It was 1:30 AM, a half hour since the third press briefing of the night, during which CJ had told the reporters that authorities were now looking for three suspects, not two like they had previously stated, and that two of them had had guns and fired shots into the crowd from the building across the street. The third suspect had been a lookout of sorts, giving the two gunmen a signal just before they let the bullets fly.

Sara was sitting in CJ's office with her and Toby. They were all exhausted beyond belief, but couldn't bring themselves to go home, and there was no use for Toby and CJ to be at the hospital again until the President and/or Josh came out of surgery. The President's surgery was fairly straightforward, at least according to Abbey, because the bullet had both entry and exit points. All that needed to be done was repairs to the outer abdomen walls on his left side and front, as well as the gunshot wounds themselves. Josh, on the other hand, would be in surgery for at least another nine hours, CJ had explained. The doctors had repaired the damage that had been done to his pulmonary artery, and were now going to work on repairing his collapsed lung and removing the bullet that was lodged in his chest.

"There was… so much blood," Toby said stoically as he puffed on a cigar. "More than I've ever seen in my life."

Sara's face twisted into a solemn frown. Just picturing Josh sitting there on the ground, the light fading out of his eyes as he slowly bled out into his own hands, made her sick to her stomach. Being the one who found Josh like that seemed to have really affected Toby. He was more morose and somber than he usually was.

"I almost fell over when I saw him," he said. "Then we both would've had to be taken away in an ambulance." He chuckled but there was no humor behind it.

"It still feels so surreal," CJ said, her voice laced with bewilderment. "I know we're all a little biased, but who the hell would want to kill the President?"

"Plenty of people," Toby said matter of factly. "Pro-lifers, the Christian Right, anyone who's a member of the NRA… I can go on."

"Not necessary," CJ told him. "We get it."

Sara looked between the two of them, unsure of what to do or say next. Toby stared out the window, absentmindedly flicking ash from his cigar into a paper cup, and CJ picked at her fingernails.

"The Yankees played the Athletics last night," Sara spoke directly to Toby, breaking the silence that had fallen in the room.

"I taped the game," was all he said.

"Who's pitching?" She asked him. This was one of the few times that she had actually spoken to Toby directly, and about something other than the West Wing or the President or just politics in general. In all honesty she was intimidated by him; he was gruff, terse, and often had no tolerance for anyone or anything, and he was also incredibly brilliant.

"Clemens, I think," he rubbed his forehead.

"I was about to turn it on, but then…" she trailed off. "Paul called me." He nodded solemnly.

"Does anyone want a drink?" CJ suddenly pulled an unopened bottle of scotch out from a drawer in her desk.

"Where the hell did you find that?" Sara asked.

"I gave you that last year for your birthday," Toby said. "You still haven't opened it?"

"I was saving it for a special occasion," she smirked.

"And now is a special occasion?"

"Now's as good a time as any…"

Toby rose from his chair, leaving the room. Several moments later, he came back with three tumblers. Wordlessly, he placed them on CJ's desk. Opening the bottle with a pop, she poured three fingers worth of the gold liquid into each of the glasses.

"To President Bartlet," CJ raised her glass in a toast. Toby and Sara did the same.

"To Josh," Sara added, and CJ and Toby nodded.

"I need suction! He's still bleeding!" The doctor took his hands out of Josh's chest cavity. A nurse rushed over and removed some of the fluid and blood surrounding the incision. "Watch the lung, remember he has a pneumothorax!" He put a hand back in, searching for the bullet itself and/or bullet fragments. "I can't see anything, I need more suction!"

"Suction," another nurse came up behind him.

"I can barely get my hand in between his ribs," he groaned.

"He's gonna need a blood transfusion," one of the assistants said.

"You don't think I know that, Mendes?" He snapped. "Get a blood transfusion started, or he's gonna die. Again."

The assistant rolled a big machine over and hooked it up to a line stemming off of Josh's central port. She flipped a switch and the gears inside began to whir and turn, making the donated blood move from the IV bag through the thin tube, and into the Deputy Chief of Staff's arm.

The next morning, Sara's work phone ringing jolted her awake. She had, much to her embarrassment, slept in her office after having three helpings of scotch from CJ's bottle.

"Hello?" she mumbled, lifting her head up from her desk.

"He's out of surgery." It was CJ. She didn't have to explain any further, she knew she was talking about Josh.

"How is he?" She sat up a little too quickly and felt a throbbing headache coming on. Next time, she would go home to sleep.

"As good as one can be after almost dying," she quipped. "He's still being pumped with heavy-duty painkillers, so he's pretty out of it. The doctors are only letting certain people in, and only one or two at a time, so he doesn't get overwhelmed."

"And the President?"

"He's already trying to break out of the place," the Press Secretary told her. "He tried to wheel himself down the hallway to go see Josh again, but Abbey and Ron Butterfield put the kebosh on that."

Sara laughed to herself and then said, "Thanks for calling, CJ."

"No problem," she said. "Now go home and change out of the clothes you were wearing yesterday."

With that, she hung up the phone and rubbed her tired eyes. A few minutes later, the phone on her desk rang again.

"Hello?" She figured it was CJ again, but it was Donna.

"He's been asking for you," Her voice was quiet, so she assumed she was still at the hospital.

"Who?" she asked dumbly.

"Josh," Donna told her.

"Josh?" she repeated. "Why has he been asking for me?!"

"Your guess is as good as mine..." She heard Donna's muffled voice talking to someone else, and then she spoke to her again. "He wants to talk to you."

Sara's heart was in her throat as she heard the static and shuffling of the phone being moved around. "Hi." His voice was hoarse and so soft she could barely hear him, probably from being intubated all night. Her heart broke for him.

"Hi Josh," she said, trying to stay calm. "How are you feeling?" That was a stupid question.

"Like I got ran over by a truck and repeatedly smacked with a two by four, at the same time." She could hear his breathing starting to get labored as he spoke. "I feel great." She smiled to herself, glad to know his self-deprecation was still in tact.

"I..." She didn't know what to say. What could she possibly say, "I'm glad you're alive"? "I'm sorry you almost died, I was scared I was going to get a phone call in the middle of the night saying that you did"?

"Still there?" he asked, after several moments of silence.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"Listen, my mom just got here, and she's yelling at me to get off the phone." She swore she could hear his eyes rolling over the phone. "She's going on about conserving energy and saying that I'm gonna hyperventilate from trying to talk too much. I'm so glad I got to talk to you though."

"Me too." She wiped a tear that had escaped. "I'm glad you're okay." They said goodbye to one another, and Sara hung up the phone, hearing who she assumed to be Josh's mother screeching in the background. With that, she grabbed her things, and left the West Wing for the first time since the night before.