Disclaimers: They're not mine. Sometimes I ask them out to play, but they go home with Mr. Sorkin, et. al.
Spoilers: Not really
Archive: Sure, let me know where and keep my name attached.
Note: This is my first story. Thanks to Stacy for reading and encouragement.

Summary: CJ takes a fall and Toby gets roped in to picking up the pieces.

Flamingo Falling (Part 7/?)

Donna insisted on staying with CJ that evening. She arrived with a hand full of nail polish bottles and whined until CJ allowed her to paint CJ's toenails the exact color of her extremely pink cast. She wasn't happy when CJ made her go home, but left nonetheless.

CJ was quiet for the most part on Saturday. She wasn't feeling the best and thought she might be coming down with a respiratory infection or the flu or something.

She fended off phone calls from her friends by recording a message telling them she was fine and to leave her alone.

She wasn't any better on Sunday. And she was getting dizzy when she walked. By the time she'd made it from her bed to the bathroom, she felt like she'd run a race.

Sunday night—late—she was lying in bed, breathing. It wasn't easy, and it was getting harder. At 2:00 a.m. she started to panic and reached for the phone. She hit a button and listened to the number dial.

"Yeah."

She breathed.

"Someone there?" He sounded sleepy.

"Toby."

"CJ? Are you okay?" Toby was instantly awake.

She breathed. "No."

"I'm on my way." She heard movement. "Should I call 911?"

"No—don't."

"CJ, I'm leaving now. I'll be there in 10 minutes. Hang up and I'll call you back from my cell." He disconnected before she could answer. She hung up, but kept the phone on her chest. She tried to sit up, but her head spun. The phone rang.

"Toby?"

"CJ, don't talk. Let me call 911."

"Don't hang—" she paused to breathe. "—up Toby."

"Don't talk," Toby said. "Just be quiet and I won't hang up."

He found the silence almost as hard to tolerate as the strained conversation.

"I'm almost there," he said. She heard a horn honk on the other end.

"Good."

"CJ, please let me hang up and call 911."

"I'm scared."

"I'm almost there." Another horn. "CJ, it'll be like two minutes." A door slammed. "I'm on my way. I'll be right there. Where are you?"

"Bedroom."

She heard her apartment door open. By the time Toby showed up in her bedroom, he was breathing almost as hard as she was. He dropped his cell phone in his pocket and sat beside her on the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Can't—" Pause. "—breathe."

"You should have let me call 911. Come on." He scooped her up, carried her to the living room and deposited her in the wheelchair, then rushed to the elevator. "I took the stairs up," he explained, still breathing heavily. "I really thought I was in better shape."

CJ had to smile, but only briefly. The elevator arrived and soon she was at Toby's illegally parked car. He lifted her in to the front seat and roughly tossed the wheelchair in the trunk.

In five minutes they were at the emergency entrance.

"I feel—so silly." Pause. "Probably—the flu."

"I don't think so, Ms. Cregg," said the doctor. "Please be quiet."

"Toby?"

"He's right outside. We'll let him back in a few minutes."

"Blood pressure 90 over 50."

"Bad?" CJ asked.

"Please, Ms. Cregg. Don't speak. We'll know more in a few minutes."

They had a hard time getting an IV inserted, saying it was because her oxygen level was so low. Finally they ran it right into her inside, right wrist. They had already put her on oxygen. "We've called for a consultation, Ms. Cregg. It will be just a few minutes. And we've got to get that pretty pink polish off your toes. Would you like us to send your husband back?"

CJ wanted to ask, "What is it about emergency doctors that always make them think you've got your husband along?" but she couldn't dream of getting out that long of a sentence. She nodded, realizing she was on the verge of tears.

To be continued...

Flamingo Falling - 8

 

 

 

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