A Side Trip Home
Title: A Side Trip Home
Rating: G
Disclaimer: West Wing characters are the property of Warner Brothers, etc. I don’t know who owns “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” but it’s not me.
A/N 1: This was originally posted on Yahoo! JDFF in response to Rick Yunker’s challenge. He wrote “Father's Day is coming up in a few weeks. I'd like to issue a story challenge in honor of my late father, whose shoes I fill so poorly. Write us an AU in which Noah Lyman defeats his cancer to continue as a living breathing presence in his son's (and by extension Donna's as well) life. Reexamine some moment in the last eight years of the Bartlet White House factoring Noah's influence on our favorite duo into the story.” I don’t usually get inspired by challenges, but I liked this one.
A/N 2: This is set the day before “Bartlet for America”
A/N 3: I put a tiny little bit of my father in here, my own Father’s Day tribute, even if he’s never heard of such a thing as fan fic.
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“Josh Lyman’s office”
“Well, I still contend that it’s Donna Moss’ office, but if you say so.”
At the voice of Noah Lyman on the phone, Donna ceased the delicate balancing act she had been performing of rearranging the memos and note cards on her desk around her steaming coffee cup and her still unwrapped secret Santa gift, and with a bright smile, she focused on her caller.
“Yes, well surely you figured out long before I did that the best way to control Josh is by making him think that he’s in charge.”
“Ah, so you do seek to control him? I told him he was just being paranoid.”
“You know what they say, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that no one’s out to get you.”
At that, Noah let out a hearty laugh and Donna closed her eyes and knew that his face was at that moment lit by the same dimples so familiar to her in his son.
“Josh is on the Hill. Shall I tell him you called?”
“Well, actually Donna, he called me, but I went to the office this morning and missed his call.”
“And he called home because that’s where he expected you would be, being retired and all.”
“Retirement is for dead people, Donna, don’t let anyone tell you different. Retirement is a myth and a scheme perpetuated by investment houses so they can make a fortune off commissions while you save for a “retirement” that’s so mind-numbingly dull you’re willing to work for free before you lose your mind.”
The rant was so very Josh-like that Donna thought for the hundredth time that her boss had surely come by his intensity honestly, as well as his passion for service. Donna knew that “working for free before he lost his mind” was actually Noah Lyman speak for the pro bono work at his old law firm which he continued to do because he could afford to work for free and liked to keep his mind sharp and wanted badly to continue to do some good in the world. His bout with cancer had robbed him of some of his stamina, but continuing to carry this light case load fulfilled this need while leaving him time with his family.
They chatted a little longer, Noah declining to call Josh on his cell phone, afraid of disturbing his son while he worked. Donna promised to tell Josh that his father had returned his call and went back to reorganizing her desk.
When Josh returned later, she followed him into his office with a stack of messages, reeling them off while he put up his coat and back pack and settled in to his desk. “-And Mike Casper called about the Tennessee church thing. They’re still working on it. And your father called, said he was returning your call.”
Josh looked up from his computer screen. “Yeah? How long ago?”
“About half an hour ago.”
“Ok, thanks. Close the door, please?”
The door closed behind her with a soft click. Josh sat down in his chair and took a deep breath that he exhaled in a rush that puffed out his cheeks, and scraped his hand through his hair. Josh reached for the phone on his desk, and then changed his mind and instead retrieved his cell phone from his belt and dialed the familiar number home.
“Noah Lyman.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Josh! Imagine my shock at hearing from my son at 7:30 on a week day morning. I thought you only called on Sunday nights.”
“Yeah, Dad. I-look, are you alone?”
“I can be. Just a minute.”
Josh mentally followed his father’s path through the house. He knew he started in the kitchen from the rush of the water as he rinsed out his coffee cup, and knew when he was in the hall by the sound of his shoes on the hard wood. He knew when Noah was on the stairs by the labored sounds of his breathing as he climbed. He knew he was alone in his study by the distinctive creak of the hinges and the heavy “thunk” of the old oak door. Josh took an enormous amount of comfort in the familiarity of it all, in his ability to see and hear home without actually being there. Problems didn’t seem so large when he could just go home in this small way. He knew his father was about to speak again by the soft sniffing sound he made as he settled down in his chair.
“Ok. What’s on your mind son?”
“You know, it’s ridiculous. I’m not even supposed to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Josh got up from his chair and softly turned the locks on all of his doors and sent a silent prayer to a God he couldn’t really believe cared about such trivial human things, that no one in Westport, Connecticut got their kicks by monitoring the conversations on his parents’ cordless telephone three days before Christmas. He imagined, closed in as they both were, with his father’s voice in his ear, that they were together in Noah’s study.
“You’ve been watching the news, right?”
“Of course.”
“So you know who’s testifying before Congress tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s gonna be bad.”
“What are you doing about it?” Josh knew his father was sending him a piercing look; he didn’t have to be present to receive it or feel its import.
“Trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to stage a diversion.”
“I didn’t think they let you in the situation room,” Noah chuckled.
“You’re a riot, you know that? No, see, Leo doesn’t want me to help him.”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed. Josh thought about it for a minute as he stared out the windows of his office.
“He thinks he doesn’t deserve it.”
Noah was baffled. “Why the hell not?”
“He fell off the wagon at the worst possible time during the campaign, it’s gonna come up, and he thinks I’m just supposed to abandon him to his fate.”
“Why you?”
“No one else knows.” Only that wasn’t true, the President knew, but just a sure as he said so, someone in Westport really would be getting their kicks by listening in on his parents’ cordless phone three days before Christmas.
“Has Leo ever abandoned you to yours?”
Josh thought of holes. Holes in the ground. Holes in his window. Holes in his memory when he knew he’d yelled at the President but couldn’t remember what he’d said.
“No. Not even when I deserved it.”
“Then get to it,” Noah said, in the same tone of voice he once used to send Josh up to do his algebra homework.
“Yeah. You might call him today, you know, just to say hello. He’ll know it’s because he’s testifying, and he’ll try to play it off, but the support, even if you don’t talk about it, will mean a lot.”
“Ok. Give Margaret a heads up for me.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“So, what’d you get Donna for Christmas?”
Startled by the sudden change of topic, he stammered, “I . . . um . . .well”
“Stop procrastinating and go buy her tickets to Aieda. Your mother says it’s playing at the Kennedy Center next month.”
“Tickets, plural? You want me to pay for her to take some gomer to the opera?”
“Well now you’re just being an idiot.”
“Hey, I’m an important man,” Josh exclaimed in his best indignant voice.
“And I’m your father. Leo’s a good man, he’ll be alright. And you’ll know what to do.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Josh hung up the phone and unlocked his doors and settled down to make a mental list of all the people who could possibly help him tomorrow, and found that as always, a little side trip home and a talk with his dad did wonders for his concentration. Later as he passed through the bull pen, the radio on Donna’s filing cabinet was softly playing “I’ll be Home for Christmas.” Josh paused in his list making just long enough to think that, Christmas or not, he understood the sentiment well.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: West Wing characters are the property of Warner Brothers, etc. I don’t know who owns “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” but it’s not me.
A/N 1: This was originally posted on Yahoo! JDFF in response to Rick Yunker’s challenge. He wrote “Father's Day is coming up in a few weeks. I'd like to issue a story challenge in honor of my late father, whose shoes I fill so poorly. Write us an AU in which Noah Lyman defeats his cancer to continue as a living breathing presence in his son's (and by extension Donna's as well) life. Reexamine some moment in the last eight years of the Bartlet White House factoring Noah's influence on our favorite duo into the story.” I don’t usually get inspired by challenges, but I liked this one.
A/N 2: This is set the day before “Bartlet for America”
A/N 3: I put a tiny little bit of my father in here, my own Father’s Day tribute, even if he’s never heard of such a thing as fan fic.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
“Josh Lyman’s office”
“Well, I still contend that it’s Donna Moss’ office, but if you say so.”
At the voice of Noah Lyman on the phone, Donna ceased the delicate balancing act she had been performing of rearranging the memos and note cards on her desk around her steaming coffee cup and her still unwrapped secret Santa gift, and with a bright smile, she focused on her caller.
“Yes, well surely you figured out long before I did that the best way to control Josh is by making him think that he’s in charge.”
“Ah, so you do seek to control him? I told him he was just being paranoid.”
“You know what they say, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that no one’s out to get you.”
At that, Noah let out a hearty laugh and Donna closed her eyes and knew that his face was at that moment lit by the same dimples so familiar to her in his son.
“Josh is on the Hill. Shall I tell him you called?”
“Well, actually Donna, he called me, but I went to the office this morning and missed his call.”
“And he called home because that’s where he expected you would be, being retired and all.”
“Retirement is for dead people, Donna, don’t let anyone tell you different. Retirement is a myth and a scheme perpetuated by investment houses so they can make a fortune off commissions while you save for a “retirement” that’s so mind-numbingly dull you’re willing to work for free before you lose your mind.”
The rant was so very Josh-like that Donna thought for the hundredth time that her boss had surely come by his intensity honestly, as well as his passion for service. Donna knew that “working for free before he lost his mind” was actually Noah Lyman speak for the pro bono work at his old law firm which he continued to do because he could afford to work for free and liked to keep his mind sharp and wanted badly to continue to do some good in the world. His bout with cancer had robbed him of some of his stamina, but continuing to carry this light case load fulfilled this need while leaving him time with his family.
They chatted a little longer, Noah declining to call Josh on his cell phone, afraid of disturbing his son while he worked. Donna promised to tell Josh that his father had returned his call and went back to reorganizing her desk.
When Josh returned later, she followed him into his office with a stack of messages, reeling them off while he put up his coat and back pack and settled in to his desk. “-And Mike Casper called about the Tennessee church thing. They’re still working on it. And your father called, said he was returning your call.”
Josh looked up from his computer screen. “Yeah? How long ago?”
“About half an hour ago.”
“Ok, thanks. Close the door, please?”
The door closed behind her with a soft click. Josh sat down in his chair and took a deep breath that he exhaled in a rush that puffed out his cheeks, and scraped his hand through his hair. Josh reached for the phone on his desk, and then changed his mind and instead retrieved his cell phone from his belt and dialed the familiar number home.
“Noah Lyman.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Josh! Imagine my shock at hearing from my son at 7:30 on a week day morning. I thought you only called on Sunday nights.”
“Yeah, Dad. I-look, are you alone?”
“I can be. Just a minute.”
Josh mentally followed his father’s path through the house. He knew he started in the kitchen from the rush of the water as he rinsed out his coffee cup, and knew when he was in the hall by the sound of his shoes on the hard wood. He knew when Noah was on the stairs by the labored sounds of his breathing as he climbed. He knew he was alone in his study by the distinctive creak of the hinges and the heavy “thunk” of the old oak door. Josh took an enormous amount of comfort in the familiarity of it all, in his ability to see and hear home without actually being there. Problems didn’t seem so large when he could just go home in this small way. He knew his father was about to speak again by the soft sniffing sound he made as he settled down in his chair.
“Ok. What’s on your mind son?”
“You know, it’s ridiculous. I’m not even supposed to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Josh got up from his chair and softly turned the locks on all of his doors and sent a silent prayer to a God he couldn’t really believe cared about such trivial human things, that no one in Westport, Connecticut got their kicks by monitoring the conversations on his parents’ cordless telephone three days before Christmas. He imagined, closed in as they both were, with his father’s voice in his ear, that they were together in Noah’s study.
“You’ve been watching the news, right?”
“Of course.”
“So you know who’s testifying before Congress tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s gonna be bad.”
“What are you doing about it?” Josh knew his father was sending him a piercing look; he didn’t have to be present to receive it or feel its import.
“Trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to stage a diversion.”
“I didn’t think they let you in the situation room,” Noah chuckled.
“You’re a riot, you know that? No, see, Leo doesn’t want me to help him.”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed. Josh thought about it for a minute as he stared out the windows of his office.
“He thinks he doesn’t deserve it.”
Noah was baffled. “Why the hell not?”
“He fell off the wagon at the worst possible time during the campaign, it’s gonna come up, and he thinks I’m just supposed to abandon him to his fate.”
“Why you?”
“No one else knows.” Only that wasn’t true, the President knew, but just a sure as he said so, someone in Westport really would be getting their kicks by listening in on his parents’ cordless phone three days before Christmas.
“Has Leo ever abandoned you to yours?”
Josh thought of holes. Holes in the ground. Holes in his window. Holes in his memory when he knew he’d yelled at the President but couldn’t remember what he’d said.
“No. Not even when I deserved it.”
“Then get to it,” Noah said, in the same tone of voice he once used to send Josh up to do his algebra homework.
“Yeah. You might call him today, you know, just to say hello. He’ll know it’s because he’s testifying, and he’ll try to play it off, but the support, even if you don’t talk about it, will mean a lot.”
“Ok. Give Margaret a heads up for me.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“So, what’d you get Donna for Christmas?”
Startled by the sudden change of topic, he stammered, “I . . . um . . .well”
“Stop procrastinating and go buy her tickets to Aieda. Your mother says it’s playing at the Kennedy Center next month.”
“Tickets, plural? You want me to pay for her to take some gomer to the opera?”
“Well now you’re just being an idiot.”
“Hey, I’m an important man,” Josh exclaimed in his best indignant voice.
“And I’m your father. Leo’s a good man, he’ll be alright. And you’ll know what to do.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Josh hung up the phone and unlocked his doors and settled down to make a mental list of all the people who could possibly help him tomorrow, and found that as always, a little side trip home and a talk with his dad did wonders for his concentration. Later as he passed through the bull pen, the radio on Donna’s filing cabinet was softly playing “I’ll be Home for Christmas.” Josh paused in his list making just long enough to think that, Christmas or not, he understood the sentiment well.