By Meggie
Summary: A missing scene from "ITSOTG."
Spoilers: Many, of course, for "ITSOTG" Parts 1 and 2. Mild ones
for
"Crackpots…" and "Noel," but nothing that will ruin either, I hope.
Warnings: A few bad words here and there.
Acknowledgements: Much, much thanks to Gabrielle and Dee, two of
the
foremost Beta Goddesses in the biz. (A job that, sadly, does not
pay well.)
Anything that's right in this is due to them. Anything that's
wrong is due
to me. Also, thanks to Dee for posting this to our website!
I catch him as he begins to fall and lower him
carefully to the ground.
Some distant part of my mind wonders if I'm still
yelling for a medic.
I hope I am, but everything has turned a little surreal
since I found Josh.
I notice that his arms are now shaking, straining with
the effort of
keeping his hands over the wound in his chest.
Let's see what we're facing, huh?" I try to be
upbeat, but it comes out
rather tersely. I reach to undo the top half of his
shirt so that it won't
constrict his breathing and so that I can get a
better idea of where he's
been hit. Maybe it's not quite as bad as I-
Oh, God. It is. It's exactly as bad as I thought.
"Josh?" My friend's eyes turn to meet mine. "You
can let go
now, if you want. I've got it covered." I slide my hands
underneath
his, and take over the job of keeping him alive. His arms relax
and
fall to his sides.
"I'm going to have to use some pressure to slow
the bleeding," I explain.
I wish that there was some way I could do this
gently, but I have to
press down hard to have any effect. Josh groans.
Something in the way
he does it catches my attention and I lean over to his
face to listen to his
breathing.
His lips nearly touch my ear because I have to
lean in so far but I
recognize the wheeze I hear. Now I know that the panic
in his face isn't
entirely due to the realization that he's been shot. It's
also that he can't
breathe.
"I need a medic!" This time, I consciously shout
it. My friend shouldn't
be denied such a thing as oxygen.
"Toby?" I know that whisper in my ear can't be
Josh's voice, because
Josh never sounds weak. I yell for a doctor
again.
"Toby?" I can't ignore the hand that reaches up to
grasp at mine,
though. I wish I didn't have anything better to do than to
hold that
hand, to reassure him that the doctors will be here soon, but I've
got
to concentrate on the rather important task of keeping Josh's blood in
his body, where it should be.
"Calm down, Josh. Don't worry about talking right
now." My words
seem to only agitate him further, as he twists his legs,
acting like he's
trying to sit up again.
"Okay?" he gasps, tugging at my arm a little. I
should've known he'd go
and do just what I warned him not to.
"Yes, you'll be okay," I assure him. His injuries
are what I'm most
concerned about at the moment and I assume they're what
he's referring
to. I learn quickly that I'm mistaken.
"No." Now he's got his fingers wrapped around one
of my wrists and is
yanking at it none-too-gently. I know it's partly that
the pressure on his
chest is hurting him even more and he wants to alleviate
it, but he also
seems to want my attention. I turn to look at his face. He's
obviously still in shock but I recognize the frustration that can be seen
in his eyes when people aren't listening to him.
"You okay?"
"Of course I'm okay," I say, exasperated. "I
wasn't the one who had to go
and get shot." Surprisingly, this placates him.
His hands fall back to his
sides again. He stares beyond me, up at the
sky.
"Sam?"
"He's okay."
"CJ?"
"She's okay."
"Donna?"
"Wasn't even here." I'm thinking he's about to
rattle through the names
of the entire staff when his voice fades out
again.
"Cold," he whispers nonchalantly.
"Cold?" I repeat. His eyes are distant, regarding
the stars above us. "Get
back here, Josh. Hold on." I want to slip out of my
jacket and cover him
with it, wrap it around him to keep him warm. I can't,
though. Both my
arms are otherwise occupied. A chill runs through me as I
realize I've
got Josh's blood on my hands in every sense of the phrase. I
start screaming
for a doctor again. There's no way someone's not
listening.
Toby's yelling again. It's distracting and I wish
he'd stop, but it gives
him something to do I guess. He told me to hold on,
but he's not really
giving me any hints as to what I'm supposed to do that
with. He refuses
to hold my hand and whenever I grab at his, I keep
slipping.
So I can't really hold onto that.
In fact, there's lots of stuff that I could
hold onto, but none that I'd
particularly like to. The sensation of ice-water
in my veins is rather
unpleasant, as is the feeling of pain shooting through
me. The last is
interspersed with moments when I can't feel anything, which
are,
strangely, just as bad. I don't want to hold onto these things. I can't
hold onto these things. Just the thought of doing so makes me want to
let go.
"Hold on," Toby orders again. I'm trying
to, I promise, although the
words don't seem to quite make it to my
mouth. But to what?
I heard the Big Guy yelling for an ambulance a few
minutes ago,
but it only just now occurs to me that maybe I should tell him
I've
already called one. From here, at the bottom of the stairs, I can see
him bending over at the top. He was all right when I saw him shortly
after the President was taken away, and I haven't heard any more
gunfire
since then.
In my weary state, I assume that he's fallen while
climbing the stairs.
I jog to the top, about to tell him that an ambulance
has been called.
Except that, at the top, instead of finding Toby
overreacting about an
injured ankle, I find Toby trying to round-up
much-much-needed
medical help for a wounded man. A wounded man who's dressed
like
Josh. Who looks like Josh. Who Toby keeps calling Josh. It can't be
Josh, though, because I would've known if he'd gotten shot.
A friend just knows these things.
But it is Josh, and he's been hurt, and, oh, God,
he's in pain, and he's
cold. The only one I can do anything about is the
latter. I tear off my
jacket. Toby looks up at me as I kneel quickly by
Josh's side.
"Gunshot wound," Toby explains tersely. "He's been hit."
I know the emotional turmoil he's going through,
so I refrain from
replying in a snarky, "No, really!" fashion.
"I called an ambulance. It should be here soon."
Trying hard now to
ignore Toby's hands, which are already soaked with blood.
Trying to
ignore the slightly dazed, slightly panicked look in Josh's eyes.
I cover
his torso with my jacket, careful not to disturb Toby's hands.
"Sam?" Josh asks. "Toby said you weren't here."
"That was Donna," Toby reminds him.
"Oh. Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks." I glance nervously at Toby, who shrugs.
"Why's that?"
"For coming. For leaving. For coming with me." His
disjointed
comments worry me. I reach beneath the jacket to hold his right
hand.
His fingers are chilly, but they grip mine with what, in his
condition,
could be called strength.
"Hold on," I beg him, squeezing his hand. He rolls his eyes.
"Have you and Toby been talking? You really need
to find some new
material."
He gasps and coughs. I know better than to try to
tell him not to
talk. I really should, though. He's just exhausting himself.
He should
be concentrating on breathing. Some part of my subconscious, a
part
I'd really rather not be hearing from right now, whispers that the
reason
I'm not telling Josh to quiet down is because I know these may be my
last words with him.
My best friend is dying.
Josh is dying.
Now I'm screaming for a doctor.
Oh, Sam, I want to sigh. Not you,
too. But I wouldn't mean it.
It's really kind of nice having Toby and
Sam here, even if they're
raising such a ruckus. I feel like one of those
Pok'emon-obsessed
kids. Except that, instead of an assortment of strange
creatures, I'm
collecting Senior Staffers. I glance at Toby, who's glaring-
at what,
I'm not sure. I can't help it. I picture him with pointy
cartoon-ears and
whiskers, hopping around a meadow. I laugh at the image,
which
catches Sam and Toby's attention.
"Gotta catch 'em all!" I chuckle, but they don't
seem to get the joke,
sadly. Sam looks even more concerned now, if that's
possible. He
squeezes my hand. I think I squeeze his back.
"Thanks," I tell him again. "For leaving…"
"For coming with you." He nods. "I know."
Well, good. As long as he knows. I've always
worried about what
might have happened if Sam hadn't left the firm and gone
with me to
work for the campaign. A shiver runs through me as I realize I
haven't
asked about Bartlet himself yet.
"The President." I struggle to sit up, this time
making it so far that Toby
has to push me back down. The glance he and Sam
exchange doesn't
escape me.
"He's okay. He has to be okay." Toby growls.
One doesn't argue with a growling Toby. Well,
actually, I usually do,
but I don't feel like it right now… I can't breathe.
I must be breathing,
otherwise I wouldn't be able to be panicking
about such a thing, but it
feels as if I'm drowning. Just like that time
when I was 7, and Joanie
had to drag my sorry ass out of the hotel pool,
after I'd swallowed too
much water.
I miss Joanie. I miss my big sister.
As if summoned by the thought of big sisters, I
notice CJ leaning
over me. Her hair is haloed by a nearby streetlamp. She's
so beautiful;
I want to cry at the sight of her. Maybe I do. She smiles at
me, and
reaches down to brush at the corners of my eyes. I think she's
kneeling
beside me, because her face is suddenly much closer.
"Listen," she orders me. "Do you hear that,
Joshua? Do you hear the
sirens?"
I nod, hoping this isn't a trick question.
Honestly, I can't hear anything
besides CJ's voice and Sam and Toby arguing
in the background.
"They'll be here soon. You just need to hold on
until the ambulances get
here." She begins brushing her long fingers through
my hair. It's such a
calming gesture, I forget all about wanting to ask them
how they can
justify all of these requests for me to hold on.
Can I hold on to them? Our little family makes a
pretty good anchor.
I consider them as my eyes drift shut: Toby, the big
brother, Sam, the
youngest brother, and Claudia Jean, the big sister. Or is
she more like
my little sister? I consider all the times she's chased Sam
and me out
of her office for bugging her. Nope, definitely the big sister.
Yeah,
I think as I clutch my younger brother's hand. I think I
can.
I hope it's not the recent shooting, but my
thoughts have turned rather
homicidal. Such as…
If Josh dies, I'll kill him.
I said it was homicidal. I didn't say it was logical.
His eyes just closed. I hope that means he's
conserving his energy.
Poor Sam. He looks as if he's going out of his mind
with worry. Not
that I blame him. We've just been shot at, the President
might be
injured and now we find that Josh has been lying on the cold
ground,
bleeding. I'd be more scared if Sam didn't look frantic.
Toby's got a different expression, naturally. This
one's equal parts a
feral, angry glare when he looks in the direction the
shooters were
probably perched, and a heart-breakingly sad look of guilt
when he
glances at Josh. Toby and Sam are theorizing about why the
ambulances
are taking their own sweet time in getting here. Sam thinks that
it
involves the EMT's grasp of simple directions. Toby's theory seems
to
take the EMT's stupidity as a given, and goes right on to question
their
hygiene, morality and character.
I consider mentioning the horrible traffic that
the ambulance must be
facing, but the last thing I want to do right now is to
get dragged into
their argument. I've got more important things to
concentrate on.
Josh's hair is wiry beneath my fingers. Even as I
smooth it back, it
immediately springs up again. As rebellious as its owner,
I suppose. I
consider scolding Josh for his hairs' behavior, and then giggle
at the
thought of doing so. Sam's eyeing me now. I remember that he can't
know what's funny, as I haven't said it out loud. I quit giggling quickly.
Sam needs me to hold it together. I need me to hold it together.
The sirens sound very close, which relieves me
slightly. I wish I could
delude myself into believing that, when they arrive,
all will be fine.
But I can't. So, for right now, I can only help by keeping
Josh calm.
Said Deputy Chief of Staff opens his eyes to gaze directly at me.
He
suddenly looks very lucid, in contrast to a few minutes ago when I
ordered him to hold on.
"Hurt?" he asks softly.
"Me?" I let out a rather undignified snort. "Far from it."
Josh narrows his eyes suspiciously, as if I'm
lying to him. I wonder if
there's something in my expression that I'm
unaware of.
"Truth, Claudia Jean."
My given name causes me to chuckle, but this time
the humor isn't
terror-based.
"The truth, Joshua?" I lean toward him so that our
faces are almost
touching. "The truth is that I'm doing a hell of a lot
better than you
are." I try to stifle a smirk. Smirking is the action that
has never failed
to get Josh and I into trouble. Since we find the same
things funny, all
it takes is a glance at the others smirking face to send
us into a giggling
fit. Leo has, more than once, booted us out of any room
in which he
feels the fate of the campaign/ administration/ nation could be
ruined
by inappropriate laughter. He says he doesn't want the U.S. being
bombed
because Josh and I happened to meet each other's eyes at the wrong
moment during an official's speech. Josh and I have *tried* to remind
Leo that it only happened once, although I claim it was because
the
diplomat was incorrectly pronouncing "peninsula" and Josh claims
it
was the context in which he was saying it. Nonetheless, Leo remains
steadfast in his proclamation that we can't be trusted when we're in
what he refers to as "a mood."
God, I hope Josh and I can have the opportunity to
once again make
Leo worry we'll bring about a nuclear attack.
My attempt to suppress my smirk is apparently
unsuccessful, as I can
tell when Josh breaks into a grin. My own face splits
with a seemingly
inevitable answering smile, and before I know it, we're both
chuckling.
Unfortunately, this sets Josh off on a coughing
fit that lasts for several
seconds. He can't draw a full breath, which only
serves to make it
worse. I glance at Sam, who appears frantic. He looks like
he's fighting
the instinct to pick Josh up and pat him on the back to clear
his lungs. I
wouldn't recognize the expression, except that I'm probably
wearing it,
too.
I notice that the ambulance has finally turned the
corner onto the street
that we're on. It occurs to me that the paramedics
will have to not only
make it up the stairs and through the crowd, they'll
have to do so with
their equipment and a stretcher, and all of their other
EMT accessories.
I wonder, as I stare at Josh's frighteningly pale face and
hear his gasps
for air, if he'll be able to make it that long.
Toby doesn't wonder. I think Toby's already made
up his mind about
how long Josh can wait. In a move that I'm sure is
condemned by all
First Aid handbooks, he slips one arm under Josh's back and
the other
beneath his knees. Toby stands in a fluid motion, turning Josh
toward
him just enough so that his head and neck are supported against
Toby's
shoulder. Josh's eyes are shut tightly, and I'm not sure he's even
aware
that he's been picked up.
Toby heads down the stairs as fast as he can carry
Josh, which is
surprisingly fast. I worry that he'll stumble and my next
illogical
thought comes to me as Sam and I follow them down the steps
and
that thought is: If Toby falls down and dies, I'll have to kill him,
too.
Strength, in the right context, can be a very
comforting thing. Like
when a mother hen protects her young, or when rescue
workers break
down walls to get at people who are trapped. Toby's arms feel
like
they're the strongest things in the universe when they wrap around
me
and pick me up. Nobody's done that since…
Oh, no. Now I'm missing my dad.
At least I can breathe more easily in this sitting
position. Toby's
shoulder is warm and solid against my cheek. I want to tell
him that
he makes a good pillow, but I suddenly register the sensation of
movement. He's either carrying me somewhere, or he's rocking me,
and I
decide it's the former. The last thing I want to imagine right now
is Toby
going maternal on me. He starts bellowing at someone. I'm
pretty sure it's
not me.
He sounds panicked, but I can't make out the exact
words he's saying.
My little coughing jag seems to have triggered an
attention-deficit
disorder that I was previously unaware of. The rocking
motion stops.
There's a new voice, one that I don't recognize. The new
person and
Toby yell at each other for a while. I hear a door open, and
there's a
loud, snapping noise. My body involuntarily starts in Toby's arms.
It
takes the sound of something unfolding to convince me that it was
just
someone setting up something and not more gunfire.
"It's okay, Josh." Toby holds me a little tighter.
I find myself remembering how we met in New
Hampshire. How I
wouldn't have met CJ if I hadn't gone to New Hampshire.
I've got to get to New Hampshire. I won't know
Toby and CJ if I
don't get there. I won't get to see them and Sam every day
if I don't go.
I miss them already.
Wait, that can't be right. I can't miss someone if
I haven't met
them yet. I open my eyes and smile at Toby. He's decided to go
a bit
blurry at the moment, but I can see the reassuring grin he throws
back at me.
At least, I think it's supposed to be reassuring.
It looks a lot more like
he's about to hurl.
The same unfamiliar voice asks Toby to do
something and I find myself
gently settled back into what's probably a
stretcher. I'm suddenly
accosted by new sensations. Someone yanks my eyelids
open and
shines a painfully bright light at my face. What remains of my
shirt
is cut apart. I shiver at the sudden chill. I hear someone asking a
Mr.
Lyman if he can breathe and I wonder what's happened to my dad. Sam
tells them something and they start calling me Josh.
"Josh, can you breathe?"
"No." I try to sit up, missing the warmth of
Toby's arms. Someone
firmly pushes me back down and an air mask is placed
over my mouth
and nose. I feel fingers brush my hair. I open my eyes to see
CJ
standing above me.
"Stay with us, Joshua," she says.
I can barely hear her over the sirens. She must
see my struggle for
comprehension because she leans in closer.
"Please hold on."
"Trying," I whisper.
She smiles. A little sadly, but she smiles. "You'd better."
My eyes close and I feel a sisterly kiss grace my
forehead. There's
a clanging sound, accompanied by the now-familiar feeling
of
movement. I think I'm being lifted into the ambulance. I once again
struggle to sit up, not wanting to be taken away from these people,
my
family.
This time, I fall back on my own.
Sam is yelling. He's telling someone that they'll
meet them at the
hospital. Hey, that's cool, I think. I'll see you
soon, then, because
I think we're headed that way, too. I'll meet you there,
man, just like
that time I met you at that place you used to work at, the
one I can
never remember the name of. You know, that place you hated. You'll
love working for this guy I saw, though. He's the real thing, Sam. He's
a good man. I'd hoped you would come work with me for Hoynes, but
this
guy's not like Hoynes. Hoynes would have destroyed your
idealism. I realize
that now. He nearly destroyed mine. But it was
restored by this guy, this
guy I went and saw in New Hampshire.
You've got to come with me, Sam. We're
going to work for him, this
good man, and help him run the country and do
good things.
And Leo will be there, too. Have you met Leo? He
was my dad's
friend. You'd like him. He's… well, he's nothing like you, but
you'd
like him. And there's another guy, one that I glimpsed him at the
speech, but didn't meet. His name's Toby. He'll be your boss and our
beloved big brother. He acts grumpy, but don't fall for it. He's one of
the kindest, coolest people in the world.
One of the other coolest people in the world will
also work with us.
Toby will go and get her, just like I got you. I can't
wait to meet her.
She has this infectious laugh and a wicked sense of
humor.
But they're not all. There'll be my assistant,
who's swiftly taking over
every aspect of my life, and I'd be worried about
that if she didn't
appear to have good intentions. And the President's
secretary, who
tolerates us and occasionally bestows upon us cookies of
mythical
goodness. And the President's aide, a sweet-natured kid who'll fall
in
love with the President's daughter, and there will probably be a little
bit of controversy about that, but I'm sure people will learn to adjust
because they're so perfect for each other, Sam, So perfect.
And Bartlet's such a good man, even if you can't
ignore his attempts
to feed us chili. He's going to become President. He's
going to make
our country, maybe even the world, a better place to live
in.
I'd be willing to die to help him do that.
A voice above me says something to the effect of
that not being
out of the realm of possibility. I open my eyes and note with
disinterest the crowd of people attempting a bunch of medical stuff
on
me. I wonder if I've been talking all this time. I suppose I should
worry
that I might start announcing stuff I'm not supposed to about
the
government, but I'm not concerned. I figure things will work
themselves out.
I glance at the faces of the medics. They don't
appear to notice that
I'm staring at them, and continue going about their
job. All of them
working together like that makes me wonder what I'm
supposed to be
doing.
What was it Toby, Sam and CJ told me? To hold on?
I kept asking to
what, but I think I know now. There are only three places
on my body
that feel warm. My hand feels warm where Sam held it in his own.
One side of my body feels warm-the side that was against Toby when
he
carried me down those steps. My forehead feels warm, too, and it
amazes me
that just a slight kiss from CJ could do that.
And what I can hold onto, I think, as the sirens
grow painfully loud in
my ears, is that warmth.
I can hold onto the warmth of my friends' love.
