Part Five:
Alone in the dark, she dreamed of blood and bullets and death, Rosslyn and Manchester and mistakes, pain and forgotten dreams, and she often woke screaming, gasping, or weeping, sometimes all three. But her eyes slipped open lazily when sunlight streamed in the window and she was slow to realize that the pillow beneath her head was not her own. Her head fell to her pillow again as she slid her eyes shut, almost expecting a headache, reminiscent of a hangover, that did not come. Just as quickly, her eyes snapped open as her pillow, oddly firm, began to move. And then she rolled to her side, grinned and looked at her cushion, "I didn't dream last night," she whispered and he grinned back, rolling to face her, "You're good for me," CJ added, and he flicked a blond lock of hair behind her left ear.
Without a second thought he pulled her closer and rolled to his back. Seconds later, his grin faded and his eyes widened, "Did I hurt you?"
She smiled softly, running a hand up to his shoulder as she settled comfortably atop him, still balancing on an elbow. "No, Toby, you didn't hurt me. They're just bruises, it takes more than this," CJ took his hand and placed it against the marks on her ribcage, "to hurt. Thank you for not being disgusted by me, by this," her voice was low, cautious, "and for, you know, helping me not to dream."
Toby's eyes sharpened and he pulled her fully against him, softly resting the other hand in her hair and watching her facial expressions as he spoke. "I could never be disgusted by you," he whispered, and she chuckled as he shifted beneath her, "but I won't hurt you, and we're going to do this slowly."
"I see," her voice was amused and her eyes understanding, as she wiggled against him in response, "or rather, I feel."
"CJ, you're not helping," he whispered with restraint as he traced the neckline of his shirt, the one she'd claimed for a pajama top.
She smiled, propping herself back up and slid to his side, laying a gentle, warm kiss on his bare shoulder that made him shiver. "Oh my God!" she half-squeaked a moment later, "We're late! Senior Staff's in 45 minutes!" she pushed herself upward, falling off the bed in the process, as he grunted from the jab in the ribs. Toby sat up hurriedly, looked at the clock, then to the floor where CJ sat in a heap, and both began to laugh. "You take the shower, I'll make the coffee," she finally said, a smile still creasing her face.
"You could join me," Toby suggested, an eyebrow raised, as he watched her stand in a flurry of now untangled limbs and head for the kitchen in his shirt.
"That wouldn't be taking things slowly, now would it?" she called over her shoulder, a flirty tone belying her words.
Toby sighed exaggeratedly, "I suppose not," and then took to the shower, consciously hurrying.
With near-comical speed, they arrived at the office after a stop at Toby's apartment for a suit and a deli, at his insistence, for breakfast pastries. "Abbey'll have my head if you faint again," he argued, as they walked through the West Wing, fifteen minutes later. He paused long enough for her to deposit her coat, briefcase, and laptop with Carol, and stared expectantly until she bit into the pastry.
"I," she swallowed, "did not faint," her voice was adamant, but she lowered it a few notches before she continued, "Toby, they're going to think we're," her words were now a hiss as she waved the pastry in the air, "sleeping together."
He chuckled, "Aren't we?" Toby's lips quirked as she frowned, "No, they're going to think, and you did faint, that I gave you a ride to work because I took you home yesterday when you weren't feeling well, and your car was still here," he pushed open the door, and noted to himself that she didn't argue about the car service, and came to face to face with four other sets of eyes, looking at the both of them quite expectantly.
"I didn't faint," she whispered furiously, then stepped into his office, brandishing the strawberry-iced pastry as if were Exhibit A of her court case. "It's his fault," CJ mumbled, sitting almost dispiritedly.
"Deli run," he replied, sitting beside her and leaning closer, "yes you did," Toby whispered, "She's dehydrated," he added for the rest.
Josh and Sam looked at the pair with visible annoyance, but the Chief of Staff and President exchanged looks and the latter chuckled.
"May we get to work now?" Sam asked, doodling on the paper before him, looking up in time to see Josh's glare between CJ and Toby, a silent promise that they would be discussing things quite soon.
"Yeah, CJ's mentioned this thing with the phone's before, something about channels and crossed wires, needing a secure line. She's one of those political types, works at the White House, good kid," an older man explained, fumbling with the keys to her apartment before pushing open the door. He ran a hand through sparse white hair and then down his casual shirt. "Let me know when you're finished, I'll be down at the office."
The dark-haired man entered the apartment, nodded his head, and dropped the toolbox, "Will do, sir." And the door was sealed between them.
"So?" Josh said, falling into step with CJ, "you and Toby, huh?"
"What about Toby and me?" she replied, shifting the memos to the other hand, her lips tugging upward into a coy smile.
"Claudia Jean," his voice started out in sing-song fashion, but dropped to serious as soon as they entered the office. "I saw, yesterday, and," he paused, wording things carefully, "Toby. did he. do that?"
"Do what? Did he.?" the thoughts finally connected as she leaned backward in her chair to feed Gail, "Oh, no! Josh, don't, no! Toby didn't, he didn't," she stammered, struggling, "Toby didn't hurt me, no."
Josh sat, relieved, and looked upward, his chin propped in his hand, surveying his colleague. She looked better, he mused, of course she was conscious, so that was a large improvement, regardless. She was still pale, still tired, but she appeared more herself, if for no reason but the sparkle in her eye.
"Josh, if or when it's appropriate and I think you need to know, I'll explain, until then, just know that I made a few mistakes but it's over now," she smiled, slipping her reading glasses onto her face, then squeezing his hand. "Thanks for worrying, mi amor, but there's no need. Pass that along to the rest."
"Toby better be taking good care of you," he said, nodding at her spectacles, "Glasses, Claudia Jean?"
"I can take care of myself, pal, and my contacts were stubborn this morning," she chuckled in response.
"Whatever you say, Claudia Jean," his tone was mocking. "Don't think I've forgotten your affair with Toby," Josh teased, slipping out the door.
"I am not having an affair with." she stopped, grinned to herself, and shook her head, eyes falling to memos, briefs, and life, as she pushed thoughts of Toby from her mind. It was then that she noticed just who she was focusing on, and the bad thoughts his very existence had erased, and she smiled again.
"Last one," the repairman in CJ Cregg's apartment whispered to himself, placing the disk into the phone back. "Phones are done," he finished, "Time to call Mr. Bowman," the young man mumbled, locking the door before he looked back inside. It almost seemed wrong, he thought, to invade this woman's privacy, but people wanted strange things, or rather, people in high places with a lot of money wanted strange things. And, he sighed, in politics, that justified itself. He paused again as the door locked and latched and he caught his last whiff of her perfumed air - blooming roses, lavender bubble bath, smoke from once lit matches and bath-side candles, the smells that were distinctly hers, the ones the other man told him to savor and tell him about when he'd completed his task. Yes, people with money requested odd things, he shook his head, pulled out his cell phone, and began to dial.
Moments later, the recipient of the call sat in Apartment 4B, glancing from one photograph to the next, his smile growing more brilliant, his eyes twinkling with a menacing sort of anticipation. Lifting his receiver, he dialed her cellular phone number and awaited the voice mail.
"I'll be seeing you, Claudia," his words were quiet, "hope you like the roses." And pressed the off button, smile fading to a thoughtful expression, "Very soon. Maybe we'll have dinner."
Alone in the dark, she dreamed of blood and bullets and death, Rosslyn and Manchester and mistakes, pain and forgotten dreams, and she often woke screaming, gasping, or weeping, sometimes all three. But her eyes slipped open lazily when sunlight streamed in the window and she was slow to realize that the pillow beneath her head was not her own. Her head fell to her pillow again as she slid her eyes shut, almost expecting a headache, reminiscent of a hangover, that did not come. Just as quickly, her eyes snapped open as her pillow, oddly firm, began to move. And then she rolled to her side, grinned and looked at her cushion, "I didn't dream last night," she whispered and he grinned back, rolling to face her, "You're good for me," CJ added, and he flicked a blond lock of hair behind her left ear.
Without a second thought he pulled her closer and rolled to his back. Seconds later, his grin faded and his eyes widened, "Did I hurt you?"
She smiled softly, running a hand up to his shoulder as she settled comfortably atop him, still balancing on an elbow. "No, Toby, you didn't hurt me. They're just bruises, it takes more than this," CJ took his hand and placed it against the marks on her ribcage, "to hurt. Thank you for not being disgusted by me, by this," her voice was low, cautious, "and for, you know, helping me not to dream."
Toby's eyes sharpened and he pulled her fully against him, softly resting the other hand in her hair and watching her facial expressions as he spoke. "I could never be disgusted by you," he whispered, and she chuckled as he shifted beneath her, "but I won't hurt you, and we're going to do this slowly."
"I see," her voice was amused and her eyes understanding, as she wiggled against him in response, "or rather, I feel."
"CJ, you're not helping," he whispered with restraint as he traced the neckline of his shirt, the one she'd claimed for a pajama top.
She smiled, propping herself back up and slid to his side, laying a gentle, warm kiss on his bare shoulder that made him shiver. "Oh my God!" she half-squeaked a moment later, "We're late! Senior Staff's in 45 minutes!" she pushed herself upward, falling off the bed in the process, as he grunted from the jab in the ribs. Toby sat up hurriedly, looked at the clock, then to the floor where CJ sat in a heap, and both began to laugh. "You take the shower, I'll make the coffee," she finally said, a smile still creasing her face.
"You could join me," Toby suggested, an eyebrow raised, as he watched her stand in a flurry of now untangled limbs and head for the kitchen in his shirt.
"That wouldn't be taking things slowly, now would it?" she called over her shoulder, a flirty tone belying her words.
Toby sighed exaggeratedly, "I suppose not," and then took to the shower, consciously hurrying.
With near-comical speed, they arrived at the office after a stop at Toby's apartment for a suit and a deli, at his insistence, for breakfast pastries. "Abbey'll have my head if you faint again," he argued, as they walked through the West Wing, fifteen minutes later. He paused long enough for her to deposit her coat, briefcase, and laptop with Carol, and stared expectantly until she bit into the pastry.
"I," she swallowed, "did not faint," her voice was adamant, but she lowered it a few notches before she continued, "Toby, they're going to think we're," her words were now a hiss as she waved the pastry in the air, "sleeping together."
He chuckled, "Aren't we?" Toby's lips quirked as she frowned, "No, they're going to think, and you did faint, that I gave you a ride to work because I took you home yesterday when you weren't feeling well, and your car was still here," he pushed open the door, and noted to himself that she didn't argue about the car service, and came to face to face with four other sets of eyes, looking at the both of them quite expectantly.
"I didn't faint," she whispered furiously, then stepped into his office, brandishing the strawberry-iced pastry as if were Exhibit A of her court case. "It's his fault," CJ mumbled, sitting almost dispiritedly.
"Deli run," he replied, sitting beside her and leaning closer, "yes you did," Toby whispered, "She's dehydrated," he added for the rest.
Josh and Sam looked at the pair with visible annoyance, but the Chief of Staff and President exchanged looks and the latter chuckled.
"May we get to work now?" Sam asked, doodling on the paper before him, looking up in time to see Josh's glare between CJ and Toby, a silent promise that they would be discussing things quite soon.
"Yeah, CJ's mentioned this thing with the phone's before, something about channels and crossed wires, needing a secure line. She's one of those political types, works at the White House, good kid," an older man explained, fumbling with the keys to her apartment before pushing open the door. He ran a hand through sparse white hair and then down his casual shirt. "Let me know when you're finished, I'll be down at the office."
The dark-haired man entered the apartment, nodded his head, and dropped the toolbox, "Will do, sir." And the door was sealed between them.
"So?" Josh said, falling into step with CJ, "you and Toby, huh?"
"What about Toby and me?" she replied, shifting the memos to the other hand, her lips tugging upward into a coy smile.
"Claudia Jean," his voice started out in sing-song fashion, but dropped to serious as soon as they entered the office. "I saw, yesterday, and," he paused, wording things carefully, "Toby. did he. do that?"
"Do what? Did he.?" the thoughts finally connected as she leaned backward in her chair to feed Gail, "Oh, no! Josh, don't, no! Toby didn't, he didn't," she stammered, struggling, "Toby didn't hurt me, no."
Josh sat, relieved, and looked upward, his chin propped in his hand, surveying his colleague. She looked better, he mused, of course she was conscious, so that was a large improvement, regardless. She was still pale, still tired, but she appeared more herself, if for no reason but the sparkle in her eye.
"Josh, if or when it's appropriate and I think you need to know, I'll explain, until then, just know that I made a few mistakes but it's over now," she smiled, slipping her reading glasses onto her face, then squeezing his hand. "Thanks for worrying, mi amor, but there's no need. Pass that along to the rest."
"Toby better be taking good care of you," he said, nodding at her spectacles, "Glasses, Claudia Jean?"
"I can take care of myself, pal, and my contacts were stubborn this morning," she chuckled in response.
"Whatever you say, Claudia Jean," his tone was mocking. "Don't think I've forgotten your affair with Toby," Josh teased, slipping out the door.
"I am not having an affair with." she stopped, grinned to herself, and shook her head, eyes falling to memos, briefs, and life, as she pushed thoughts of Toby from her mind. It was then that she noticed just who she was focusing on, and the bad thoughts his very existence had erased, and she smiled again.
"Last one," the repairman in CJ Cregg's apartment whispered to himself, placing the disk into the phone back. "Phones are done," he finished, "Time to call Mr. Bowman," the young man mumbled, locking the door before he looked back inside. It almost seemed wrong, he thought, to invade this woman's privacy, but people wanted strange things, or rather, people in high places with a lot of money wanted strange things. And, he sighed, in politics, that justified itself. He paused again as the door locked and latched and he caught his last whiff of her perfumed air - blooming roses, lavender bubble bath, smoke from once lit matches and bath-side candles, the smells that were distinctly hers, the ones the other man told him to savor and tell him about when he'd completed his task. Yes, people with money requested odd things, he shook his head, pulled out his cell phone, and began to dial.
Moments later, the recipient of the call sat in Apartment 4B, glancing from one photograph to the next, his smile growing more brilliant, his eyes twinkling with a menacing sort of anticipation. Lifting his receiver, he dialed her cellular phone number and awaited the voice mail.
"I'll be seeing you, Claudia," his words were quiet, "hope you like the roses." And pressed the off button, smile fading to a thoughtful expression, "Very soon. Maybe we'll have dinner."
