away from the podium, one hand pressing to her forehead.

"I have to…"

Toby's already running from the room.

"CJ!"

"CJ, are you—?"

"Does the president—?"

"CJ!"

Their questions haunt her into the hallway.