February 17th
Cregg-Ziegler Residence
"Hi," he finally said, his face serious but full of admiration. His eyes traveled the distance between their faces, and he pulled his leg underneath him.
"Hi," she whispered, leaning her head backward, arms never shifting. After a moment, she opened her eyes and smiled at him, then looked downward, gaze settling on the child in her arms.
Her mouth moved rhythmically, her tiny hand balled into a fist just above her mother's breast. CJ lifted a finger to stroke her cheek, then her light brown hair. She'd joked the day before, when she'd first endeavored to feed her daughter, that they should have named her Hoover. Toby had, of course, winced at her words, unable to comprehend the feelings – both physical and emotional.
He had seen her after meetings that ran all day, State Dinners that lasted well into the night, crises that kept her – them – awake for days, but he'd never seen her appear so tired.
Tentatively, Toby reached a hand toward them, finally resting it on the back of Rachel's head. He ran his fingertips over the fine strands of hair – cornsilk, Abbey had called it – then CJ took his hand and rested it just above Rachel's lips, allowing him to feel her body's reaction to the child's hunger.
He marveled at it – his eyes meeting hers – and murmured, "Does it hurt?"
"No," her voice was low, "it feels sort of…" she grappled for the words, "different, beautiful in a way. They say it's a connection," she shirted the newborn, lifting her to her shoulder, and smiled as Toby continued to touch her. "It is, you know, a connection." After a moment, she added, "She's beautiful."
Toby finally removed his hand and began to button her blouse almost reverently. "So are you," his voice was quiet in an attempt not to disturb his daughter.
He'd never seen her so tired, or so content.
"We're going to protect her Toby, no matter what," she told him, and he nodded, slipping closer, sliding his fingers along his daughter's tiny palm, closed around several strands of CJ's hair. "No matter what," she repeated.
"I promise, CJ," he replied, moving away from his seat as the doorbell chimed. He kissed the top of her head and they exchanged shy grins as the baby emitted a quiet burp.
They'd had this conversation before.
CJ still harbored so much more guilt than she could tell even him of, so many more fears than she'd known in the days before Christmas, the times before 'the River', the years before Rosslyn. The nightmares were more frequent, but she woke from them less, somehow managing to sleep through them, move past, dream on.
Sometimes she looked at the cardboard box in the back of the closet. She didn't need to open it to remember a bloodied dress and jacket from the Press Room, a thermal blanket from 'the River,' a broken necklace from Rosslyn. It, the box, had been shoved to the back of the closet, and she no longer paused to stare at it when she should have been choosing her clothes for the day, but somehow, she couldn't bring herself to throw it away, because it was as much a part of her as the child she had just delivered.
Sometimes she looked at her daughter, so helpless, so trusting, so innocent and carefree. She wondered if she could keep the promises she'd made, wondered if she could keep Rachel safe. She still examined the walls for pinholes, still checked the phones for bugs. She knew she'd always pull the curtains tightly shut, and she wished she could so easily block this evil from her daughter's life.
And sometimes she looked at him - her best friend, her lover, the father of her daughter – and she seemed older, years older, for her eyes lacked a light they'd once always possessed. It was then that he was reminded of her dreams, the nightmares she refused to speak about most nights, the nightmares of dripping blood and smeared hands, dying men and things that she could've done – things she could have prevented – and things that could never be. She had promised herself long before she'd known what would happen on the day after Christmas that she'd protect her family, her Toby, her child, and herself. Yet, she felt she had failed, and two men had died because of what she deemed to be her shortcomings, and those were the nightmares Toby felt claimed her most often. But then, he knew, she'd say something, or smile, or just blink, and that tiny spark was back and burning brightly beneath the green of her eyes, and she was back, and everything was okay again – though an air of unease often remained.
Will and Danny had arrived at the hospital shortly after CJ's father and brothers had given their blessings. Toby had hung back, watching CJ sleep and Rachel fuss, kicking chubby legs into the air.
He'd watched through tired eyes with understanding as CJ's father hugged each of the men, and her brothers shook their hands. "Thank you for helping her," Matthew had said in his almost-childlike way, and both men had replied humbly, refusing to take credit for they felt they'd done nothing, only acting as a buffer zone, questioning her ideas, making her more firm in her beliefs that she was doing the right thing. She had saved them, all of them, and they felt they should be the ones thanking her, but she was sleeping and instead, both men exchanged glances and smiled at the baby, one touching her foot, the other her hand, as she smiled with mouth open wide at her father.
And then, Toby had swallowed so much of his pride and stubbornness, and had whispered his thankfulness to both men before they exited, grinning with googly-eyes at the infant. With a certain kind of peace, Toby had caught Danny's eyes, nodded, and watched the reporter's sad smile reemerge. Sometimes, Danny wished it could have been him with her, but he knew that something like that, so precious and pure, couldn't be shared between anyone but those that were predestined for the other. They had reached an understanding.
By the time CJ had awoke, visiting hours had past and her family had returned to the apartment to complete preparations in the nursery, assemble the crib in their bedroom, and call friends and family to ready the Welcome Home party the new little family didn't expect. She had watched Toby as he held their daughter, pacing in front of the window as she fussed quietly, tapping his tie with her foot, nuzzling her face against his rolled up sleeves in the crook of his elbow. And it was moments like those that she remembered the good things and pushed the bad away, smiled when the rest of the world couldn't see her, and fell in love with him all over again.
And Toby opened the door, allowing two secret service agents to enter, sweep the premises, and return to the door in a matter of seconds to lead the President and First Lady into the small Georgetown home, followed by their friends – their family – and a suspicious looking box in Sam's hands. He nearly ran to the couch, peering over CJ's shoulder at the baby, then laid the box on the table beside them, and requested he be allowed to hold his goddaughter. Josh waited eagerly at the other end of the couch, and soon Sam was holding the little girl so that both could coo over her, catching her wide eyed expression and her attention. Soon Bartlet commanded the child be brought to him, and he and Abbey settled back into the recliner with Rachel, and she watched with a distinctly wistful expression as he peppered her forehead with kisses and lulled her into sleep.
It was in these moments, the ones that Abbey spent looking at CJ or Toby, and especially Rachel, that the guilt didn't seem so heavy, such a burden. No one had spoken on the subject, as few had suspicions as to her medical training and inclinations, but that didn't make it easier to handle. She'd allowed a man's life to slip away, even though she was fairly certain it was too late to be saved, because of her beliefs, whether political, familial, or otherwise, and that was something she'd sworn never to do. But in moments like these, when she could touch the silken skin of the child she'd done it for, smile at the mother – the friend - she'd momentarily feared would die, the guilt wasn't as important, and she remembered her purpose. And then, she didn't feel like a 'bad doctor', she felt like Abbey Bartlet again.
Finally, CJ and Toby wound their arms around each other in their tiny corner of the couch, the box settled between them as she began to pull the tabs away and open it.
"For Rachel," Josh grinned up at Donna, and Sam chuckled to himself as CJ laughed again. "Valentine's Day present, you see. No one should be alone."
CJ lifted the plastic container from the box and looked at Toby, who looked quite disgusted. With a laugh she thought she'd forgotten, the Press Secretary grinned at the crowd gathered in her living room – her family – and amended Josh's statement. "Not even hamsters."
And she smiled.
12/3/01 - 2/4/02
Cregg-Ziegler Residence
"Hi," he finally said, his face serious but full of admiration. His eyes traveled the distance between their faces, and he pulled his leg underneath him.
"Hi," she whispered, leaning her head backward, arms never shifting. After a moment, she opened her eyes and smiled at him, then looked downward, gaze settling on the child in her arms.
Her mouth moved rhythmically, her tiny hand balled into a fist just above her mother's breast. CJ lifted a finger to stroke her cheek, then her light brown hair. She'd joked the day before, when she'd first endeavored to feed her daughter, that they should have named her Hoover. Toby had, of course, winced at her words, unable to comprehend the feelings – both physical and emotional.
He had seen her after meetings that ran all day, State Dinners that lasted well into the night, crises that kept her – them – awake for days, but he'd never seen her appear so tired.
Tentatively, Toby reached a hand toward them, finally resting it on the back of Rachel's head. He ran his fingertips over the fine strands of hair – cornsilk, Abbey had called it – then CJ took his hand and rested it just above Rachel's lips, allowing him to feel her body's reaction to the child's hunger.
He marveled at it – his eyes meeting hers – and murmured, "Does it hurt?"
"No," her voice was low, "it feels sort of…" she grappled for the words, "different, beautiful in a way. They say it's a connection," she shirted the newborn, lifting her to her shoulder, and smiled as Toby continued to touch her. "It is, you know, a connection." After a moment, she added, "She's beautiful."
Toby finally removed his hand and began to button her blouse almost reverently. "So are you," his voice was quiet in an attempt not to disturb his daughter.
He'd never seen her so tired, or so content.
"We're going to protect her Toby, no matter what," she told him, and he nodded, slipping closer, sliding his fingers along his daughter's tiny palm, closed around several strands of CJ's hair. "No matter what," she repeated.
"I promise, CJ," he replied, moving away from his seat as the doorbell chimed. He kissed the top of her head and they exchanged shy grins as the baby emitted a quiet burp.
They'd had this conversation before.
CJ still harbored so much more guilt than she could tell even him of, so many more fears than she'd known in the days before Christmas, the times before 'the River', the years before Rosslyn. The nightmares were more frequent, but she woke from them less, somehow managing to sleep through them, move past, dream on.
Sometimes she looked at the cardboard box in the back of the closet. She didn't need to open it to remember a bloodied dress and jacket from the Press Room, a thermal blanket from 'the River,' a broken necklace from Rosslyn. It, the box, had been shoved to the back of the closet, and she no longer paused to stare at it when she should have been choosing her clothes for the day, but somehow, she couldn't bring herself to throw it away, because it was as much a part of her as the child she had just delivered.
Sometimes she looked at her daughter, so helpless, so trusting, so innocent and carefree. She wondered if she could keep the promises she'd made, wondered if she could keep Rachel safe. She still examined the walls for pinholes, still checked the phones for bugs. She knew she'd always pull the curtains tightly shut, and she wished she could so easily block this evil from her daughter's life.
And sometimes she looked at him - her best friend, her lover, the father of her daughter – and she seemed older, years older, for her eyes lacked a light they'd once always possessed. It was then that he was reminded of her dreams, the nightmares she refused to speak about most nights, the nightmares of dripping blood and smeared hands, dying men and things that she could've done – things she could have prevented – and things that could never be. She had promised herself long before she'd known what would happen on the day after Christmas that she'd protect her family, her Toby, her child, and herself. Yet, she felt she had failed, and two men had died because of what she deemed to be her shortcomings, and those were the nightmares Toby felt claimed her most often. But then, he knew, she'd say something, or smile, or just blink, and that tiny spark was back and burning brightly beneath the green of her eyes, and she was back, and everything was okay again – though an air of unease often remained.
Will and Danny had arrived at the hospital shortly after CJ's father and brothers had given their blessings. Toby had hung back, watching CJ sleep and Rachel fuss, kicking chubby legs into the air.
He'd watched through tired eyes with understanding as CJ's father hugged each of the men, and her brothers shook their hands. "Thank you for helping her," Matthew had said in his almost-childlike way, and both men had replied humbly, refusing to take credit for they felt they'd done nothing, only acting as a buffer zone, questioning her ideas, making her more firm in her beliefs that she was doing the right thing. She had saved them, all of them, and they felt they should be the ones thanking her, but she was sleeping and instead, both men exchanged glances and smiled at the baby, one touching her foot, the other her hand, as she smiled with mouth open wide at her father.
And then, Toby had swallowed so much of his pride and stubbornness, and had whispered his thankfulness to both men before they exited, grinning with googly-eyes at the infant. With a certain kind of peace, Toby had caught Danny's eyes, nodded, and watched the reporter's sad smile reemerge. Sometimes, Danny wished it could have been him with her, but he knew that something like that, so precious and pure, couldn't be shared between anyone but those that were predestined for the other. They had reached an understanding.
By the time CJ had awoke, visiting hours had past and her family had returned to the apartment to complete preparations in the nursery, assemble the crib in their bedroom, and call friends and family to ready the Welcome Home party the new little family didn't expect. She had watched Toby as he held their daughter, pacing in front of the window as she fussed quietly, tapping his tie with her foot, nuzzling her face against his rolled up sleeves in the crook of his elbow. And it was moments like those that she remembered the good things and pushed the bad away, smiled when the rest of the world couldn't see her, and fell in love with him all over again.
And Toby opened the door, allowing two secret service agents to enter, sweep the premises, and return to the door in a matter of seconds to lead the President and First Lady into the small Georgetown home, followed by their friends – their family – and a suspicious looking box in Sam's hands. He nearly ran to the couch, peering over CJ's shoulder at the baby, then laid the box on the table beside them, and requested he be allowed to hold his goddaughter. Josh waited eagerly at the other end of the couch, and soon Sam was holding the little girl so that both could coo over her, catching her wide eyed expression and her attention. Soon Bartlet commanded the child be brought to him, and he and Abbey settled back into the recliner with Rachel, and she watched with a distinctly wistful expression as he peppered her forehead with kisses and lulled her into sleep.
It was in these moments, the ones that Abbey spent looking at CJ or Toby, and especially Rachel, that the guilt didn't seem so heavy, such a burden. No one had spoken on the subject, as few had suspicions as to her medical training and inclinations, but that didn't make it easier to handle. She'd allowed a man's life to slip away, even though she was fairly certain it was too late to be saved, because of her beliefs, whether political, familial, or otherwise, and that was something she'd sworn never to do. But in moments like these, when she could touch the silken skin of the child she'd done it for, smile at the mother – the friend - she'd momentarily feared would die, the guilt wasn't as important, and she remembered her purpose. And then, she didn't feel like a 'bad doctor', she felt like Abbey Bartlet again.
Finally, CJ and Toby wound their arms around each other in their tiny corner of the couch, the box settled between them as she began to pull the tabs away and open it.
"For Rachel," Josh grinned up at Donna, and Sam chuckled to himself as CJ laughed again. "Valentine's Day present, you see. No one should be alone."
CJ lifted the plastic container from the box and looked at Toby, who looked quite disgusted. With a laugh she thought she'd forgotten, the Press Secretary grinned at the crowd gathered in her living room – her family – and amended Josh's statement. "Not even hamsters."
And she smiled.
12/3/01 - 2/4/02