Bouncing Back

by: Rhonda and Evelyn

Character(s): The Women of the West Wing
Pairing(s): Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Toby/Andi, Zoey/Charlie, Will/Ainsley
Category(s): Humor, Romance, Post Ep
Rating: TEEN
Disclaimer: They're not ours and never will be.
Summary: Post-episode story for Inauguration: Over There
Spoiler: Red Haven's On Fire
Feedback: Greatly Appreciated
Authors Note: This is a sequel to Bouncing Inaugural Balls. Thanks so much for all the wonderful feedback. We had such a good time with these characters that we couldn't resist bringing them back for a little more fun. Enjoy!

"Did you know that these cabins were remodeled in the 1970s? They were pretty primitive before." Ainsley pulled her legs up under her and moved a little closer to him on the cabin sofa, the now empty tray on the coffee table in front of them.

Casually draping his arm over the sofa back, his fingers inches from a swath of long blonde hair, Will gave her a quick smile before seriously responding, "No. I only found out last night that we were coming here for the weekend. I haven't had time to do any research about Camp David. Seems like I remember that Roosevelt and Churchill planned the Allies invasion of Europe here. But I don't know anything else about the history. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to tutor me a little?"

Ainsley grinned at the shy speechwriter. Rubbing her eyes, she responded, "I'd be happy to. Camp David was called Shangri-la when Franklin Roosevelt had it constructed. Then it was renamed by Dwight Eisenhower, after his grandson David. The Navy runs the place year-round, coordinating with the Secret Service when the President is in residence. The Presidential cabin is called Aspen Lodge. Have you noticed yet that almost all the guest cabins are named after trees? Take this one for..."

A contented Will loosened his tie and sank back against the sofa cushions as her words washed over him. He could listen to her talk for hours. Nodding in response when she asked him if he had seen the pool, Will realized that she seemed prepared to do just that.

"I want a guard on the door," Jed Bartlet whispered fiercely to Ron Butterfield, the head of his Secret Service detail. They were standing in the pine-paneled living room of the President's cabin, off which there were five bedrooms.

"Yes, Mr. President."

"He's not to leave that bedroom and no one is to enter."

"I understand."

"With a shoot to kill order if he so much as takes a step towards..."

"Mr. President, I don't think that's possible."

"Ok, a shoot to maim order, and you know where to maim."

"We'll keep him confined to his room until..."

"When is the plan set to go down?" An impatient Jed Bartlet asked, interrupting Ron.

"2300 hours, Sir."

"I'm counting on you Ron. We're talking national security here. The fate of this great nation is at stake."

"How is that, Sir?" Ron wondered if the history of the place was getting to the current President. Ron was beginning to feel like they were planning an invasion.

"I'm going to be indicted for murder if I have to listen to one more sentence from that panty-waisted, poncy little hairdresser."

"Don't worry, Mr. President. He won't be talking to you or anyone for a long time. I've brought in a special consultant to help with the job."

"Yeah? Who?"

"It's need-to-know only, Sir.  But, he's ex-CIA."

The President nodded solemnly, walked into the master bedroom and shut the door.

"I'm gonna pull up my pants now, so you'll need to bend with me."

"Fine."

"Then I'll help you change."

CJ glared at him, her right arm crossing his lower back and her right hand firmly attached to his right hip, just below the waistband of his boxers.

Danny wisely refrained from saying more, pulling up his slacks and zipping them closed. He tried to button the waistband but couldn't. If her hand was going to be a permanent fixture, he'd need to move up to a 38-inch waistband on his pants.

Pulling his shirt over his head, he just managed to avoid elbowing her.

"Okay," Danny said, smoothing down his hair. "Your turn. What's coming off first? The top or the shorts?"

"I'll handle dressing myself - thank you very much. You've helped plenty already. I'm going to get a pair of sweat pants out of my bag and pull them on over the shorts. Then I'll figure something out for a top."

"Well, as long as you're not worried about too much bulk on your hips. I know women worry about how their backsides look."

"Shut up and close your eyes."

"I thought so."

Ron Butterfield took up his post, eyes darting around the perimeter of the now-empty room. Speaking quietly into his radio microphone, the senior agent checked with the security detail outside the cabin. All systems were go. He was confident that his men could handle the drill. They were experts at undercover security work and had trained for years for situations like this. The agent frowned at that thought. Maybe not exactly situations like this, but he had to agree with the President, something had to be done and soon. He contemplated the diplomatic repercussions, but decided that the head of the Free World was right. Sometimes you just had to take a chance for peace, domestic peace in this case.

He was mentally reviewing the details of the plan when the outside door to Aspen Lodge opened quietly, the First Lady moving to stand just inside the entryway. He started to speak, but she held her fingers to her lips, indicating the need for silence. He nodded and walked over to her.

"Ma'am?" he said softly.

"I need help," Abbey whispered and he could hear the desperation in her voice as she parted the drapes on a nearby window and checked the patio outside.

He immediately snapped to attention, his ears alert, his hand on his gun, ready to draw it at an instant's notice. "Of course. Should I call..."

"No," she said forcefully, then lowered her voice again. "No. I need this to be done quietly, but as soon as possible. I can't take another minute of her, not another minute. Please. You know who it is and you know what must be done. I can't be held responsible if I have to listen to another second of..."

Ron smiled, his trigger finger relaxing. "Don't worry, Ma'am. We all understand. I think your problem can be addressed at the same time another situation is dealt with - we began working on a contingency plan last week in case you came to your...uh, realized the implications of . . well, anyway - we'll take care of it."

"Soon?" Abbey pleaded, ignoring the fact that the senior agent was implying she'd made a bad staff decision. Hell, everyone had told her that - most not so discreetly as Ron Butterfield.

"Sooner than you might think, Ma'am."

"And you won't tell anyone? I'd be so embarrassed. I couldn't face - and Josh would think - but it's got to be done."

"Yes, Ma'am. And don't worry. We'll take this secret with us to our graves."

The First Lady squeezed Ron's hand and said breathlessly, "I can't begin to thank you." The senior agent gave her a reassuring nod, and the First Lady then crossed the room and entered the master bedroom.

Ron spoke into his radio again. "We have a second target for tonight. Morgan le Fay will be joining us. Better tell Lancelot."

"Isn't there a song - 'Stuck On You'? Mac chuckled, leaning over Debbie's shoulder and taking a look. "Whiskey could probably sing it for you."

"I doubt Whiskey could do justice to an Elvis song. Anyway, some diaper rash cream would probably help more," an interested Debbie offered as Charlie finally pried CJ's hand from Danny's hip.

"She does a mighty fine rendition of 'Ain't Nothing But A Hound Dog'," Mac argued.

Debbie raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Right. Maybe you should put a little white rhinestone collar on her and take her to Vegas."

"She'd probably bring in more money than an alpaca any day."

"Watch it! " Danny yelped as the acetone stung his irritated skin. He was lying on his stomach on a bed in one of the spare bedrooms of Aspen Lodge, CJ sitting beside him and Charlie standing to the side. Debbie and Mac were hovering behind Charlie. Whiskey was sitting on the mattress near his feet, licking at Danny's ankles in a gesture of sympathy whenever Danny cried out.

"Be quiet," CJ hissed, slapping the back of his head with her other hand. "You don't want Abbey and the President to come in here."

"Hey. I get more support from the dog than..."

"Okay, your ass is your own again," Charlie remarked as he gathered up the pile of cotton balls and tissues he'd used to remove the Super glue. "Must have been a real pain in the butt walking over here like that."

"Forget him. I was the one that looked like a sex maniac copping a feel of his ass." CJ got to her feet, pulling at the t-shirt poncho Danny had cut up for her to wear over her camisole. She re-tied the sides a little tighter and wished she had thought to bring along another shirt.

Danny perked up at her words. "Speaking of sex... maybe now that you've felt the goods, you might want to actually purchase the merchandise."

CJ leaned over to hit him again, but Whiskey barked in warning, figuring the red-haired human had been hurt enough, and moving to stand over him.

"They looked cute, strolling in arm-in-arm. Very romantic," Debbie teased. "When they asked to talk with me privately, I thought maybe they needed condoms."

A staid-looking Charlie gave her a measuring look.

Debbie caught him and laughed. "What? I have an active social life."

Mac chuckled again, ordering Whiskey off the bed so Danny could get up.

Danny's face was almost as red as the skin where the glue had bonded his skin to CJ's palm. "I thought you left," he grumbled, glaring at the President's Executive Assistant and yanking up his pants. "Did you see anything *you* liked?"

"Since it was my fingernail polish remover and this is my room, I figured I had a ticket to the show. Do you run? You've got pretty good muscle tone for a desk-jockey," Debbie remarked with a impish grin as an embarrassed Danny got to his feet.

"I don't want to discuss my ass anymore today please."

"That's a first." CJ smirked and walked into the bathroom to wash the acetone off her hand.

Charlie tossed the cotton balls in the trash and handed the bottle of acetone back to the older woman. "Well, now that you're a free man again, I need your help with a thing."

"What?" the reporter asked, resisting the urge to rub his stinging hip while the older woman was still watching him.

Charlie shrugged his shoulder in the direction of the door. "Let's take a walk."

"Do I want to know about this?" CJ asked, standing in the bathroom doorway, drying her hands.

"Nope." Charlie smiled at her and then glanced at Danny. "But I promise the only press that will ever know about it is gonna be a co-conspirator and he owes me one."

"I can't believe I ate the whole thing."

"I tried to tell you."

"How could you let me eat the whole bowl?"

"You wouldn't listen. You never listen."

"I don't think the babies like chili." The red-haired Congresswoman, who had won 86 percent of the vote in her last election, moaned and rubbed her swollen belly.

"Or maybe Bertha and Bluto don't like coleslaw and applesauce mixed together. Or maybe they're not crazy about cornbread dipped in Russian dressing then doused with hot pepper sauce," the bearded Communications Director offered as an alternative. He thought for a second then added, "But you're probably right. I don't think my children like the President's chili. I don't think anyone in their right mind would eat his version of fiery hell."

"No, I think it was the carrot sticks. They don't seem to be sitting right. The babies don't like orange vegetables."

"Yeah, that's probably it," he sighed. Looking at the pained expression on Andi's face, Toby became slightly alarmed. "Maybe you should lie down... no maybe we should call your doctor or ..."

"Or maybe you should give me one of the antacids in your pocket and just sit with me a few minutes," Andi said with a small smile as she noticed the growing panic in the face of her children's father.

"Or I could do that." He reached into his pocket and took out four different rolls of antacids. "You want mint-flavored, orange-flavored, cherry, or lemon?"

"Everything but the orange-colored one because the babies don't like..."

"Right," he agreed and pulled her back against him and stared at the flames in the stone fireplace. He could feel her relax and he gently rubbed her belly, feeling tiny kicks and pokes from within.

"Hmmmm, Toby, that feels good. The babies like it... so do I."

"I'm sorry you got left behind. I honestly thought you were with..."

"Shhhh. I know you didn't do it on purpose. You've been so good to me Toby, and I know that lately I may seem to be a little more irritable..."

"Than Attila the Hun on steroids," he chuckled, then pulled her back when she started to sit forward to object.

"Did I mention that I loathe you with every fiber of my being and hope you burn... ooooh, yeah, right there, right there, Toby. My back has been killing me, and when you press right there..."

"I know I can be a pain in..." the Communications Director murmured, moving his hands from the small of her back around to her lower belly.

"And I'm not always as sweet as pie," she whispered, holding his hands against her.

"But you know I'd do anything..."

"I do know. Ooof, I think Bertha just kicked Bluto in his...," she giggled.

"I felt that... maybe she'll be a place kicker for..."

"Or a writer..."

"They should have your intelligence... and definitely your beauty," he said softly, kissing the top of her head.

"Toby?"

"Mmmmm," he answered, trailing kisses down the side of her neck, thoughts of perhaps coaxing her to share a bed with him flickering though his mind.

"Do you think they have any more of that fudge sauce and cornbread?"

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9a | 9b

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