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TITLE: Through This Dark Night AUTHOR: Morgan morgan@camelot72.screaming.net SUMMARY: In the aftermath of the shooting, will CJ and Toby make it through the night? DISCLAIMER: The West Wing belongs to NBC et al. I'm not quite sure why I'm doing this, I just am - but its for entertainment purposes only - no disrespect is intended. Through This Dark Night - 8 This was the night that just wouldn't end, Toby thought gloomily as he sat alone in a small room waiting for news of CJ. Every time he thought things couldn't get much worse some other detail popped up, purely to prove him wrong. He'd been sitting in here for an hour now - and no one had bought him any news. He had never been one to subscribe to the theory that no news is good news - in fact as he'd pointed out to Sam on more than one occasion, no news is just no news. He'd been by to check on the other casualties, managed a few words with both Leo and Sam. Leo had been groggy but more or less coherent, Sam had been making rather less sense than usual - which wasn't saying much, but he had recognised his visitors and he'd asked about the others, basically doing enough to assure them all that he was on the road to recovery. There had been a lot of concerned relatives around the areas that had been set aside for the victims of the shooting and Toby had felt out of place among them, he had felt guilty for walking around more or less unscathed while others were in pain, struggling for their lives. He'd dropped in on Josh as well, and been shocked at seeing him so still, wired up to so many machines. It was almost as though it wasn't Josh at all - a thought Toby wasn't prepared to dwell upon. It was disturbing that he wasn't bouncing around, a stream of information and trivia tumbling from him mouth; complete inanity interspersed with remarks of breathtaking brilliance. He'd wished that CJ had been with him since he'd had no idea what to say to Donna, who was clearly devastated. He didn't think he'd been able to offer her much in the way of comfort and hope. But being here, alone, with nothing to do but wait wasn't helping either. Normally the solitude wouldn't bother him, he'd actually prefer it in many ways - but something was different. It surely wasn't possible that in a few tangled, emotive hours he could have got used to looking up and seeing CJ beside him. Or had he just allowed a small part of his barricade down in the aftermath of the shooting, only to find that one person at least had managed to slip past some formidable defences? And if he had what was he going to do about it? He hated hospitals, he'd always hated hospitals. It wasn't because they were places of illness, because after all, people were cured as well. It was because they demanded control over those who entered their doors, it was because they had rules and regulations that afforded few exceptions. He'd never been good with institutions, his instinct to question was never sharper than when faced with bureaucracy. Well, that wasn't strictly true, his instinct to question was actually at its most acute when his own feelings were involved. But bureaucracies and institutions ran a close second. 'Mr Ziegler?' He looked up at the sound of his name, 'could you come this way please.' 'Is CJ all right?' he asked, but the nurse professed ignorance and he had to be content to follow her in silence, his impatience barely concealed. 'You hate hospitals?' CJ said taking one look at the disgruntled look on his face. 'Actually I do,' She was sitting on the end of an exam bed, to his critical but amateur eye, she looked tired and a little paler than normal. 'What's going on?' 'I have a very hard head. I'm fine Toby.' 'They're sure?' 'I've been scanned in more ways than you need to know. I hit my head, it hurts, end of story.' He wanted to hug her with relief but he wasn't sure how she'd respond to that, instead he took a step closer and sat down beside her. 'You passed out.' 'Ah, yes.' She ducked her gaze away from his, looking embarrassed, fidgeting a little, uncomfortable about something, 'shock and low blood sugar apparently - I forgot to eat lunch and I was going to go for a pizza with Sam and Josh after the speech but...' 'Someone shot at us,' he concluded, 'CJ...' 'I know, I know,' she held her hands up in resignation, making him realise she'd probably already had this lecture from the medical staff, 'but I didn't know what was going to happen, did I? And I'm sorry that the First Lady got so angry with you - I'll make sure she knows it was my fault.' 'Well, that will stop her yelling at me.' That sounded more petulant than he'd imagined possible, he sounded like a sulky child, 'what I mean is that she was right. I should have made you see a Doctor.' 'I want to see Josh,' CJ said a few minutes later as they walked back towards the entrance of the hospital. 'There's no change.' 'I still want to see him, if anything happened and I hadn't even been to see him,' she didn't want to finish that remark. 'I need to see him,' she said firmly, 'you can go home if you like.' 'I thought we were in this together,' he said wearily, pushing away his reluctance to see Josh like that again and following her towards the elevator. Mandy looked up from her seat by Josh's bed as they walked in, 'Donna's getting some coffee,' she said, 'CJ - you all right?' 'Fine. How's Josh?' 'I don't know - he's hooked up to all these monitors and the Doctors keep saying he's doing well - but nothing changes, he doesn't wake up.' CJ reached out and touched her shoulder, a small gesture of comfort and understanding, hardly enough in the circumstances. Josh looked like he was asleep - if you didn't notice the monitors and machines, the soft beeps of the heart monitor proved he was still with them and that was the thought CJ was hanging onto. That and the knowledge that there was no way that Josh would leave a game before it was played to the end - he was the quintessential competitor and the game of the Bartlet Presidency was far from over. She squeezed his hand gently, his flesh cool but not cold and leaned over to kiss his cheek, whispering in his ear, 'Hang on Josh, we all need you, just hang on.' 'Well, this has been a hell of a night.' Toby observed as they lingered in the corridor outside the room Josh was in. He wsn't sure CJ was really listening, she was still looking through the window into the room, her eyes fixed on Josh. 'CJ, its time to go home and get some sleep.' 'How on earth are we supposed to carry on?' She asked quietly, 'I mean how do we find the courage to recover, how do we fight against people who's response to hearing or seeing something they don't agree with is to destroy it?' 'You know the answer to that CJ, you know that the only answer is that we stand our ground.' It was an eery reminder of what the President had said just a few hours earlier, 'decisions are made by people who show up,' Toby repeated, 'and showing up is sometimes more of a risk than we realise.' 'Mr Ziegler? I have a message from the First Lady.' 'What now,' Toby muttered, indignation sparking before he remembered that Abbey Bartlet had probably had as rough a night as anyone. 'What's the message?' He belatedly realised that the young man standing beside them was a member of the First Lady's staff. 'She's sending everyone in the West Wing home for the night, in the morning her staff will be available to help out in whatever capacity you need. The President has gone to bed, Ms Cregg the First Lady spoke to your Doctor and they agreed that it would make sense for you to spend the night in the residence - where there are people around - just in case there is a problem. Mrs Bartlet suggests that you stay there as well Mr Ziegler.' 'Oh really, did she?' Toby was annoyed to find that the suggestion actually had some merit, he'd feel better if CJ wasn't alone, but this way he wasn't the one suggesting it. He also didn't have to face how she would have dealt with the instruction not to be alone herself and any arrangements she might have made involving a certain journalist. But that wasn't going to stop him pointing out that he hated being told what to do. 'She suggested a night in the residence would offer you the opportunity to have a shower and sleep on a comfortable couch as opposed to the one in your office,' the aide continued, with no idea how close an explosion was, 'if you'll give me your keys I'm to pick up anything either of you might need from your apartments.' He really had been about to start shouting, but CJs amused voice stopped him. 'Did it ever occur to you that irrespective of how hard we all worked helping elect President Bartlet - maybe we had the wrong candidate?' To Be Continued
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