The National Library - West Wing Fan Fiction

Refiner's Fire

Category(s): Post-Ep
Rating: TEEN
Disclaimer: This is an original short story spawned by the imagination of SheilaVR, based upon the creation of Aaron Sorkin, with the obligatory nod to Warner Brothers Television and NBC. No copyright infringement is actually intended, but no threat of same will stop me from fantasizing about "The West Wing" anyway...
Summary: A frame-by-frame analysis of the last thirty seconds of the first season finale.
Authors Notes: This plotline has no bearing on Mr. Sorkin's avowed intent to flashback to the Bartlet presidential campaign at the start of the new season.
Warning:I refuse to glorify violence, even in fiction. I will never comprehend how any person could willingly hurt another. However, violence does exist, and by its very nature it is dramatic. What follows is a coolly realistic interpretation of events, based primarily upon a frame-by-frame analysis of the last thirty seconds of the first season finale.

PART 14

********

~ TIME INDEX: 20:56:08 ~

In the twilight realm of unconsciousness, time is not a constant. Some people revive with no awareness of a lapse at all. For others the moments seem to drag at an excruciatingly slow pace, each sensation stretched out forever. Some dream, most often yet not always of recent events, and those that remember usually describe dreams more real than they ever experienced before. Patients may awaken suddenly, or level by level; some are subjected to wild disorientation, while others recall exactly where they are and what happened. On rare occasions they even perceive some of the activity and sounds around them during their blackout, as though a special self-defense mechanism in the brain doesn't completely shut down.

Of course, drugs and injuries tend to have different overall effects. And the amount of trauma to the body plays an important role in recovery as well.

In this specific case the end result was about as merciful as it could be hoped. No delirium, no virtual fights with demons, no prolonged and torturous journey trapped in the past. Just one delicious heartbeat of gentle darkness and perfect peace, like drifting up from sleep on the first day of a long-awaited vacation.

And then the pain center came online.

CJ lurched back to life with blowtorches attacking her on all fronts, explosions bursting against her eyes, and screams ringing in her ears.

// People scattered in every direction, gunfire ripped through the night air; someone or something slammed into her, *HARD*; she started to buckle, reaching out for help, for anyone... //

She tried to scream again, but the anguish wouldn't let her -

"CJ. CJ! Easy, now. Calm down... it's over... you're safe... "

A soft voice. A man's voice. A *friend's* voice. It sounded distant, yet rose firmly above the panic, compassionate, unshakable, giving her something solid to hold onto once again. She clung to it with all the feeble strength she had, in utter desperation, convinced that it was her only chance to save her sanity.

And gradually, by infinitesimal degrees, the waves of horror that volleyed her back and forth began to subside.

Trembling from shock, gasping for air, she struggled to speak. To think. But all she could do was hear, and *feel*. Feel the acid that burned its way through her ribs, the needles driven into her skull. Hear the laboring sigh of her own lungs, the rumbling surge of her pulse - and the soft voice that stayed with her, that didn't leave her alone.

"Hang in there... you're going to be all right... "

She trusted that voice. <I will be all right. I will. I will... >

The pain did not want to let go. She fought it. Other voices came, strange and less reassuring; she had no energy to spare for them. The gentle voice of a friend always returned, always a little nearer, and it was that which at last lifted her all the way to the surface.

It took ages to focus on anything. Indistinct whiteness surrounded her - except for a dark shadow to one side, as soft and steady and comforting as the voice. A human form, bit by bit gaining color and detail.

Her tongue had turned to sandpaper; still, she accomplished one tiny whisper.

"Toby?"

"CJ," the friend's voice said in simple reply, and this time she detected an undercurrent that sounded almost like joy.

He sat there beside her, as patient as Time.

The mere sight of him, rumpled and impassive and unhurt, temporarily evicted her fear. He looked so perfectly normal, she *had* to be safe.

She could see a white ceiling and walls now, but no one else; those other voices must have come and gone.

<Who... and where... >

"How do you feel?" Toby asked in his soft tone.

The pain had begun to make up its mind and settle into specific locations. CJ noticed a stiff vice around her waist, a hot pressure that objected to every breath - never mind the out-of-tune symphony banging away between her ears.

And she noticed, too, the unmistakable beep and hum of hospital equipment. Very close by.

*Hospital.* The panic came roaring back. <WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?>

Toby must have read it on her face. "Relax. It's okay. Just rest."

She didn't want to be consoled now. She wanted to know. "What... "

He sighed. "You got in the way of some flying lead, that's all."

His typical deadpan attitude calmed her somewhat, despite the frightening reference.

"Do you remember?" And from the thinly-cloaked urgency she picked up in those three words, her answer would be of considerable importance.

Hold on: there *was* something. An evening event. Lots of people. Pistol shots. Impact -

Slowly, CJ blinked; nodding was impossible. <Then it wasn't just a dream... >

In the lengthening quiet she swallowed, with difficulty, and braced herself. Holding his gaze, begging for the truth. "How... bad... "

For the first time, Toby shifted. "Well, I'm afraid you'll be in here awhile. They had to take out a few inches of intestine and some bone splinters; and you really gave your head a whack. But you're gonna be fine, CJ. You've got my word on it."

For several long seconds, she just lay there and processed that information.

Her pain increased everywhere at the very concept.

One arm moved, weakly, questing. Fingers ran over the hospital blanket, the tangible bulge of bandages underneath, the linen medical gown, the wires tracking her vital signs, the rubber tube feeding into her nose, the thick wrap around her head.

<I'm healing. I'm going to make it.>

Then it occurred to her that others had been involved as well.

"You...?" Every sound rasped her throat anew, but she couldn't give in to that now. Not until she found out *everything*.

"Just thoroughly black and blue. I was run over by one stampede of Secret Service and another of reporters."

CJ had to grin, briefly, at his nonchalant wording. No doubt he planned it that way.

Plus, he sounded distinctly pleased by her questions. How odd; Toby was one of the most impatient men she'd ever met. He hated Q and A sessions of any kind.

But then, she realized, these questions proved that her mind still worked, refuting the horrendous possibility of brain damage.

She shivered. <Please, not that... >

Vague memories continued to nibble their way upward, thrusting concern for herself aside. "Sam?" He had been there, just two feet off - if *she'd* been hit -

"A few cuts. Nothing serious."

Relief swept in, bathing her in warmth.

"He did his best to protect you."

CJ wanted to brand that fact into her mind. If not for Sam...

But there were other names, other friends. <Think!>

Toby must have figured that her powers of recollection were batting less than a thousand just now. "Josh and Charlie are in here as well. They had narrow squeaks of their own, but they'll be up and around before long. And Leo's already back on the job, which he *shouldn't* be."

That comment made her smile again. How like Leo...

Then the association hit. Her whole body jerked, eyes staring. "President -!"

"He's safe." Toby broke through this fresh tide of apprehension. "Both he and Zoey are in the White House."

CJ went limp. And heaved a gigantic sigh, heedless of the extra fire it caused.

<He's okay. Someone shot at us, but they're both okay.>

"Actually, from what I hear, the President is quite miffed at you right now."

That made her stare again. " 'Cause I... didn't duck?"

Toby's mouth quirked in the familiar laconic way. "No; because he was all set to come here himself. He spent most of the day arguing with security for the right to visit, in case you... took a turn for the worst." The Communications Director paused, his features now more somber than ever, then finished on a less distressing note. "When your condition finally picked up a little while ago, he lost the fight."

"Oh." If not for the persistent pain, CJ would have chuckled. "Sorry... "

Well, she wasn't *really*. As the highest-ranking woman on the President's staff, she knew that Bartlet regarded her with a special affection. Still, she was just as glad not to give him an excuse to come to her deathbed.

"Probably better in the long run. It seems he got knocked around a bit by his own detail. The First Lady wants to keep tabs on him for awhile yet."

Toby paused again, and took a deep breath. "You gave all of us a real scare, CJ. *Please* don't do it again." And the anxiety shone in his solemn eyes.

"Promise." She had no strength to raise her hand, but she slid it across the blanket towards him as far as she could reach. Searching for a lifeline.

He hesitated only a moment before covering it with his own.

"And you're all right, too... " CJ had never known such overriding relief. To think that he or *any* of her friends could have so easily been *killed -!*

This time Toby did not look at her. "Yeah, well, I personally don't *feel* all right."

Her brows lowered in puzzlement. <Why not?> He didn't have to look forward to days or weeks of painful convalescence...

Ah - guilt. Remorse that he alone of them all had come through uninjured. And Toby never did handle extremes of emotion well.

Well, she'd just have to make it clear that there was no need to -

He spoke first, denying her that opportunity. Plainly not wanting to hear it. "There's some medication here for you. Looks to me like the first dose has worn off. Do you suppose I can talk you into taking a pill or two?"

<Oh, I hate those things!> Still, endless effort to focus through constant pain was wearing CJ out that much faster. The possibility of a drink settled it; her mouth and throat still felt like parchment several centuries old. "... Water?"

Toby projected pleasure at this encouraging sign, somehow without any perceptible shift in his expression. As usual. "Of course. Allow me." He rose and moved to a perch on the edge of the bed beside her. Exhibiting a gentleness she had never before associated with him, he eased his left arm under her head and shoulders and very carefully raised her upper half a few degrees. Placed two white capsules in her palm, then supported her strengthless hand to her mouth. Held a cup to her lips and tipped it carefully until she managed to swallow. And gently set her back down again, made sure she was as comfortable as her injuries would allow, and returned to his chair. And, in the preserved silence, curled his fingers around hers again.

Even though he'd done most of the work, CJ found herself too short of breath from her own exertions to offer so much as a thank-you. She spent the next several seconds concentrating on just her need for air. The binding around her waist didn't help any. <Not even a corset can be worse than this... >

"By the way, your family's been contacted. Some of them are driving in tonight."

<Damn, I never thought of them before now!>

Exhaustion bore down more and more insistently, but she was determined not to give in to it yet. "Gonna be mad... scaring them like this... "

"Don't worry; we'll protect you."

She could just imagine him defending her against irate relatives. A smile peeped out.

It didn't last long, though. <God, I'm tired. Should sleep... feel better later... >

Still, he hadn't yet told her what had actually happened, or just how badly Leo, Josh and Charlie had been hurt - or about any other casualties she didn't know. Surely, after that endless barrage of leaden hail she wasn't the *only* gunshot victim!

CJ opened her mouth to ask - and another jolt by that ferocious headache made her flinch and clamp her eyes shut in protest.

It also derailed her train of thought. <What was I going to...?>

Toby waited, watching the pain rise and ebb, unable to do otherwise. She wanted him to anticipate her query, in some superhuman fashion to read her very mind. But he could hardly be expected to perceive the question when she'd lost it herself.

"You know, this has been a real drop-in center of late. And once the news of your comeback gets out, I predict that the traffic will escalate."

<Really?> How kind. "Try to stay... awake next time... "

"Good."

Pause.

"Also," and his voice grew softer than ever, "this afternoon the Secret Service finally agreed to grant Danny visiting rights. He'll be along any time."

CJ rotated her head as far as it would go. "Danny... " How could she have forgotten about *him* of all people? <He's okay, too - and he must be worried sick about me!>

Toby looked down again. "Yeah. Well, he wasn't directly involved in the incident, he's not family, and he is a newsman. I guess in their mind that's all three strikes. I had some fun convincing them otherwise."

"You won... " No surprise; Toby Ziegler rarely lost a debate, with anyone.

"Oh, sure. I felt like a good argument, and it helped pass the time."

That attempt at a joke didn't quite come off. He sounded almost - regretful of his decision.

Regretful... *why?*

The attraction between CJ and Danny was an open secret in the West Wing, although they tried to disguise it - or sometimes even bury it - with conflict. Toby had done a huge favor for both of them... why *regret*...

And the idea slipped through her fingers, no matter how hard she tried to hold onto it.

Hopefully the memory would come back later. At least she knew Danny was on his way.

Toby glanced aside, then around - anywhere except at her.

She made a severe effort, and squeezed his hand. Capturing his attention.

"Thanks... really generous."

One could interpret her comment a few different ways. However, not even CJ herself tried to read anything into it. By now her eyelids felt so heavy it just was not worth the constant work to keep them open, and she missed any visible reaction he might have shown.

But she did feel his hand squeeze back.

The quiet stretched out, a most amiable sharing...

The sound of a new voice took some time to penetrate. <Dozed off in front of visitors again. How rude - >

The pain had withdrawn, though, to a slightly more tolerable level. That alone made the nap worth it.

"... more or less under control. Almost everyone's finally gone home. Beats me how we got through the entire day without somebody keeling over. They've all earned a mega-bonus. We should petition Congress."

"I hope they didn't do *too* good a job, or else the President will finally realize that he doesn't need *us*."

"Rest assured, no one's volunteering for a shift like that again. Speaking of which, you could use a break yourself. You've been here all day; you need a meal and some air."

"And you need to be writing the President's address."

"He wants to do this one himself."

Pause. Then, very softly, "*Uh*-oh."

"*You* try to talk him out of it. I'd like to see that. And besides, it would get you out of here for awhile."

"I'll wait until Danny arrives. I don't want her alone."

"We can get a nurse for an hour; things are looking up now."

"Or, you could stay yourself."

Pause. "Um... not just yet. Anyway, my job right now is to look after *you*. Go on, blow this joint before you put down roots or something. Now there's another idea - why not go and see your brother? After all, you had good reason to worry about him yesterday, and he got back safely with perfect timing to worry about you in turn."

"I've already spoken to David. And to Andrea, before you ask. There's nothing I can do for either of them, and nothing they can do for me, so I might as well stay here."

"Toby, you're the last of an endangered species: the uninjured White House senior staffer. We can't afford to have *you* bunk out here as well."

By now CJ had scrounged up the energy somehow to open her eyes again. Toby still sat beside her, as though the passage of time held no meaning for him, and he still held her hand.

And standing beside him...

"Sam?" The near-whisper didn't carry far at all.

Both men heard her, though, and whirled in unison.

"CJ!" Sam grinned quickly - yet something didn't ring quite natural. Like Toby, his attire had seen better days. *Un*like Toby, his boyish features were decorated with several small cuts, and his right arm rested in a sling.

Just looking at her, he seemed to shrink together. In fact, he stepped back a pace. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, appearing very nervous.

"Wow, I'm glad you're awake. 'Cause, like, you know, we were worried. All of us. But hey, you're doing better now, huh? That's - that's great. What a relief."

He shuffled feet, and his posture grew more awkward by the second. "Listen, uh, I'd love to stay, but, you see, I really can't. I gotta... I gotta go. Do something. Tell everyone the good news." He edged towards the door. "But I'll, um, I'll drop by again later. You know, when you feel more like company. Okay? So, uh - well, see you."

He opened the door with far more eagerness than necessary.

"Wait... "

CJ didn't want him to leave. And she had no idea why *he* wanted to leave. He was so strangely off-balance, unwilling to linger in her presence, to even face her...

He checked on the threshold, not turning around, shoulders hunched as though anticipating a blow from behind.

"Sam... " Toby said in a low, warning tone. Daring him not to comply.

A long moment ticked past. Then the Deputy Communications Director exhaled, and let the door swing shut in front of him. And slowly revolved in place. Not coming any closer.

<You'd think he's afraid of me.> CJ wondered briefly about that, but she wasn't up to mental games right now. She could hardly see him from this angle. She strove to project her faint volume through the eternal tiredness, up from her low bed, across the small room.

"Want... to thank you."

Sam shook his head. He didn't look the least bit pleased by her gratitude. He looked - demoralized. And he seemed to have an extraordinarily hard time meeting her gaze. "No, CJ, I don't deserve your thanks."

Of *course* he did. "Protected me... " It didn't matter that she'd still been hurt. But for his efforts, she might have been killed outright. Which made him a bonafide hero to her and to anyone else with a human soul.

"Toby told you that, did he?" Sam rubbed his left hand over his scratched face, and exhaled again. "Well, he didn't want to upset you. But let me tell you what *really* happened."

He moved a few steps nearer, more into her visual range. She could read his features plainly now: they portrayed nothing but shame. He straightened, as though facing a judge.

"I saw you hit, CJ. The gunmen may have been aiming for the agent that ran right in front of you just then; I don't know. But I can still hear the cry you made. I tried to get you under cover." He had to close his eyes for one tortured heartbeat. "I tackled you to the ground. And I landed on top." And paused again. "I broke your ribs, CJ. And I smashed your head against the pavement. *I almost killed you myself.*"

The ensuing silence seemed to shout accusations.

"And then Sam covered you with his own body," Toby commented evenly, as though picking up a simple storyline of moderate interest. "So that any other shots - or glass shards, for that matter - would have to go through him first."

And in that deceptively reserved statement, Sam's motives were exposed for all to see. As well as the price he'd paid, evidenced by his bloodstained sleeve.

The younger man glared at his boss. "I did far more harm than good, and everyone knows it."

"Not so... " And weakness couldn't hide the tremor of emotion in CJ's thin voice.

Toby still held her right hand. She stretched out the left, in a mute plea.

At first she thought Sam would refuse. He wore his guilt like the mark of Cain. But finally, uncertainly, he came over to her other side, and took her hand, very gently, in his.

"Forgive me?" he begged in the most plaintive of tones.

She smiled. "Nothing to forgive. Thanks... for being there... and here."

Their eyes locked, communicating on an almost telepathic level.

Slowly, as though at last yielding up a crushing burden he had borne for the entire day, a burden that she of all people had the right to insist he was not obligated to bear, he smiled back. A *real* smile this time.

*This* silence contained nothing but friendship.

CJ ached to sleep again, but elusive questions still pestered her. It was like trying to catch fish barehanded; she couldn't hold onto any of them long enough to get the words out.

Wait; there's one. "... Time is it?"

Toby checked his watch. "Almost seven-thirty."

"PM," Sam added pointedly.

*"WHAT?"* She'd been here *how* long?

Typically - for her and, indeed, the rest of them - her automatic reaction was duty. <I'm the Press Secretary to the President of the United States!> "Need to brief the - "

Toby placed his free hand on her shoulder, not that she could have risen unaided anyway. "You don't need to do anything but lie still and heal. Mandy's taking care of the press. The President won't make his address until tomorrow, and the rest of the staff are doing wonders on their own. They can survive without you for a *few* more hours."

Claudia Jean Cregg had never been in the habit of pampering herself, especially when there was a job to do. "Can't just lie here... do nothing... "

"Yes, you can. And you will," Sam told her firmly. "We'll keep you company, we'll even keep you entertained, but only within medical boundaries. You are not to strain yourself in any way. We came far too close to losing you once already."

CJ sank back in exhausted frustration. <Time is going to pass very slowly around here... >

"So how are you feeling?" Sam asked, clearly trying to distract her.

She thought about it. Weeding out the different physical and mental factors, until she arrived at one overall conclusion.

"Afraid."

Both men looked at each other, and then back.

"I know what you mean," Sam declared with grave conviction.

"We all do," Toby agreed, and his eyes were sad.

Silence.

Sam fidgeted. He'd never had Toby's talent for immobility in the best of times, which these certainly were not. "To be honest, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to stand beside the President in public again. I'll feel like I'm just waiting for the next killer to strike."

CJ nodded against her pillow. Holding her friends' hands more tightly, like a pair of anchors she couldn't live without. Trying not to tremble. "I know... it's not his fault... but I'm not sure if... I can even face him... "

Silence.

"After everything that's happened," Toby said in a voice so quiet and measured that his seriousness could not be in doubt, "I *am* sure that the President would quite understand, if any of us - or *all* of us - decided, for our own sakes... to resign."

Neither CJ nor Sam replied aloud. However, judging from the stillness and the shared glances that followed, all three of them were considering it.

*****

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