Her head was throbbing madly, and everything was blurry. What the hell had happened? Where was she? C.J. tried to remember anything, but her head wouldn't stop spinning, and her tongue felt rough and fuzzy. Slowly, she moved her hand and felt cold concrete under her digits. All of a sudden, her senses seemed to kick into action, and her mind was overflowing with that evening's events.

War of the Roses; the President asking everyone which was their favourite Henry; the Welfare bill; Simon... Wrestling his little brother; putting on the black Vera Wang; Simon piercing her eyes with a penetrating stare. His lips firm against her own, his tongue slipping in and caressing hers...

Finally, she acquiesced that she was, indeed, not going blind or turning into an amnesiac. She remembered walking out of the theatre, wincing slightly as she walked down the marvellous steps in her uncomfortable shoes, looking for Toby. She was going to let him know she wouldn't fly back with them, that she'd planned to meet a friend for a late drink, and that she'd see them in the morning. It was supposed to be a surprise—a rare treat for herself. To invite Simon to celebrate her freedom—preferably at a hotel bar. Where she could be spontaneous, for once in her life, – live a little.

What she couldn't quite figure out, though, was where she was now. She remembered walking down the steps, but after that, her memory was foggy and patchy. Deciding she was stable enough to move, she tried to push herself up. At once, her eyes seemed fixated on spinning in circles while her head tried valiantly to hold itself up, whereas her neck muscles had apparently stopped working.

Oh, holy hell. What have you gotten yourself into now, Claudia Jean?

Danny was running. He'd been running for—he didn't even know how long. Never before in his life had he run that fast for that long. His lungs ached, and his legs were screaming for him to stop—to rest. But he couldn't. He had to keep going; he had to find her. Once he saw the explosion, it was as if lightning had struck him. Something was wrong, and he couldn't shake the feeling that C.J. was in danger. It was the same feeling he felt when chasing a story: the truth was just waiting to be uncovered.

Finally, he couldn't run any longer. Hunched over, he heaved, tasting blood. The busy street was loud, with passersby swerving to avoid crashing into him. He collapsed on a bench, his breath trembling and his hands shaking. He'd been calling her phone ever since he escaped from the room where Margret and Carol had been keeping him. He dialed her number again and again, but it was out of service. The shrill triad that played each time the call failed felt like ice picks in his heart. Afraid he was going to faint, he focused his breathing until a sound caught his attention. Behind him, he heard flashes from news coverage as the door to the bar behind him opened. Despite his weak legs protesting the sudden movement, he dragged himself into the bar. All the TVs hung above the bar showed coverage of the explosion.

"We are getting word that President Bartlet's motorcade has been spotted in transit. A serious-looking newscaster was saying, holding her hand up to her ear. Behind her, by some distance, was the Broadway theatre, bathed in blue and red lights.

"Patricia, this is certainly a tragic event, so soon after the attack at Rosslyn," the anchor said, with a matching grim expression, although Danny knew him and knew that he was a man who delighted in days like these. "Has there been any comment from the White House?"

"No one has come forth as of yet," Patricia replied.

"It must be said that this is highly unusual, leaving the American public completely in the dark." Asshole, Danny thought.

"It certainly is, Walter. Although it is not clear whether anyone has been let out of the theatre. Sources are saying that prominent members of the Catholic Church have been sequestered..." Good Lord, Danny sighed. His thoughts crisscrossed, jumbling over each other, making it impossible to focus.

He knew that in a situation like this, the White House would always comment in one way or another. C.J. knew that the longer the radio silence remained, the more the press would have to start guessing and filling in the blanks. Hell, during Rosslyn, there had been a noncommittal comment that the White House didn't have a comment, that there'd be a briefing later, seemingly at the same time as Josh was being pushed into the ambulance. There was never nothing. Because C.J. knew... She thought of these things…

Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and dialed, hoping against hope that he'd answer. Surprisingly, the phone only rang two times before the familiar voice spoke.

"Yeah?" Josh Lyman sounded tense.

"Hey," Danny began but couldn't really continue.

"Danny?" Josh asked before adding, "I can't tell you anything."

"That's not why..." Danny tried with all his might to organise his jumbled thoughts. "I just need to know if she's..." He was unable to finish the sentence. Because actually saying the words out loud might actualize them.

"You know we can't," Josh replied. "I can't," he added, his voice heavy with dread.

"There hasn't been a comment yet," Danny said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "From the White House. There hasn't been a comment, and I know C.J. would never let that happen. Unless..." His voice broke, and a shuddering breath escaped from his lips.

"Danny, I," Josh said, but Danny cut him off.

"I'm not writing about this, Goddammit." He was yelling now. "I just need to know if she's okay. I need to know if she's hurt and enroute to a hospital, or if she's d... I just need to know." There was a long pause before Josh sighed heavily.

"You can't tell anyone," he said. "This is off the record; I've never been more serious about anything before, okay?"

"I understand."

"Actually, I really shouldn't." Danny could hear him pacing.

"Josh, you know me," Danny said earnestly.

"Yeah, I know you, but you're still a reporter, and, by the way, this isn't even your beat anymore." Josh was on a tirade now. "We've been friends for a long time, but you know I can't give you information on a day like this! Come on, man!" At that moment, a loud groan echoed around Danny as patrons of the bar lamented a pass gone wrong on the TV's not showing news coverage. "Are you at a bar?" Josh sounded astonished.

"No," Danny began. "No, yes, yes I am, but that doesn't matter..."

"Are you drunk?"

"Josh, no!" Danny was losing his thread of thought yet again.

"This is ridiculous," Josh said incredulously. "I'm hanging up."

"I love her," Danny said suddenly. "I think you already knew that, but I do. And I need to know if I'm going to prison for killing her attacker or her k..." Again, his voice refused to utter the words. He had meant his jab as a joke, but it was the truth.

"They haven't found her yet," Josh finally said. "Everyone else is accounted for; the President's safe, but they can't find her. No one's seen her since the show ended."

Even though Danny had been going over all the horrific possibilities for the last hour or so, he wasn't ready. He dropped his phone to the ground, vaguely aware of Josh's voice faintly calling his name.

Oh, God. Another wave of terror ran through him like a freight train. I have to find her. But it was impossible. Wasn't it? As soon as he entered the bar, he leaped out of there. He hobbled over to the street, searching frantically up and down. At last he saw what he was looking for and lunged forward into the road, screaming for the oncoming taxi to stop.

Josh stared at the phone in his hand. What the hell was going on? He felt so useless, stuck at the White House while his family was in the middle of a crisis. As he mused whether or not to call Leo again, Donna walked into the office holding a cup of coffee and handed it to him.

"I'm guessing you're not going anywhere," she mused, looking concerned.

"Hey, it's going to be fine," he said, both trying to convince her and himself.

"Is it?" Donna looked on the verge of tears.

"Yeah," Josh began, but then deflated. "I... Was it like this the last time?" His meaning was clear to both of them.

"No," she simply stated. The scars on his chest seemed to tighten slightly, and there was a heaviness in the room that he wasn't ready to think about.

"The President should be arriving soon," he said, purposefully changing the subject, if only slightly.

"What about the rest of them?" Donna asked.

"I uh..." Donna didn't know that C.J. was missing. No one at the White House did, except he. "I'm guessing they'll be flown over in the morning. It's all still a bit unclear."

"Yeah, you could say that." They stood in silence for a while as Josh drank from his cup.

"Hey, were you talking to Danny Concannon?" Donna suddenly asked.

"What?" Josh snapped his head to look at her so quickly that he spilled most of his coffee on his hand. "Shit," he muttered as he shook the excess coffee off him.

"Here," Donna said, handing him a napkin.

"Why were you asking about Danny?" He wasn't quite ready to think about what he had just done. He'd leaked information, and he wasn't even sure why he did it. Something about this whole fiasco was affecting him more than he would have liked.

"This morning," she clarified. "I thought I saw him, and then Margret was telling me this insane story about him and Carol and Katie Witt." Donna smiled, as if to make sure he understood she thought this was silly, but he'd come accustomed to her calculating gaze to see that she knew something.

"Tell me what Margret said," Josh said, trying to calm his nerves. He suddenly felt as if he'd made a huge mistake.

Before

Everything was going to hell; his plan was falling apart. He had to find a way to make her realise that they were destined for each other. This man was in his way. Always looming around her, trying in vain to protect her. As if he could protect her? The only one who was worthy of her was him! No one else understood her; no one else had been watching her for longer, knew her better—no one!

For years, he'd been observing her, biding his time. Waiting, and waiting for the correct moment for her to be ready for his love. If she could only focus on what was right in front of her. He had to make her see; he had to make him be the only one she could see—the only one she'd ever want to see. This other man was a threat to his plan. He had to find a way to eliminate him. To crush him like the insect he truly is.

And just like that, he knew what he had to do. It was for the best. She would realise that in the end.

The taxi halted and jerked Danny forward. He'd arrived at Dulles; miraculously, the journey hadn't taken that long, or had he perhaps fallen asleep? There was constant pressure behind his eyes, and his body felt old and worn. He pulled cash from his ancient leather wallet and handed it to the driver before he left the car. He had no plan except to get closer to C.J., to be closer to where she'd last been seen. Stumbling around the busy airport, he managed to buy a seat for a flight that was leaving in less than a half hour after pleading desperately with the desk agent. He was running again, racing towards the soon-to-be-closed gate.

"I'm sorry, sir, we're closing the gate," the airline employee said apologetically.

"No, I'm here!" Danny screamed. "Please, just please let me on; I have to get on." She looked apprehensive and even a little frightened. "I need to get to New York," he continued, quieting his voice. "My... wife is in trouble." His eyes filled with tears. "I need to get to her." The lie fell easily from his lips.

"A-all right," she sputtered, taken aback. Hurriedly, she guided him to the gate, and he ran to the opening of the evening flight to New York.

It took a while, but she finally managed to slump into a sitting position. Gingerly, she moved her body, but as she made to turn, white-hot pain shot through her arm, making her gasp out loud. She raised her wrist, desperately trying to focus her vision, which was still blurry. Through her murky eyes, she made out how her wrist was abnormally wide, swollen, and crooked. This slight movement was enough to cause her to cry from pain as well as fear.

This was a room she was in, she'd surmised. There was a stale and sickly-sweet smell of dampness in the air, making her think of a cellar. The thought caused her to lose her balance, blinding her with fear. Where could she be? How did she get here?

Just my luck, the second I lose my security detail, I end up here, wherever the hell here is. The irony was maddening. If they'd just waited until after the show... She had the strong sense that if Simon'd still been protecting her, she wouldn't be here. He would have saved her.

"You guys use bull's-eyes?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you'd use those little outlines of people."

"We have those too."

"'Cause I'm thinking if someone's coming for you, they probably don't have a

bulls-eye on them."

"They do if I'm guarding you."

The clear image of Simon filled her mind. They do if I'm guarding you... Where was he? Her heart ached as a different kind of thought took hold of her. What if something happened to him? But then true terror made her freeze as she heard footsteps approaching.


tbc.