(20 Hours in LA - 1x16)
Mark: Oh, it's good to meet you both. CJ, I was wondering if my money buys me a few words alone with you.
Toby: Throw in a box of chocolates and a pair of nylons, get you a lot more than that.
He knew she had made a mental note to smack him later on, but Toby couldn't help himself.
It had been yet another late night after yet another restless day, ceaselessly promoting Bartlet for America with whatever it took.
Toby's divorce had been finalised a mere 6 weeks prior to the beginning of the cross-country adventure of a campaign trail they were to embark on; forgotten a mere 6 hours into said campaign trail after his first kiss with CJ (in this decade anyway) in the dark light of a hotel parking lot. They wanted to preserve what they had, especially so early on, and physical contact usually had to be kept to a minimum. It's not like you could have sex on a campaign bus and keep it a secret.
Sometimes they had a lack of privacy, sometimes unfortunate hotel room locations, leading to days without intimate comfort and the likes. There were days when all CJ wanted was Toby, days that were shitty and left her craving the desire of her best friend / boyfriend. One day in particular left her a mess: the campaign was suffering from a fresh round of Republican attacks; the press were on her back, even more viciously than she could have imagined; her eventual handing of them led to a showdown with Toby before they left Kansas City. They'd sworn and attacked each other, malicious and tired. She'd cried in the toilets back on the bus and no-one noticed that she didn't talk for the rest of the night; Toby took everything to direct his anger on everyone but her. He knew he'd screwed up, said things he hadn't meant, and he didn't know how to make it right.
The next day saw the campaign roll into St Louis, Missouri: guns fully loaded as campaigning commenced around the city. CJ and Toby didn't see each other all day, apart from lunch when she moaned to Sam about ripping her last pair of nylons climbing onto the press bus. They didn't speak and it was excruciating. She wanted to make amends but she didn't have the strength in her to talk to him and not break down, she feared losing him too much. That night, they found their hotel rooms were placed next to each others – usually an ideal. Toby realised he had an opportunity. Trudging down to the hotel gift shop, he chose her something that she usually couldn't resist and headed back to her room.
He waited for a few minutes, slightly afraid to proceed, before knocking. She opened the door and observed him standing there - Fererro Rochers in one hand, a packet of nylons in the other – shuffling nervously on his feet.
"Are those for me?" she asked quietly.
"Peace offering."
She eyed him carefully: "Nylons, Tobus?" she chuckled.
"To stop you moaning. The chocolates are my apology." He replied nervously as he handed her them.
"Oh Toby. I'm sorry too." She gestured him into the room.
"So all this, behind us?" he wondered, closing the door and following behind her.
"Yes." She turned and nodded. "You usually like it when I moan." She flirted.
"When you're fucking me, yes." He grinned, pulling her close to him.
"Spoken like a true gentleman." She whispered and kissed him deeply. He pushed her back onto the bed and began nibbling at her neck, her hands roaming his body.
The gifts were discarded on the floor.