Sonata in C MaJor

by:SheilaVR

Character(s): CJ
Category(s): General
Rating: MATURE
Disclaimer: Warmest thanks to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros., NBC, et al for graciously allowing us to expand upon their patented creation at no extra charge.
Summary: CJ disappears without a trace...
Spoiler: After "Galileo".

***

Requiem

Requiem (n.): finale (from Latin: to rest)

A man sat at his desk, elbows on the blotter, head buried in his hands in the universal pose of utter grief.

The silence was broken by a faint weeping.

Leo raised his head and lowered his hands. Tragedy seamed his haggard features. He blinked a couple of times.

After a pause, the heartbreaking sound resumed. It came from the office right outside his.

Slowly, he rose and walked that way.

Margaret pressed a tissue to her mouth, trying to muffle the next sob. She was too overcome to notice his presence.

Leo's hand descended gently on her shaking shoulder. She didn't jump in the least. Sorrow can be a powerful anesthetic.

"Hey." His tone rarely got this soft. "It's all right to cry."

She brushed at her damp eyes, sniffled, then reached for a page before her. "I-I was okay – until I got this." She handed it over, still not looking at him.

He accepted it with foreboding, pulled out his glasses and settled them in place. The words were there: hard and sharp and undeniably real.

"The frozen body of a Caucasian female, six feet tall, late thirties, auburn hair, was extricated from the driver's seat and taken to the local..."

Margaret couldn't muffle a moan. Leo was almost glad; that gave him a reason to stop before his own voice broke. He had some trouble breathing.

"God, what a clinical description..."

It said nothing about the strength of her spirit, the skill at her job, the way she always stood by her beliefs, the compassion she displayed towards others...

He forced himself to peruse the rest. "The hole in the ice was spotted by a state trooper on the highway. Her purse, her cell phone, her pager, her garage key – all accounted for."

Margaret did her best to speak without strangling. "I... took it down over the phone. I was doing just fine... until I hung up."

He sighed and folded the report in half, so he wouldn't have to look at those words again.

"Leo?" His secretary sounded like a tiny child, seeking reassurance from wherever it could be had. He removed his glasses and faced her. "Were we wrong? Did she just lose control and skid off the road? Has she been dead all this time, before we even noticed?"

"No." His voice now contained solid steel. "She didn't die in a simple, unfortunate accident. We know she was abducted. The accident scene is an illusion. It was deliberate murder, by a madman... most likely because he feared the escalating search."

Margaret let out a whimper. "We did this to her."

"We did what we honestly believed was right," her boss corrected, gently. He hated the phrase's hollow sound, but said it anyway. It was the only possible comfort he could provide. "We all did our very best to help her."

He sounded like he needed more convincing than she did.

"How... how is the President?"

Leo glanced towards the Oval Office. At this moment his best friend was on the other side of that closed door... confronting his own demons. "Don't ask. He's blaming himself personally. He made the final decision."

Margaret looked that way too, sympathetic despite her own sense of loss.

The Chief of Staff shook his head. "He can't face any of his staff yet... and he has no idea what he'll say to CJ's relatives." Pause. "His wife and daughter are with him now. Maybe they can all hold each other together."

Leo touched his secretary's arm. "Just like we do."

She managed to half-smile up at him.

But what she saw...

"Leo – ?"

That was genuine fear in her voice this time.

He turned away, projecting undiluted hopelessness. "We lost the battle. We lost it with her kidnapper, and we lost it with ourselves. We lost it for her." His eyes closed against the glare of memory. "I just want to get rid of the pain."

He knew one method. It would be a temporary respite, and a disastrous one – but anything to dull this supreme ache, even for a short time...

Margaret clenched her teeth in fresh apprehension as she watched him walk listlessly out of the office.

*****

The corridors were unnaturally quiet. The news had spread with unbelievable speed. The scent of mourning hung like a pall over the entire West Wing.

Leo moved slowly towards Communications. Almost every woman he saw showed signs of recent tears. No one rushed about in a frenzy to get their work done. No one said a thing they didn't have to. Many didn't speak above a whisper. Many sat at their desks, gloomily trying to focus, with little success.

There would be an official announcement in another hour or so. There would be a funeral in a couple of days, but the real grieving was now.

The degree of suffering increased tangibly on the faces he passed as he drew closer to the area where CJ had always worked...

"Leo!"

Sam advanced like a prizefighter with blood in his eye. Fire snapped under lowered brows, and his hair and tie were both in disarray. Muscles knotted from the tightness of his shoulders and fists.

"I've got to go out there. I am going to comb every inch of the country if I have to! I will hunt that killer down myself and tear his heart out!"

Leo studied him wearily. He preferred this seething rage to the overpowering sadness everywhere else, but at the moment he just didn't have the energy to deal with it. There would be time later to channel that passion effectively.

"Don't worry, Sam. We'll go after him soon enough, and I will be more than happy to help you do precisely that. But not right now. I need you here."

"What – you want to sit around and weep while the trail gets cold?" Grief had pushed Sam beyond all caution, all reasoning. "We have to get him now! Any further delay and he'd get away clean!"

That possibility hurt almost as much as the crime committed. The embers of Leo's outrage, nearly smothered by crushing sorrow, flared anew.

"No. He. Won't."

Sam heard the unyielding iron in those bitten-off words. His fury settled a bit, less flaring and more burning.

"Finding this guy is our next task," Leo stated with no uncertainty or self-doubt in the least. "It'll be our way of honoring her memory."

Sam's expression shifted towards a fiery eagerness. He was about to be unleashed.

"But it can wait five minutes." The resolve drained away from Leo's posture. "Get everyone together."

For one second the Deputy Communications Director looked ready to defy all authority and charge off on a savage vendetta by himself, at once. But then, gradually, he acceded to the demands of the present. His chance would come. Soon.

Leo moved past him and into the bullpen. Everyone already knew he was there. Everyone sat quietly, miserably at their places, red-rimmed eyes on him, and waited.

He paused to look upon them... and silently nodded. It seemed to surpass understanding how so much emotion could be transmitted in so simple a gesture.

He went on through. Behind him a phone rang, but someone snatched it up at once to stop that horridly intrusive sound.

Two dark, seated human forms could be discerned in Josh's dimly-lit office... silent and still.

"Donna."

Her head turned. Tears tracked down her face, but she had herself in hand. Having another person rely so totally upon you helps bolster your strength to cope.

Josh sat motionless in his chair. His face was totally blank, as though in a trance. He gave no sign at all that anything in this world could ever reach him again.

Leo's features flinched in pity.

He inclined his head towards the bullpen outside. Donna got the message, stood and reached over to drag Josh upright. She got no resistance in the least... but no animation, either.

The remaining staffers had gathered by the time Leo reappeared, a Donna-supported Josh in his wake. Sam stood to one side like a foreman, twitching in his obsessive need to act now.

"Where's Toby?"

Sam waved his hands, unable to be still for anything. "He... left the building."

"Where'd he go?"

"No idea."

Leo rolled his eyes. "Someone call him back here. I don't want us scattering to the four winds. We still have work to do."

"Work?" Sam repeated in scathing disbelief. He glared at Josh, whom Donna had just placed physically into a chair. She never moved beyond arm's reach of him. He didn't make a sound or the slightest flicker of expression.

"How can you think of work now? Do you think any of us are up to it? Let's find that murdering lunatic and roast him alive! Let's nail him to the front door of the White House! Then we can talk about work!"

"That's next," Leo promised him quietly. The quietness did not mask the determination to keep that promise for all time. "This is first." He rotated. "Carol..."

CJ's stand-in cringed in her seat.

"Think you'll be okay as the Interim Press Secretary?" Leo almost whispered.

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm... not looking forward to my first press briefing under that title," she whispered back. She was going to have to stand in front of the White House Press Corps, and the entire world, and say...

"I know." Leo regarded her averted face for a few moments. Then he straightened.

"I'm off to the Williamsport morgue."

Absolute silence.

He exhaled, growing older before their eyes. "I want to spare the family that ordeal, at least."

Sam stepped forward. "I'll come."

"No, you won't."

"That's where they found her – that's where that maniac is likely to be. I'm going to take him apart, one bloody piece at a time." Sam announced this with such quiet ferocity that not one person present doubted his intention to do precisely that.

"Sam, you're staying here." By now Leo's voice had acquired a distinct edge. "There has to be one person around who can still think straight."

"I'm NOT letting this guy get off scot-free!" Sam howled.

"No, you're not. You're holding this place together until I get back, thereby making it possible for this nation to function. Because if it doesn't, he will get away."

"We can do nothing for CJ here – except mourn!"

They stood toe to toe, their wills clashing like sword-blades. Sam showed no indication of giving in at all. Leo simply refused to let him pursue the issue.

"And en route... I'll drop in on Danny."

Sam's next protest died in his throat.

Leo gauged the moment carefully. "All right." He stepped back, in effect handing over the reins.

"We're always going to blame ourselves for this." Sam's volume and force had dwindled away in defeat. "We drove the kidnapper to commit such an act."

Leo just looked at him. Everyone else looked at Leo.

"Ours is the responsibility of wielding power. It can be a heady rush... or a curse."

Clearly Sam didn't find much comfort in this. There was simply none to be had.

Carol's phone rang, yet another reminder that, no matter what happened or how much it hurt, life had to move onward.

Leo took that as his cue to go. He faced a lonely four-hour drive to claim the body of a dear friend... but it was his responsibility. They simply had to deal with these next few hours and days in all their anguish.

Carol's shriek rang through the entire office. Everyone jumped and whipped around as she practically threw the phone receiver across her desk.

The expression on her face was pure terror.

Everyone froze, staring at the dangling instrument. Even Josh took notice. They all could hear faint, unintelligible shouting from the other party.

No thought would come, to any of them.

Frowning, Leo stepped that way, lifted the receiver and held it to his ear. Every pair of eyes in the place was fastened on him.

They saw the shock hit. They saw him actually stagger a bit. They saw him lower the receiver in stunned silence, and then, dazedly, reach for the speaker button.

"Carol?" Now the voice on the line came through loud and clear. "Carol – !"

Sam, Donna, Bonnie, Ginger – all of them stood or sat as still as statues. Eyes huge.

The only one who could move was Josh. He pushed himself out of his chair, inch by inch. Life had returned to his formerly catatonic features. His entire being was locked onto that small black metal object.

He could barely say it – as if afraid that just saying it aloud would chase the hope away, forever.

"CJ?"

"Josh? What, am I on the speaker? Carol, you still there too? What happened?"

Heads slowly turned. Everyone saw the exact same look of total disbelief on all sides.

"CJ?" Josh repeated just a bit louder.

"Unless Carol has taken to screaming when she answers EVERY call – yeah, it's me." Even through the layers of exhaustion, that dry sense of humor confirmed the identity of the caller.

"CJ!" Josh exclaimed in pure jubilation.

"Josh, if I start repeating your name endlessly as well, can we finally move on to something else?"

Somehow, Leo found his voice in turn. He even managed to keep it fairly even – through the virtue of utter incredulity.

"We'd... just been informed that you were dead."

"Oh?" Pause. "Oh – guys... I'm sorry." A tired sigh. "Well, if you saw me right now, you'd probably think so."

Sam slid back into character with record speed. "That was after we'd heard that you were a hostage at your gym."

Smiles were breaking out on all fronts.

"The gym?" Another pause. "Well, I guess you have a lot to tell me, huh?" Another sigh. "Anyway, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"YES!" Josh shouted at the top of his lungs.

No one had any doubt that the eruption of laughter and cheers carried through the phone to the person on the other end, and told her everything.

*****

A man stood, alone and silent and still as a statue, on the river's very edge.

At this time of night regular traffic had little reason to take Ohio Drive, and no pedestrians were in sight. The distant hum of those few cars still commuting seemed to be muffled further by the soft snow and the seclusion.

Behind and to his right rose the Lincoln Memorial in all its spotlit splendor; a tribute to another American who had died far too soon.

Before him lapped the black, ice-rimmed waters of the Potomac.

He did not actually watch the waves, or anything else. His mind was empty... his soul was crushed and lifeless.

A light wind from the north ruffled the wings of his long overcoat and pushed against his back... almost as though it was trying to nudge him forward.

Something trilled – a bright, cheerful sound totally inappropriate to this time of desolation.

He ignored it.

It trilled on, again and again, no louder, no faster, but by its sheer persistence increasing in urgency.

At last he couldn't endure it any longer. He pulled the offending mechanism from his pocket. It continued to ring as he stared darkly at it. In a fit of sudden anger, he drew his arm back. One good throw would consign it to the depths of the river for all eternity.

He couldn't care less what message it held. He did not want to hear it.

Nothing mattered anymore.

But then, at the last, he yielded. Whether from habit, or second thoughts, or simply closure, even he could not be sure.

It must have been the twelfth buzz before he finally answered.

His tone was as unwelcoming as the frigid waters before him. "I'm only going to say this once. Leave me – "

"She's alive!"

Silence.

"Toby, do you hear me?" Sam's voice reverberated through the tiny speaker. "CJ is alive – and she's coming back!"

The phone dropped into the snow with a soft "plop," making the same kind of sound as the footsteps accelerating away from that lonely place.

*****

The spacious, richly-decorated guestroom was one that the public never saw, save in pictures. As a rule, only members of the First Family and diplomatic visitors – and, of course, the White House general maintenance staff – got this opportunity. The tall windows commanded a stunning elevated view of the South Lawn and the unmistakable landmarks beyond. It was a view absolutely unique in all of Washington, DC, and no occupant could forget exactly where he or she was at the time.

The current occupant of this room gazed out one of those windows, but the beauty of America's capital at night escaped his notice altogether. He stood still and silent, his back to the door, hands clasped behind, shoulders stiff, eyes distant. Waiting.

A light knock on that door made him spin around like a top. "Yes!"

It opened soundlessly, and Ron Butterfield entered. He wore no obvious expression, as usual – yet he stopped just inside the threshold, with a touch of drama that hardly anyone would expect from the all-business Secret Service coordinator.

"Mr. President."

He stepped aside.

And there she was.

Jed Bartlet began to smile.

She walked hesitantly, without the confidence and the quiet pride in her job that he'd always known, and she limped slightly on the left foot. She wore a man's gray knit sweater at least two sizes too big, and black track pants rather too long even for her height. Her hair was neat enough but had lost its healthy, well-cared-for shine, and her eyes were sunken and haunted as he had never seen before – not even right after Rosslyn. Plus – worst of all – bruises had begun to develop vivid colors above her right eye, below the right corner of her mouth... and around her throat.

Yet she was walking under her own power.

She was alive!

A small, scared part of him had still refused to risk believing... until now.

He did not move. No matter how much he wanted to charge over and hug her, that would not be a good idea just now. So he waited, content for this moment simply to bask in the knowledge that at long last she was here, and safe.

CJ moved slowly into the room, heartbreakingly uncertain of herself, and stopped after only a few yards. She swallowed, trying not to look frightened. "Mr. President."

Never before had she ever had reason to fear him. Bartlet's smile faded at the genuine pain that thought caused him.

His silence only unnerved her further. She swallowed again. This was not the self-possessed Press Secretary he'd come to rely upon so much.

"Sir..." She took a deep breath and forced herself onward, taking refuge in formality. "I wish to apologize for being absent from work without your permission."

The President's smile started to grow again.

"And..." She glanced down at her casual, ill-fitting outfit. "I apologize for my inappropriate attire as a White House employee."

Bartlet chuckled at this utterly unnecessary embarrassment; it was so in keeping with her character. "CJ, you look absolutely terrific to me."

The sound of amusement – and joy – in his voice helped her to relax. A little. "Well, sir, I personally feel like death warmed over." She hesitated. "However, I'm extremely grateful for Agent Butterfield's overnight bag."

Ron did not react. He had closed the door and stood unobtrusively next to it, studying the far wall and pretending not even to be present, as his job required.

The President smirked. "Good thing he's not five-foot-five huh?" He paused, seriousness settling back into place. "I asked him to bring you straight up here, CJ; I hope you don't mind."

She glanced aside for a moment, her mouth twitching in consternation. "In point of truth, sir, I honestly don't think I'm... ready to face everyone else just yet."

He nodded. She would naturally feel a bit uneasy around men at least, if any of his fears were even remotely justified. Those bruises invoked a flare of sheer rage, that anyone would dare hurt her in any way at all.

He shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind for now, so as not to distress CJ any further than she already was. "I understand." Now his mouth twitched, fighting another smile. "I couldn't resist pulling a little rank, though..."

CJ looked back at him – and summoned a tiny smile herself. "I should think I owe you that much, sir. You did, after all, directly save my life."

They still stood a good five yards apart, as though her traumatic experience had delved a gulf of fear between them. Bartlet didn't like it at all. He wanted to break down every barrier denying her the peace, comfort and friendship she so deserved and needed. He knew better than to pressure her with affection she was not yet prepared to receive... but she did seem quite a bit calmer now.

He started off casually enough. "Abbey said I shouldn't instigate the big bear hug I originally had in mind." From the expression on CJ's face at that, his wife had been right on the money. "But I'd like to ask your permission to kiss you on the forehead."

CJ blinked. What emotion those two sentences had merely hinted at, the softness of his voice conveyed undeniably. All at once, she too hated the space that divided her from her leader who so clearly cared for her.

After these past three days, smiling felt wonderful. "You know, sir, if it were anyone else who asked me that just now, I'd probably slug him."

He grinned too, in particular at her resurrected sense of humor – a very good sign indeed. "You could, of course, deny me this opportunity by simply remaining standing."

For one moment, CJ genuinely laughed. "Well, Mr. President, I confess that one thing which makes me feel more secure is the simple fact that I'm bigger than you are."

Bartlet's smile was getting broader by the second. "Taller, certainly – but you're sure not in the same weight class. Anyway, I'll take my chances."

He approached, not too swiftly, watching for any signs of nervousness. She stood her ground, grinning as well, looking much more like the CJ he'd so missed. He extended both hands, palms up; she placed her hands in his. She inclined her head forward; he gently brushed his lips against her brow.

He stepped back. His blue eyes were dancing, and his quiet tone evoked a nation of happiness. "Welcome home."

She blinked again – at tears this time? Her voice sounded slightly hoarse. "I've never felt more welcome in my life." She looked down, collecting herself, then up again. "And I'm very grateful for this chance... to thank you personally. For rescuing me."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." The President took a moment to collect himself as well. "How are you?"

She sighed. "Tired, I'll admit. The hospital checked me over for more than an hour and a half before we got word from you. I was really afraid I'd have to spend the night there."

"Well, you have nothing to worry about now. I arranged for you to be released into the care of the First Lady." Bartlet was getting that mischievous look that all of his close people knew. "How many average citizens – or even presidential employees, for that matter – have ever been accorded such an honor? Abbey will be right here all the time to make sure you take it easy. Besides, you're in the best-protected house in the country."

CJ inclined her head again, like a small bow of gratitude. "Thank you, sir. Although I do wonder about having my own Secret Service escort. I haven't decided if it makes me feel more important, or more vulnerable."

"Better resign yourself to it," a new voice advised from the right. Both turned as Abbey Bartlet entered through the side door. "There's no way we're letting you get away from us again!"

CJ let her own smile widen. "I'm not sure that makes me feel better."

"It should. You're under direct presidential protection." The First Lady walked forward with her arms open. This time CJ didn't flinch at all, though she did have to stoop a bit.

"Oh, it's so good to have you back..."

"Yes, ma'am, I agree with you wholeheartedly."

Blinking, Abbey eased back, and placed her hands ever so gently on either side of CJ's face. She couldn't miss seeing the bruises, but her touch was purely maternal. "You are going to be fine. You've got my personal guarantee on that."

CJ couldn't summon any words at all, her own eyes misting over.

The President watched this touching scene for a few moments, grinning all the while, then decided that his presence had become rather superfluous. "Well, ladies, if you'll excuse me..."

Abbey arched an eyebrow playfully at her husband. "Oh, sure. Time for some female talk. Go on, get out of here while you can."

"I'm gone." He smiled one more time at his restored Press Secretary. "You get some rest. Don't let her yak your ear off."

CJ returned that fond look in full measure. "Yes, sir."

Bartlet rubbed his wife's arm briefly, and whispered, "Thank you." Then he nodded to the silent sentinel by the exit. "Come on, Ron. No man will be safe in here for the next while."

"Yes, sir." Deadpan as always, Ron opened the door and held it for his leader, followed behind, and shut it after.

Right there in the hall, the President stopped, closed his eyes, and heaved an enormous sigh of overriding relief. "She's okay."

"Yes, sir," Ron endorsed levelly, as though he himself had had no part in ensuring that fact. He waited another moment. "Would you like my full report now, sir?"

Bartlet considered it... and shook his head. He didn't want to discuss logistics now; he wanted to tell the anxious staff what they were simply dying to hear.

"Nah – tomorrow's soon enough." Then he turned and clapped his security coordinator on the shoulder. The smile of joy had given way to pure, sober gratitude. "You guys did great."

*****

The entire West Wing administrative staff, it seemed, had gathered – or rather, crammed – into the Communications bullpen. Each of them wanted to be present for the first official announcement, rather than get it third- or fourth-hand later. There was a constant murmur of conversation, too low to pick out individual threads... and also a pervading sense of expectation on every face, excited and impatient.

Josh perched on the corner of a central desk, one hand constantly rubbing his forehead, his features slack, still in a state of shocked disbelief. Sam hovered to one side of him, trying not to fidget in combined eagerness and anxiety; Donna lingered close by on the other. Carol, Cathy and the other more senior assistants were not far away, muttering amongst themselves. At the extreme rear, near the other doorframe, Toby loomed in unapproachable seclusion.

With no warning and no fanfare, the President arrived. All voices died. All heads turned. All who were sitting stood. Employees parted before him and then closed in behind, desperate not to miss a word. That partially-enclosed office area, almost always buzzing with urgency and purpose, became perfectly silent and still, contrary to everything that Communications represented.

"Everyone!"

Calling this meeting to order proved totally unnecessary; he already had their full attention. He stood just inside the doorway, and surveyed the crush of people on all sides... wearing the kind of slight smile that suggests a deep desire to throw off the prevalent self-control. Instantly they all grasped how much he was looking forward to making his next statement.

"CJ has arrived safely and is in the Residence right now."

Every staff member in every quarter let loose a cheer of the purest elation. Every member, that is, except a tall dark shadow at the rear. Without attracting any notice at all, the Communications Director immediately, quietly turned and slipped out.

Bartlet raised his hands, and the cheers fell off – although the grins did not. "She is pretty shaken up. She'll be spending the night upstairs; my wife is going to keep her under observation a bit longer, just to make sure. Now I know a lot of you are itching to visit..."

He aimed a suggestive eye right at Josh and Sam in the front ranks. Both quickly donned expressions of innocence, not that they fooled anyone.

"But she really could use a quiet night, so I think we should all leave her be until tomorrow. After that, once she sets foot out, she's on her own." He joined in the chuckle of agreement that rippled around. "All right, you can go back to celebrating now. Thank you!"

Even before the President turned away, people were cheering again. In fact, hardly anyone observed his departure for once. The vast majority of them either high-fived or hugged their nearest neighbors, then started babbling away in unmitigated relief and delight.

Sam and Josh gripped each other by the upper arms, as though they both had to grapple with this terrific news to believe it. Sam was grinning like a fool; Josh, conversely, appeared too dazed even to crack a smile. He just looked about at the happy people who had waited with him for the confirmation of this miracle. He saw Bonnie and Ginger embrace not far off, and Cathy throw her arms around Sam like a schoolgirl. One instant later Donna – who had seen her boss through this entire ordeal – wrapped him in a huge bear hug. Shaking his head as though quite bemused, Josh returned it. Then he stepped back, and began making his way through the crush, towards the exit.

Some seconds later, Sam glanced around just in time to see him disappear.

*****

CJ sat on the edge of the huge bed, still in her Butterfield castoffs, staring rather blankly at the opposite wall and the portrait of Abraham Lincoln. Even though she'd been gone a relatively short period, the past three ultra-intense days had been the equivalent of an entire lifetime. She could hardly believe just yet that she was back in the White House. Since she'd never seen this room before, she felt no real sense of familiarity... and it was far too soon to go to her office. So she sat, alone and silent and adrift, letting the freedom sink in as slowly as it wanted.

The gentle tap on the door startled her. For two rapid heartbeats she couldn't move. But this was not Paul's cabin, and the Secret Service were right outside. Only the merest handful of people could hope to get past them – all of whom were her friends.

She straightened, bracing herself. "Yes?" Her voice quavered just a bit.

"CJ?"

Even muffled through the door, that voice was unmistakable. Still, she couldn't prevent the most instinctive stab of terror, despite the trust she'd always had in the owner of that voice. In this new pause, the owner of that voice decided that some clarification was in order.

"It's Toby."

She knew him. She knew she had no reason to fear him. She knew he'd never hurt her. She knew he'd been worried about her. She knew he'd come here now, against direct orders no doubt, solely because he cared for her.

She took all of these things and used them to beat back the fear. Finally she found her own voice. "Come in."

He did, silently and slowly. From the sadder-than-usual look in his eyes, one might suppose that he had a very good idea indeed just how she felt right now. He allowed the door to close on its own rather than shut it himself, so as not to give the impression that he was sealing her in, and then stepped sideways – coming no closer, and not blocking the exit.

"Hi."

CJ tried to smile. She read his actions and his expressions accurately, and appreciated his thoughtfulness. She desperately wanted to cross the room and hug him, but she didn't dare. Not quite yet. "Hi."

He looked down, and then up at her, and then down again, in that way he had of trying to deal with discomfort. He was clearly wrestling with his vocabulary. "Look – I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to be here. You need your rest." He shuffled feet as though ready to bolt.

Now she did smile just a bit. Rarely did this man run out of things to say. The sight of his uneasiness helped her to conquer her own.

"It's all right." Then she waited, until he looked up again, before adding, "It's good to see you, Toby. I'm sorry I'm not dressed for company."

She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him smile. He didn't now – but at least he managed to hold her gaze rather than hang his head.

They remained there in silence for another few seconds before he gathered himself... and said something that totally startled her.

"You've never looked more beautiful."

CJ stared at him in disbelief, then down at her rumpled, oversized, unflattering tracksuit. Her hand moved to her right temple, then slid down past her jaw to her throat. She looked dreadful, and she felt like she looked dreadful – how could he possibly find her beautiful?

Toby did not glance away this time, standing on the conviction of that incredible statement. Of course, just the relief of having her back, after he'd come so close to losing her, could account for such an extreme reaction.

Before she could respond – and she didn't yet have any idea how to respond – a second knock on the door interrupted. She flinched at the sudden sound; he jerked that way in both surprise and annoyance. Then he turned back, eyebrows raised in silent question.

"CJ?" That could only be Josh.

Her lips quirked; Toby's brows descended. She hesitated, gathering her strength, forced herself to stand and handle being alone with more than one man. Then she nodded. Reluctant but obliging, he reached for the doorknob.

Josh strode eagerly in the moment the door swung open – and stopped dead. "Toby, what are you doing here? The President said we were to leave her alone!"

"I didn't hear him say that," Toby managed not to growl. "Perhaps I left a bit too soon. But since you obviously heard him – "

"Hey, you know me; I never follow the rules."

He whirled away before any snide retort could be formulated. "CJ!" His face split into the most joyous grin as he almost sprang towards her, arms flung open.

She stepped back. She couldn't help it. Her eyes went wide, her inhalation hissed between her teeth, and her whole being cringed from being under attack.

Josh braked frantically at this, then just as frantically backpedaled, hands up in the classic no-touch position, his features twisted by sudden horror. Never before had CJ been the slightest bit afraid of him. Never would he have dreamed of hurting her, in any fashion whatsoever. The glaring fact that right this instant she feared what he might do to her cut him to the quick.

The only likely reason why she might fear him...

He shot a fast look at Toby behind him, who was standing as stiff as a board, eyes screwed shut in equally eloquent anguish.

"Oh... God... CJ... I'm so sorry." He kept backing away, as though he could put physical distance between himself and the awful knowledge that he'd scared her.

CJ swallowed, fighting for composure. "Josh – "

He was breathing hard in shock, and his voice almost broke. "I never... never would do anything to... ever... please, don't be afraid..."

"Josh, it's okay." She took a stranglehold on her nerve. "I'm fine. I just – don't feel like being crowded right now."

The silence that fell between them positively reverberated with hidden meaning. Typically, Josh jumped to conclusions... and just as typically, his automatic reaction was anger. Now, too, he saw her glaring collection of bruises.

"What did that bastard do to you?"

She flinched again, this time at the violence in his tone. He got the message and bit back any more words, his own worst fears crystallizing further with each second.

CJ exhaled. "I'd really rather not discuss it tonight, okay? Some other time, perhaps. It's enough that I'm here, and safe."

Slowly, visibly, Josh forced himself to calm down, to unclench his fists and his teeth. Toby looked away, eyes downcast and tormented.

There was yet another knock. All three of them yanked that way.

"CJ?"

She sighed with relief at the break in the tension, and with rueful amusement at this completion of their numbers. "Come on in, Sam."

He did, his boyish face alight. "Oh, wow, it's great to see you!"

Then he noticed the two men standing silently on either side of him. He looked from one to the other... and shrugged in the blithe Seaborn style. "Oh, good. At least I'm not going to get into trouble alone."

"No, we can't have that," Toby retaliated.

Sam took a step forward, still beaming, no doubt looking forward to a hug as well. Josh caught him by one arm.

"What – "

"Don't." Josh couldn't meet his eye. "Just... don't."

Sam paused, his grin slipping downward, and surveyed the room again, more carefully this time. He noted the distinct space between them and their restored friend, he evaluated his comrades' unhappy expressions where there should be nothing but delight at reunion, and he observed the detectable tautness to CJ's own stature. It also seemed peculiar how she kept her chin down and her head turned a bit to the right, partially obscuring her throat and that side of her face.

"Something doesn't feel right."

CJ flickered a grin of her own. Leave it to Sam to state the obvious. For all his legal expertise and skill in speech-writing, more often than not he completely missed the point behind whatever emotions were on the run. Frequently it could be comical, other times it was a source of great exasperation. Tonight she found it comforting in its normalcy.

"That's my fault, Sam. I'm not used to entertaining people anymore. This is what happens when I play hooky from the Press Room."

The pressure dropped perceptively, as all three men shared the very same thought: if she could joke, she was still herself. Josh let out an audible sigh. Sam recovered his charming smile. Even Toby allowed his wooden countenance to ease somewhat.

"Well, let's celebrate your safe return!" Sam proclaimed merrily, rubbing his hands together. "Pizza, anyone? I'm buying. I still love to see the look on the delivery boy's face when he's admitted to the White House."

Josh couldn't prevent a grin despite his earlier pain. His buddy had a talent for lightening up the ugliest moments. Toby now projected that familiar air of strained patience that his deputy so often engendered.

CJ was wondering how she could tell them gently enough that she'd really rather hit the sack, and at the same time asking herself if it wouldn't be better for her to spend some time with her friends and colleagues first, when someone knocked.

The three men looked at each other, and then at the door... their expressions disturbingly alike.

CJ just rolled her eyes. "Wherever did I get the idea that this was a private residence? Come in!"

Her friends had guessed right: there was only one person unaccounted for.

Leo entered with a greater degree of confidence than any of them – but then, he'd been upstairs far more often. Plus, he had the rank, the responsibility, and the will to exploit both.

He didn't even glance towards CJ at first, but leveled that sharp glare at her other visitors. Toby reflected it straight back, totally unrepentant; Sam and Josh both looked down guiltily.

Leo shook his head. "I knew I'd find you here, Josh, but I seem to have struck the mother lode. You'd think by now the Secret Service would know better than to trust you guys!"

These five people had gathered together many times in the past for a bit of fun, but it's always hard to kick back around your boss. However, none of them felt like they'd done anything wrong. Their feelings tonight overrode even a presidential decree.

Josh and Sam slowly straightened, side by side. In the resulting quiet, they stood on their right to be here, to welcome home the missing link to their unity.

Leo turned from them to the scowling Toby, and back. It was rare indeed that any of them challenged his authority. He fast realized that this evening would qualify... and something inside of him softened. God knows they'd earned this moment.

Now, for the first time, he looked at CJ directly.

She just waited to be noticed, in her ill-fitting clothes and her cushion of space, bruises averted as best she could. She knew Leo almost as well as she knew the guys. He was never comfortable with displays of affection, like Toby preferring to hide behind a gruff exterior. It took a lot to get past either set of armor to the man within.

Apparently, extraordinarily, she'd done it – by simply not being here.

They all needed her just too badly to do without her.

Leo drew a slow breath, struggling to keep his features reserved. None of his subordinates made a move to stop him as he stepped forward.

CJ held onto her self-control with all her strength and, somehow, managed not to recoil. She had endured the President before. She could face his right-hand man now. She would be able to be with her friends again.

There was something formal, almost courtly, in the way Leo came to her now, and extended his right hand, palm up. Much as Jed Bartlet had done not long ago: not in the least demanding. After only a brief hesitation, she placed her hand in his.

His voice was solemn and quiet – almost too quiet for the others to hear. "I want you to know that there's no way we can do this without you."

He smiled slightly at the wonder in her eyes... waited until she smiled back... raised her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly... and let go, turned, marched past the other three men present, and left the room without so much as a glance at any of them.

The closing of the door this time created a remarkable silence indeed.

All four traded varying looks: amazement, confusion, relief. Of course, since their boss had left without evicting them as well, this meant that they effectively had carte blanche to stay. If Leo understood how they all felt, then he could convince the President. The guys were glad to relax – and to ease the emotion with humor, as was their way.

Josh shifted first, trying not to smile. For the first time in over sixty hours, he really looked like himself. "Yeah, we missed you. A bit. You know..."

Sam wasn't having any of this downplay. "Well, I missed you a lot," he asserted firmly. "And Toby – "

"Is about to kill Sam in one more moment," his director rumbled ominously.

CJ felt her grin return full-force. It was so right to be back with these characters.

Josh ran a hand through his hair. He still couldn't forget the fear he'd caused mere minutes ago. "Look, CJ, you probably want to rest – "

"But there's quite a party going on downstairs," Sam piped up, oblivious to either fear or weariness. "It'd be great if the guest of honor could attend!"

"A party?" she repeated in no small astonishment. "For me?"

"You bet. The White House hasn't seen anything like it since Mendoza's confirmation."

CJ found herself speechless, both amazed and touched that she would be that popular. She did her job; she asked no more. Embarrassment reared its ugly head next, and she was almost glad that she had an excuse not to attend.

Her excuse arrived at that moment – from the side again, rather than add to the list of knockers on the hall entrance.

"I might have known." Abbey set down the suitcase she'd been carrying with a definitive thump and folded her arms, surveying the trio of unauthorized visitors darkly. "Out."

That was all she needed to say. These three had stood up to the White House Chief of Staff and defied the order of the President – but they could not disobey her.

"Yes, ma'am." Josh, technically the most senior, led the exodus with alacrity.

CJ experienced equal parts relief and regret.

"Guys – " They turned at once. "Thanks for coming. Really."

They still had to leave, but they would leave with a far better frame of mind, reveling in the knowledge that she was in fact glad to see them.

Sam spoke for them all. "Get a good night's rest, CJ. Take as much time as you need."

"Yeah," Josh endorsed. "So – tomorrow?"

His best friend shoved him the rest of the way out.

Toby shuffled a bit more, but said nothing and followed them. Then he paused on the threshold, and glanced back.

"I..." He shot a look at Abbey. "Yeah."

CJ smiled shyly at him.

*****

"Here you go." The First Lady broke open the suitcase on a settee. "I had a woman from my detail retrieve the things you asked for."

At first CJ could only stand there before this collection of familiar items, fingering one article, turning over another, as though she'd never seen them before. It was incredible how radically the whole concept of clothing had changed for her.

She shook herself, realizing that Abbey had neither moved nor spoken during these long seconds, but just waited patiently, sympathetically, kindly.

"Thanks. A lot." With an effort, CJ smiled her gratitude, then made her selection and headed for the washroom.

"Take your time." Abbey headed the other way to retrieve a second chair and place it beside the writing table. "Oh, and I ordered some light supper for us both."

"Great... I might actually be able to eat, too."

"It'll do you a world of good. I just want you to know that they should be knocking at the door any minute now." Abbey paused, evaluating carefully. "You don't have to be afraid."

The voice in the bathroom paused as well. Then, "I appreciate the warning."

"I thought you might." Abbey settled herself on the sofa to wait. Aimless conversation would not eliminate the tenacious undercurrent of uneasiness.

Silence descended... and grew...

The First Lady began to look truly concerned. "CJ? Are you all right?"

"... Yeah, I guess so." The Press Secretary emerged at last, studying intently the thick flannel pajamas she now wore, under an even thicker terrycloth robe. "I'm just... I can't get over how comfortable I am in my own clothes again."

Her hostess did not comment on that. She just waited quietly, until CJ felt at ease enough to join her, a cushion and a half apart.

Abbey began as gently as she could. "CJ, there's something I'd like to discuss."

Her guest froze for another long moment. "What's that?"

"In order to get you released from the hospital so quickly, we had to promise that your medical care would be continued here at the White House. For that to be true, the physician on site will need access to your medical records." Abbey studied her closely. "That would mean seeing the report from the hospital as well."

CJ's mouth tightened, glancing quickly at the "physician on site." Whatever physical damage she'd suffered these past few days would be in that report. At this moment, not one of her friends knew how much physical damage there was – or of what kind. Not one of them had dared to ask.

Abbey's offer was plain: to be CJ's doctor herself. This would mean total confidentiality... and total confidence as well.

Firmly, CJ nodded. "Not a problem, ma'am."

"You're sure you'll be comfortable with that?" Not too many people would be comfortable discussing intimate medical details with the First Lady of the United States.

"Well, I'd certainly feel more comfortable with you than with a random doctor."

Abbey smiled.

This time she was rewarded by a return smile.

Someone knocked softly on the door.

CJ stiffened in her seat; it had become instinctive by now. Her companion reached over, laid a gentle hand on her arm and squeezed reassuringly, projecting strength through the silent steadiness of her eyes. Then she rose and went to the door.

One of the familiar Secret Service agents stationed outside brought the kitchen trolley in himself rather than admit anyone else. "Mrs. Bartlet."

"Thank you." She stayed between him and the sofa, a genuine defender of the sofa's anxious occupant, and she did not alter that protective stance until he had retreated and closed the door behind him.

CJ closed her eyes and released the breath she'd been holding. "I really hate this."

"It's perfectly understandable. You need some time to get used to us all over again." Abbey utilized just the right amount of a teasing lilt to earn another quick grin. "Come on, let's eat. Stress always gives me an appetite."

"Thank God that doesn't apply to me, or I'd be the size of the Goodyear blimp by now."

The survival of the victim's humor is always heartening to a doctor.

Abbey waited until after they'd finished and returned to the sofa before she broached the central issue again. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep tonight?"

CJ frowned. "I honestly don't know, but I really don't want to fall back on medication if I can help it."

"Okay, I can certainly understand that. I was also wondering if you'd like me to stay with you. We can get a cot in here, no problem."

CJ's jaw dropped; she couldn't decide between gratefulness and incredulity. "Oh, right – the First Lady sleeping on a cot in the White House!"

Abbey laughed lightly. "Hey, there's always a chance to make history around here."

Her guest just had to laugh as well, before giving the proposal the serious consideration it deserved. "Let me think about it a bit?"

"Of course." Pause. "You're going to have to talk about this eventually. Whenever you feel like doing so, I'll be available."

Another pause. CJ's vision had become distinctly unfocused.

"Are you okay?"

She looked back at this famous woman whom she knew, and liked, and trusted implicitly. Still, that was such an enormous question that she had no idea at all where to start. Just considering what she might say, what at some point she would have to say, brought her terribly close to breaking down. In real desperation she fell upon a somewhat safer topic.

"You don't know how relieved I was to hear that Danny's okay. In fact, Ron had to tell me three times before I believed even him. My... captor... vowed to cut all the ties to my past life. He left with a gun..."

Abbey's eyes widened. "He actually told you he was going to kill Danny? How horrible!"

The words tumbled out now. "Yes – and there was nothing I could do! I tried – I didn't know what to do, but I tried – it was horrible. But it didn't work after all." CJ sat there and shuddered at the memories. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I was ready to die."

*****

There was something distinctly familiar about this scene: three men, close colleagues all, gathered in the office of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. Josh had his chair tilted back as far as it could go, his feet propped up and his eyes on distant horizons. Sam occupied the guest seat nearby, pad on lap and pen in hand. Toby stood by the door, hands in pockets, expression as guarded as ever.

The difference, of course, lay in the current of emotion.

"She's home..." From Josh's tone he still couldn't quite believe it, as though he needed to hear the actual words and not be contradicted by anyone in order to trust that they were true.

"She is." Sam didn't glance up, but he didn't complain about having his literary efforts interrupted, either. In fact he was grinning with every line he wrote.

"She's home... and she's okay. I mean, not perfect – but okay!"

"Yep. Now we can finally get some sleep."

Anyone who knew the first thing about Toby would have predicted with confidence that he'd never be able to endure more than two minutes of conversation with these two – and this one time they would have lost. He contributed nothing and kept his thoughts to himself... yet for once he seemed content to share the moment with his coworkers, if for no other reason but that it convinced him he wasn't dreaming.

"Sleep?" Josh repeated, in sudden and genuine anger. "How can you think of sleep now? Do you think CJ's going to sleep? She's only just back after three days of hell on earth!"

Sam stopped writing and met his eye. "Exactly. We all need a good night. Things will look brighter in the morning."

Josh exhaled through gritted teeth. "Even if that didn't sound as corny as it does, I still wouldn't believe it. First I hear she's missing, then I hear she's dead, then I hear she's alive. I finally get to see her myself – and then I scare her to death! Like sleep is going to help! God, did I even look at the marks on her face?! No – I just went barreling at her like a... an animal. Exactly what she didn't need."

Toby turned away, wearing his anguished expression. Josh rubbed his face with the heels of both hands, every bit as tormented.

Sam stared. "I wondered why she was holding her head that way... She was trying to hide it!" He sat there blinking in sudden, dumb realization. "You know, Josh, I didn't notice the bruises either – not until Leo came in. What kind of barbarian does that to another person? And a person like CJ..." He had to stop, at a total loss for words. "Toby, did you notice?"

His boss refused to even glance at him. "I'm not worried about the bruises we can see."

Josh groaned. "That is exactly what has been haunting what little sleep I've gotten in the last few days."

"She's back with us," Toby said quietly, his tone more soothing than almost anyone ever heard. "Nobody is hurting her anymore. We need real sleep now – CJ, too. Sleep will restore your perspective."

"There's nothing wrong with my perspective!"

"Josh." Toby should have been aggravated by this stubborn attitude, but for some unknown reason he was not. He just seemed... drained. "Let CJ take it at her own pace, all right? We should all just be ourselves until and unless she directs us otherwise."

"I was trying to be myself!" Josh insisted loudly. "And I scared the crap out of her!"

"And she stopped you – and then it was okay." Toby shifted in place, unaccustomed to handing out advice like this. "You said it: she's been through a nightmare, and she's been back only a couple of hours. Give it time; it'll get better."

Josh groaned again and rocked perilously backwards, far too wound up to even consider sleep. Not that either of his comrades showed any interest in calling it a night yet, either. He looked again from Sam to Toby, and back: one introspective, one concentrating.

"Sam, what are you doing?" His words were an eerie echo of two nights ago in the Oval Office.

"President's statement." Sam didn't turn from his work.

"It's taken you two days to write it?"

"No, but now I can really polish it. One's frame of mind makes a big difference to this sort of thing."

"Uh – guys?" said a hesitant voice from the door, with perfect timing to forestall the next argument.

Toby didn't bother to face that way. "Come on in, Carol." He waited until she entered his field of vision. "CJ is fine, and will probably be down sometime tomorrow. Just so you know."

Carol's whole face lit up. "Oh, wonderful! Thank you."

Sam looked up right then, struck by a new thought. "That reminds me... someone should contact Danny."

Josh lifted his head this time.

Sam let out a half-grunt of wonder. "I can't believe none of us thought about it before now."

One by one, three heads rotated towards Toby.

He scowled straight back at them, not in the least cooperative.

"I will," Carol volunteered. She had come to know Danny better during all this. Besides, how often did any of them get to be the bearer of such wonderful news?

Toby nodded curtly, both expressing his gratitude and dismissing her. She got the hint and left.

"Boy, I'd love to hear that conversation," Sam mused, blissfully unaware of the daggers in his boss' vision right then.

"Gentlemen?"

Josh dropped his feet off his desk and sat upright at once.

Somehow Mrs. Landingham managed to look every bit as businesslike as she always did, even at this late hour and after the joyful resolution of this appalling crisis. If there was a bit more lightness to her persona, no one could be absolutely sure.

"The President has arranged rides home for all of you."

Josh's persona had been restored in full. "What, he doesn't trust us not to add to the accidents out there tonight?"

All three just stared at him, until he finally deflated. "Fine. Forget I asked."

"Actually, I could get to like being chauffeured around," Sam remarked, rising and stretching.

"Has anyone seen Mr. McGarry in the last few minutes?" the President's secretary inquired.

Toby glanced out the door, as though Leo might be standing there the whole time. "I think he already left."

She actually smiled, in quiet confidence. "He won't get far."

They didn't doubt her for a moment.

*****

When, late in the afternoon, he finally returned from his lethal mission, she was waiting. She'd spent the entire day bracing herself for action. Now the time had come.

He blew through the door like a conquering hero. "Claudia! I'm here –"

The hardback chair caught him squarely across the shoulders and drove him to the floor with no more than a startled grunt.

She shoved the door shut and sagged against it, gasping from her exertion. She'd had no sleep, very little food and two frightening encounters with this man already; she was hardly at her best. Adrenaline, however, is a very potent drug in itself. Plus, she knew she would get only one shot at this and had to make it count.

So far, her plan had worked: she couldn't bring herself to use the rifle, but the chair did just fine. Now he lay prone and motionless before her, as helpless as she had been, and she was free. Free to raise the chair again and smash it into his head, as many times as it took to erase the memory of his touch and the knowledge of Danny's blood on his hands.

No; killing him wouldn't help her, not really. It couldn't undo the past. Better that she just grab his car keys and flee. He'd be trapped here as effectively as she had been, forced to wait until the police came for him. Her revenge would be to see him locked away forever... the very same fate that he had planned for her.

She shook off the wave of horror, remembering what he'd done to her before and what he'd no doubt do to her next – and what he'd just done to Danny. She had dressed for combat as well as she could, considering her wardrobe options; she already wore her boots and her coat lay a few feet away. Every atom in her being wanted to run now, but she needed the vehicle. This meant she had to linger a few moments longer.

Letting the chair fall away, she dropped to her knees beside him, and went rapidly through his pockets. The keys, where were the keys –

Her rummaging chased away more of the cobwebs in his brain. Semiconscious, he reacted with a surge of savage anger and lashed out instinctively, blindly, violently at his unknown assailant. His fist swept up with no warning and sliced across her temple. She went sprawling backwards from the force of the blow; her head banged against hardwood –

She came to again, slowly, dizzy, nauseous and disoriented... with his hated voice in her ears.

"You're gonna be okay. I'll make it better. Claudia, please be okay!"

She couldn't prevent a groan, of both pain and revulsion. She wanted to strike out in turn, but barely had the strength to open her eyes.

Her voice was faint. "No... get away from me..."

"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay! Be still for a moment while I clean you up. That's it, take it easy."

He wasn't listening to her.

She could see now, past the earthquake in her skull and the familiar fear squeezing her heart. She was stretched out on the couch, where he had obviously placed her – so much like this morning – and he hovered unnervingly near.

She could feel the terrifying heat from his body... and the welcome cool of the damp cloth he held to her head, stanching the blood from her hair, driving the pain back.

She glared weakly up at him. He smiled obliviously down at her.

"You clocked me pretty good. Boy, you sure were upset over that reporter. It's okay, I understand. But now you don't have to think about him ever again. He was never good enough for you, anyway. I forgive you for your obsession with him. You're gonna forget him, and everything's gonna go back to being wonderful for us."

Grief rose like a tidal wave... followed by choking fury. She would not take this anymore.

She tried to push herself up a bit, spearing him with hateful eyes. "You monster. Only in your deluded fantasy will anything be wonderful here. How could you possibly believe that killing someone I care about would make me trust you, let alone love you?"

He stared at her in total disbelief. Here he was tending her wounds, and she came out with this? "What are you saying –?"

Low and intense to start, her voice rose quickly in pure rage. "Let me put it this way: there's no way in hell that I will ever love you. I loathe you. I never wanted you to touch me in the first place, much less now!"

One hand closed tighter on her hair, the other on her forearm, but she was too incensed to notice.

"But I've got you here." For a moment he sounded like a petulant child, unable to understand why he couldn't have what he wanted. His sense of supreme power reasserted itself. "You're mine!"

To prove this, he closed inexorably upon her. The hand holding the cloth let it fall and gripped the back of her head with compelling strength. She had no hope of resisting as his mouth descended on hers, hard – taking brutal possession of his prize. Her blood boiled and screamed against this animalistic assault.

He broke contact at long last... and then he smiled again. It was a smile of confidence and satisfaction, tinged by more than a hint of insanity.

Panting from the air he'd virtually sucked out of her and the drumbeat of her racing heart – fueled by pain and a fury such as she had never known before in her life – she immediately scrubbed her mouth clean, a gesture of utter rejection. Her words slashed like the blade of a knife. "I was never yours. You will not possess me."

His confusion increased with his growing instability. "Why? Why are you DOING this?"

Then the truth finally began to penetrate. She...didn't?... love him...

His volatile emotions shifted again towards full-blown anger.

She saw the backhanded slap coming and couldn't possibly dodge it. Fireworks burst across her vision and thunder bellowed against the inside of her already-abused skull. Somehow, she bit back a cry. She could hear his harsh breathing, so very close...

The star-shot grayness cleared again, bringing his ruddy, bestial features back into focus.

One part of her brain shrieked for capitulation, for anything that would calm him and avoid further punishment. Otherwise it would get far worse even than this –

No! She was not going to surrender her being again. "I would rather die than spend one more minute here with you!"

That did it. The fire of madness flared to fever pitch in his eyes. Whatever twisted concept of love he might have felt before, it had been transformed at last into a hatred no less than her own. He no longer wanted her in his fairy-tale utopia here; she was not worthy after all. Which meant...

"Don't SAY that!" His huge hands clamped onto her throat in an attempt to stifle her words. She could get no air into her lungs at all.

Teeth bared in a voiceless scream, she sank all ten fingernails into the vice around her neck, digging deep with the last of her failing energy... until suddenly he couldn't ignore the stabbing pinpricks any longer and pulled back, swearing vilely.

She could breathe. For several gulping inhalations, that was all that mattered... The burning in her chest matched the burning around her throat, where his fingers had marked their hold in scarlet.

Then suddenly everything else fled before the ultimate terror of all, as she felt his fists seize her sweater in two places and wrench apart. The fabric ripped away with appalling ease, a frightful indication of his insane strength.

No – not THIS!

He'd have her stripped bare in mere seconds. His own clothes would come next, the violence increasing with each rent in material. By the time he got back to her –

Sheer desperation lent her one last boost. Her right hand shot out and raked him straight across the face, drawing four parallel rips from temple to cheek like the claws of a tiger and missing his left eye by less than an inch.

He let out a roar of pain, amazement and hellish wrath. That she would have the gall to hurt him! Oh, yes, there would be no mercy now...

She lay there, gasping and pained, and just waited. She'd won that small victory, at least: his surging hormones were now swept away by the lust for vengeance. She watched the blood well up, watched the muscles under his shirt bulge in preparation, watched his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, exactly like a maddened bull...

With a snarl that would do justice to a lion, he drew back both ham-sized fists.

The front door slammed open, shaking the entire cabin.

"Freeze!"

Both jerked around in utter astonishment – at the four strange men framed before them... and at the four automatic pistols aimed their way.

~~~

"Dear God." Abbey sagged back in her seat and let out a shaky exhalation. "If they'd arrived one minute later – "

CJ looked even more drained... but she'd gotten through the telling with her own emotions more or less intact. "Then it would have been simply a matter of picking up the pieces."

She rubbed a hand across her brow, brushing at the shadows that lingered on the edges of her vision. "I honestly don't know which of us was more surprised – I'd given up all hope of rescue by that point. Anyway, they managed to charge over and apprehend Paul without firing a shot. Good thing, too: I'm sure gunfire would have completely freaked me out on top of everything else. Then Ron sent them all to the far corner so that I could have some space. I needed it; the relief at having them there lasted only so long." She shivered.

"Fortunately, I had one other prime distraction. No way did I want anyone to call the White House but me. I couldn't bear the thought of the news being announced over the radio as impersonally as though I was a lost dog. I still thought that Danny was dead... and I knew I'd never believe that all of you were safe until I heard it myself."

Abbey couldn't prevent a smile. "Now that was a switch: you calling us to make sure we were all right!"

"And I fully expected to have to argue for what I saw as my right. Ron surprised me when he agreed at once." CJ shook her head in wonder. "I gotta admit, I never expected a Service agent – and a man – to have that level of understanding for a female victim's needs. I always thought they followed procedure rigidly at the expense of all else. Ron was just wonderful. He made no attempt to rush me out of there. He didn't launch into twenty questions. He kept everyone else well away. The moment I wished for a change of clothes, just so that I wouldn't have to wear those torn prison rags any longer, he offered his own duffel bag. He drove me to the hospital himself, he never left me alone with anyone I didn't know, and he flew me straight back here." She paused, striving to assimilate too much information. "Whatever he saw in me at the time must've been pretty shocking, if it softened him that much."

The First Lady fiddled thoughtfully with her necklace. "Well, he had the responsibility of bringing you back in one piece, after all... And every agent must be able to read other people on the spot and take the best course of action around them."

"Good point. I'll vouch for the thoroughness of their training any day."

CJ closed her eyes. "And then... then he told me that Danny was alive." Her low voice reverberated with a relief beyond words.

Abbey hesitated to intrude on those moments of sweet reflection.

"Do you love Danny?"

CJ's eyes popped open in no small surprise. Talk about an abrupt change in topic, never mind such a personal topic. In fact she was too startled at first even to form a reply.

"I'm not talking about how inappropriate a relationship might be." Abbey's tone was not the least bit judgmental; she didn't have that subject in mind. "You admitted that you were willing to go to an extreme to save him...?"

Slowly, CJ nodded. "I admit that I tried to seduce Paul in a deliberate effort to prevent him from leaving the cabin with a loaded gun and a vengeful mind." She fought down a chill. "And even though it didn't work, I made the decision then with no second thoughts."

"And did you make that decision... because of love?" Abbey persisted, with incredible gentleness.

CJ expressed only confusion. "It's... really not applicable. I would've done that for any of my friends." Again she struggled not to shake in her seat. "It was the only bargaining chip I had. I couldn't let that madman hurt any of you without giving everything I had to stop him."

This time Abbey did not comment, letting the deeper question linger by virtue of its sheer import... and at last CJ faced it squarely.

"I do not know. I'm not sure if it's real love or just a deep friendship. All I know is, I couldn't bear to see him hurt because of me."

Silence.

"And I truly don't know how I can ever trust anyone again."

Abbey sat up in sudden, renewed concern. "CJ..."

"I don't! I suppose it's a natural enough reaction to assault, and perhaps it'll go away over time... but I feel like fear is a constant cloud around me now. I've learned how a man can really hurt a woman. Sure, Ron was such a help, so considerate, a familiar face when I desperately needed one. And your husband was so kind – quite aside from the fact that without his influence I'd never have been found. But the others... they're my closest colleagues and my friends, and I could hardly endure being around them..."

CJ's control almost shattered. She wrestled it savagely back into place.

"Then too, how can any of you trust me again either?"

Now it was Abbey who experienced sudden disbelief. "CJ – !"

CJ turned away. "Don't sugarcoat it, please. First of all, I was the direct cause of a very real danger to every one of you. This includes my supposed hostage status as a weapon against the President. Second..." She had to pause and brace herself. "I was willing to sell myself to that lunatic at one point. I proved flat-out that everyone has a price." She looked at the floor, her pale, bruised features flushed with shame. "I don't know how any of you can even look at me!"

One second passed... two... each passing moment further confirming the worst to her...

The First Lady's hand closed firmly on hers. "CJ, you did the most selfless thing a person can imagine. You were willing to sacrifice yourself for one of us. You valued our lives more than your comfort, your self-worth and even your own survival. How can we not look at you, and admire the strength and courage within?"

Abbey squeezed her hand a bit tighter. "I am just so glad that you didn't have to go through with it. And that you're finally home again, safe with us. That's what really counts."

CJ was blinking rapidly by now.

More silence, wrapped with friendship.

"Abbey..."

Dr. Abigail Bartlet went still in her seat, touched to her core. Like Leo and his best friend of over forty years who was now his President, CJ had not dared to use the first name of the First Lady ever since her husband's election, no matter how close they'd been before. This ultimately personal moment wiped away all social barriers in the need for absolute trust and candor.

"What happened while I was gone?"

The deceptively simple question had several layers of meaning, and they all couldn't be addressed with ease. Still moved, Abbey opted for succinct brevity. "This House very nearly collapsed around our ears."

CJ had to suppress a smile. "Be serious."

Abbey's solemn attitude did not waver. "I am."

In these two words she conveyed a huge amount of information about the chaos that had ensued when their Press Secretary went missing. CJ's lips parted in a stark combination of amazement and – not quite pride, but something vaguely similar. She'd been slighted and ignored enough times by her colleagues since this administration began; now, at last, she had proof of her genuine value. The awakening had been rude, but effective.

Abbey gave her time to digest that news flash, then swung away from it. She knew that any further comment would only add to the embarrassment. Besides, without doubt all the details would come out and be gleefully rehashed tomorrow. "Now I'd like to ask you a personal favor. If I may."

CJ looked honestly surprised that her friend felt obliged to ask such permission – especially at this stage. "Of course. Name it."

Abbey gathered her thoughts... and, it seemed, her nerve as well. "Whenever you may feel up to it... next week, next month..." She hesitated some more, strangely off-balance as the public and even the staff never saw her. "I wonder if you'd be willing to speak to Zoey."

CJ's eyes went wide; she got the point at once.

This time it was the First Lady who shivered, her gaze and her volume dropping together. "I mean, God forbid that she should ever face any kind of assault as well. But..." Abbey screwed up her resolve and confronted the harsh reality. "I'd prefer to have her prepared, just in case – rather than attempt to shield her from the horrid possibility."

This time it was the Press Secretary who reached out with a comforting hand.

"I will."

All four hands joined in a firm pledge. "Thank you."

CJ summoned a smile; it seemed to be coming more easily to her. "No, thank you."

Abbey smiled in turn. "You're looking better. I think you'll sleep now."

"I hope so. Thanks for listening." CJ's vision turned inward. "I know that I understand myself a lot better than I thought I did three days ago."

That sounded intriguing. "How so?"

She shrugged. "Oh... fury, desperation, hatred... just how far I'm willing to go when my life is on the line..."

Abbey nodded gravely. "I think the same applies to us. There are some interesting stories waiting for you tomorrow." Pause. "And may I say, I'm really impressed with how you handled yourself throughout this. You found a real core of iron within yourself."

"Sure – for the next time I have to fight to the death."

Even the slightest chance of that happening gave them both pause.

"Still, better to have the armor and not need it..." Abbey pointed out in a very quiet and sympathetic tone.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." CJ ran a hand through her hair, not caring any more how disheveled she looked. "I... just wish I hadn't developed this armor the hard way."

No platitudes could help here. Both women accepted the cold truth that someone has to learn that knowledge, before it could be passed on to others.

"While we're on the subject of regret... I still don't know how, but I do feel at least some for Paul himself. The man's completely unbalanced. How much can you blame him, really? He fell in love with an image on TV. He did everything he could to capture that love. And for that, he's going to be locked up in a padded cell."

She heaved a sigh. "He put me through hell, and I know I'll never be able to forget it. But in the end he was standing there, handcuffed and helpless, crying like a child about his crushed love and the beautiful life we could have had together... if only I'd been more – faithful."

She lifted empty hands, as though pleading for guidance through the maze of her own being. "After all he did to me, I still feel sorry for him. Why?"

Abbey smiled, gently and with visible satisfaction. "Because you have a courageous heart, and a compassionate soul. You're not going to let hatred poison the rest of your life. You saved yourself, CJ. That is your own triumph."

CJ thought about that one for some time... and slowly but surely, the old light of confidence returned in almost full strength to her tired eyes.

"Yeah."

"Yeah." The First Lady agreed wholeheartedly. "And now you really should turn in." She grinned. "Doctor's orders."

CJ grinned back. "Okay, okay."

But then, in the very act of rising, she stopped. "Wait – one more thing."

"What's that?"

One could tell how vital this question was by the length of time it took to come out. "Why were all of you so convinced that I was dead? I thought I'd just... disappeared."

Abbey froze, all humor gone in an instant.

CJ didn't miss that reaction. Her head angled for a better view. "The agents refused to tell me anything. I wasn't about to pressure them for explanations... but I can see now that there was something."

Her hostess' forehead kinked. For a long moment she did not respond, could not respond. Then, "Why don't we leave that for tomorrow."

"It's not going to help my sleep to wonder about it all night," CJ pointed out firmly. "What happened?"

One second ticked past, and another.

Slowly, regretfully, Abbey exhaled. She had no real choice but to accept this painful duty herself. "They found your car this afternoon. It looked like it had skidded off the road and gone through the ice into a lake. Your ID, your phone, your pager... were all inside."

Silence.

CJ's brows descended. "I wouldn't think that's enough in itself..." Her voice trailed off, as the first tiny inkling poked above the surface of her subconscious.

Abbey closed her eyes... and then reopened them. Refusing to look away, to deny any part of the truth – no matter how awful.

"A woman's body was behind the wheel."

She needed say no more. The implications could not be denied. They cannoned mercilessly through CJ's brain, piercing her with undiluted horror.

*****

"The kidnapper's name is Paul Thatcher. He was less than coherent around us, as one might expect. He'll never stand trial – no jury would convict him. However, between what we've managed to glean from his ramblings, and what Ms. Cregg told us from her point of view, I can lay out the events for you with fair accuracy, sir."

The President leaned forward in his chair, blue eyes fixed on the Secret Service agent seated across from him. "Let's have it, Ron. The best, the worst, and everything in between."

"Yes, sir." These guys never used notes in such an official setting. Ron began at once.

"The announcement that Ms. Cregg's car had been found in Clinton County was, of course, broadcast to all local forces. The teams sweeping Pennsylvania at once converged upon that region. They also had a small aircraft up, and as it headed towards the lake where we were, it crossed a second small lake about twelve miles away. And right there on top of a rocky hill over the lake was a huge SOS in the snow, with a spot of pink in the very middle."

Seated quietly to one side, the only other person present for this Oval Office briefing, Leo frowned at that revelation. One could see the question forming on his face. Pink?

"The pilot radioed in at once, and we had no trouble sparing a helicopter to investigate. Even if it had nothing to do with our search, someone was signaling for help. But a chopper couldn't approach the hilltop without disturbing the snow, so it landed in another meadow a good mile away, and its crew climbed on foot."

Ron simply had to give this moment the import it deserved. "That spot of pink was a plastic garden flamingo."

Bartlet sat up straight as understanding dawned – then he looked at Leo, who wore a nearly-identical expression.

"A flamingo?" the President repeated.

"Yes, sir."

Leo just had to chuckle. "Leave it to CJ to come up with a brilliant touch like that!"

"Yes, sir. Of course, the moment that detail reached us I tore over myself. Even if Ms. Cregg was dead as we believed, we hoped this would lead us to her killer." The security coordinator allowed himself only the barest pause, but it was enough to make both of his listeners wince.

"It took us some time to find the trail through the snow down to the cabin. I cleared the sky in case the sight of planes and choppers might flush our target prematurely, so we didn't even know where the road was at first. Thatcher pulled in only about fifteen minutes before us; we heard his car engine through the trees. No doubt he was returning from Washington after his attack on Danny Concannon. We surveyed the cabin, discovered that Ms. Cregg was inside and alive, and – took the place."

The narrative stopped... and yet, the brevity of that last sentence left a whole lot unsaid.

"Ron..." Bartlet pressed, knowing there was more to it than this.

Butterfield hesitated in a most unusual way for one of his elite force. When he resumed, his voice was likewise unusually quiet. "Well, Mr. President, let's just say that it was extremely fortunate for Ms. Cregg that we arrived when we did."

Leo actually went pale at the blatant meaning behind that. His leader leaned back and exhaled slowly, of the very same mind.

"Anyway, we secured Thatcher, drove Ms. Cregg to the nearest hospital as per SOP, and then choppered her back to Washington as soon as your message came through with her medical release."

"Hold on a minute," Bartlet interposed. Clearly this account had wrapped up a bit too neatly for his liking. "The first indication I got of any possibility that CJ might still be alive was when Leo burst in here with the news that she'd called us herself." These two old friends shared a solemn look, remembering that electric moment in all its vividness. It was the closest the President had ever come to calling his Chief of Staff and best friend either a liar or crazy. "As soon as you heard about that flamingo, you knew who'd left the signal. Why the hell didn't you call me yourself right then?"

Ron formed his reply methodically, but he did not shrink from the demand. "For the same reason, sir, that I did not call you immediately after the conclusion of the hostage crisis on Tuesday; I waited until I was certain she'd never been there, so that I could give you as much information as possible in one shot. As the head of the interstate search effort's chain of command, I assumed the responsibility for investigating that signal first before reporting it." He noted the dark, unconvinced stare leveled his way. "And quite frankly, sir, I didn't want to get your hopes up."

The President calmed at that genuine thoughtfulness, not something one associated regularly with the fearsome United States Secret Service. "I see your point. Although it would've prevented a few heart attacks around here."

"On the other hand," Leo pointed out soberly, "if they had delayed at all, they might've been too late."

Bartlet closed his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge the hard truth of that frightfully-narrow margin between success and...

"In any event, sir, Ms. Cregg was very grateful for her release from the hospital."

"I wish I'd seen the face of the nurse who got that call," Leo said in amusement, darting a glance at his boss.

His boss grinned back. "It's fun throwing my weight around like that. They never would've let her out otherwise." Then the smile faded. "In her state, staying the night there would've been a nightmare all its own."

"Yes, sir." Ron had seen the Press Secretary at her most vulnerable, and he fully agreed with that observation.

Bartlet sighed. "So, all that's covered. What about her car? Who was the woman inside?"

"Her name was Anita Bellevue, Mr. President. She's from the town of Lock Haven in the same county. From what Thatcher told us, he planned this decoy all along. He wanted us to think that Ms. Cregg had had a tragic accident, to forestall any search for her. He'd picked out Mrs. Bellevue weeks ago as a realistic replacement. Her physical resemblance is really quite close, especially under less-than-ideal circumstances."

Leo looked away, his features grim, remembering how close he'd come to viewing that physical resemblance in the local morgue. It didn't get less ideal than that.

"Around noon on Wednesday, Thatcher left the cabin for a supply run. He tracked Mrs. Bellevue down, approached her circumspectly, drugged her with the same substance he'd used to abduct Ms. Cregg the day before, and brought her to the lake several miles from where his cabin was located. He towed Ms. Cregg's car to that same spot behind his sport-utility vehicle.

"The local highway runs right beside the shore of this lake, making it possible to create the illusion that the car had skidded off the road and plunged down the embankment. This wouldn't have worked with a boat-launching ramp or some private driveway, and in any case Thatcher wanted the car found.

"So he strapped Mrs. Bellevue's unconscious body into the driver's seat, and smashed the windshield in with a thick tree-branch to make it look like it had just happened to fall on the passing car, thus throwing it out of control." This time Ron hesitated in his dry recital of the raw facts. "Then he took a large fragment of broken glass and slashed Mrs. Bellevue's face, to further reduce the differences in identity."

The President made no effort to stifle his heartsick groan. Leo put a hand over his eyes.

The senior agent forged onward. "Then he started the engine and sent the car rolling down the bank. It broke through the thin ice and sank to the rear wheels, flooding the cabin, yet fully visible to the next car that should come along... and from the air. Ms. Cregg's ID and personal possessions were inside, and the occupant – a tall woman in her late thirties with auburn hair – died of drowning. No one would have any reason to doubt the ownership of the body, and the freezing conditions obscured how long she'd actually been dead. It was well thought-out and well executed."

"Executed is exactly the right word!" Bartlet exploded. "Quite aside from the fact that God only knows what he would've done to CJ if you guys hadn't gotten there in time, he also committed a cold-blooded murder just to throw us off the track! That poor woman – "

"Mr. President," Ron interrupted gently but firmly. "You should know that Thatcher is not even capable of remorse for what he's done to either of them. He honestly believes that he was protecting Ms. Cregg from the world in general and you in particular. Whatever it took to keep her safe, he was prepared to do. Mrs. Bellevue was a simple tool, nothing more."

"That doesn't make me feel better. So we'll pitch him into the loony bin instead of a maximum-security prison, or a gas chamber... but we still can't bring her back."

"No, sir." The ranking agent kept his attitude very business-like, covering any hint of a sense of failure. If only they'd found the White House Press Secretary sooner...

"Man, good thing you didn't bring Thatcher around here, Ron. I can guess at more than a few people who'd want to take justice into their own hands." Bartlet's eyes glittered coldly.

"Amen," Leo concurred with deceptive softness.

"Yes, sir." Two simple and oft-repeated words, but right now they communicated the exact same sentiment. Even as the Secret Service had added another success to its formidable record, its reputation in certain circles for emotionless reserve was being diminished. CJ's disappearance had wreaked havoc to a surprisingly broad extent.

The President raised an eyebrow, not missing that inflection. But he chose not to indulge in one of his trademark wisecracks for once.

"I want to contact Mrs. Bellevue's family. It's the least I can do."

Ron nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll get the number for you."

"Leo, you give the staff the bare bones. Play it down a bit, okay? If I know CJ, she won't thank any of us for showering her with sympathy."

Leo nodded as well. "Yes, sir. I'll make sure Carol does the same in the next briefing. No one else needs to know all the gory details."

"Right." At last Bartlet stood. So did the other two men. "Ron, you make sure your people know what a fine job they did. That goes for all of the other organizations involved, too."

"Thank you, sir." That might have been a telltale twitch to Ron's mustache, but he managed not to grin despite his justifiable pride.

Now the President gave himself a little shake, as though shrugging off all the worry and chaos of the past week. "All right. Time to start running this place again."

Ron took that for the dismissal it was. "Yes, sir."

"I'll go, too," Leo offered. "Today is going to get very interesting."

"Of that I have no doubt. Especially this afternoon."

Bartlet watched them leave in opposite directions.

"Charlie!"

His body man stepped promptly into view. "Yes, Mr. President?"

"I've been looking forward to saying this with the proper enthusiasm for four days." The leader of the free world smiled broadly. Looking very pleased, and very much in control. "What's next?"

*****

"Mom, will you relax? There's no reason to get this panicky on me. It's just dinner at the White House!"

CJ leaned back against the handsome headboard of her enormous bed and plumped her fat pillows for greater comfort. There was nothing not comfortable about this magnificent room.

"Okay, so I'm a bit jaded in that respect. Sue me. Dinner here is a big thing. But it's the only time the President has free. Things got a bit backed up over the past few days."

She wriggled a bit deeper into the mattress, savoring its plush softness, while she balanced the phone precariously under her chin.

"Mother... He's not superhuman. Nor is he a despot. It'll be pretty informal, anyway. Just don't get him started on trivia and we'll all survive."

She glanced at the brilliant sunbeams streaming through the tall windows, then at the clock on the end table, and grinned. "Let me tell you: I'm in the most luxurious bedroom I've ever seen, in the safest house you can imagine, and I'm still in my pajamas at nine in the morning. Trust me – I'm fine."

She ran a hand through her tousled hair and down her neck, then smiled into the phone. "All right, then. You should be getting in shortly after noon tomorrow, right? Come here right away, so we'll have time to visit before supper."

Someone knocked softly. She jerked in that direction, eyes wide.

"Mom, I've got to go." She fought to keep the apprehension out of her voice. "Believe me – I have to go right now." Pause. "Okay. Bye." She hung up, then took a deep breath. "Come in."

"CJ?"

She blinked in surprise. "Zoey!"

The President's youngest daughter entered a few steps, no more. She looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Hi."

"Hi." CJ noticed this uneasiness: it was even more pronounced than her own. That knowledge brought out the big-sisterly affection she'd long felt for this growing teenager, chasing away all less pleasant emotions. She smiled. "Good to see you."

Zoey smiled back, if somewhat timidly. "You, too." She couldn't seem to stop fidgeting, or staring. The bruises were even more visible today. "Um... I wanted to come by last night – but my mom said that it'd be better if we didn't... smother you."

Slowly, CJ nodded. "She was right. I was kind of... frayed." She read fresh anxiety on her visitor's face and added, "But it's amazing what a good night's sleep will do."

Zoey smiled again – in relief. "I'm glad." She threw a look back at the door through which she'd entered. "I've, uh, got your breakfast here."

"You do?" CJ shook her head. "Well, if that's your gentle way of telling me I should finally get out of bed..." She threw off the covers.

Zoey had to giggle at that. "I'll bring it in." She hurried out and returned in moments pushing a tea trolley. By then CJ had donned her robe and slippers.

"You know, I may be the first person in history to be waited on by the entire First Family," she commented as she took her seat at the table. "A girl could get used to this."

For some reason Zoey did not react to the humor this time. She set everything out and then backed up one step.

"I hope you like it. How do you feel? Are you hurt? Can I get you anything?" The questions came out in a fast and flustered stream. Clearly she was confused as to what she should say. Then, even more flustered, she forced herself to stop.

For a few seconds, CJ studied her.

"Zoey." She kept her voice low and calm. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry." The girl fidgeted even more, blushing with embarrassment. "It's just – I'm dying to know what happened. No one's told me anything." She looked down. "But... I don't want to upset you."

CJ knew that Abbey would not have raised the dreaded topic with Zoey so soon. This was the First Daughter's own initiative.

That made CJ feel even more responsible.

She reached over and gripped her young friend's hand. "No problem, Zoey. I'm not up to discussing it just yet... but don't worry. I promise that one day soon, you and I will sit down and talk."

*****

The President of the United States strode down the hallway of the Residence in the White House. Beside him paced his Press Secretary. It was as it should be.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?"

"Yes, sir." CJ's voice had much of the old firmness again. "As beautiful as my accommodations are, my office will feel even better. Honestly, I could use the distraction. Besides, almost everyone will have gone home by now."

"Oh, I think I can name a few people who are still lying in wait."

"So can I." She didn't quite smile, but both amusement and resignation were present in her tone.

Ahead of them, the black suit of a Secret Service agent led the way, and both knew that another followed not far behind. CJ couldn't resist one glance over her shoulder at that silent shadow.

"You didn't have to come all the way up here and play escort yourself, Mr. President."

Bartlet eyed her askance... being careful not to crowd her as they walked. She still needed a bit of buffer space.

"You know, I'm rather tempted right now to make some crack about me not having to do anything I don't want to do – but you and I both know it isn't true." He waited until he got the grin he wanted. "The truth is, after a day like today, I'm more than happy to seize any excuse to slip out of that office, even for a few minutes. I should thank you for this bit of freedom."

Just ahead, the leading agent held open the elevator.

She looked down. "Well, I should apologize for the total upheaval to your schedule over the past few – "

The President braked, his sudden stop pulling her to a halt as well. "CJ, if you try one more time to take all the credit for what we have put ourselves through..."

"Sorry." She couldn't resist the urge to step backwards, away from him.

Her leader flinched at this... and his expression grew very gentle. Her bruises seemed to cry out at him. "No, I'm sorry. Please don't worry about it."

She let out a slightly longer breath, relaxing in more ways than one. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

He turned and led the way into the elevator. The point man stood at the controls, as far to one side as possible. Normal etiquette would dictate that even the President defer to a lady, but he did not want CJ to feel like she was being herded into an enclosed area and trapped between two men – even men she knew. Instead he stepped to the agent's side, leaving almost half of the car for her and staying between her and the slightest possible sense of threat.

She followed with only a touch of hesitation... and did not move to the farthest corner.

The trailing bodyguard let them go without him. They had all been briefed: three men in tight quarters would definitely be too much. As the doors slid shut, he could be seen muttering into his suit cuff, informing the ground floor detachment that Liberty and Flamingo were on their way down.

CJ struggled to ease her increasing tension. "I feel like the Secret Service are here for me almost as much as for you, sir."

"They are," was Bartlet's calm reply. "I want you to feel comfortable, CJ. I don't care what it takes. So long as you're here under my roof, there will always be someone close by to see to your every need, and to protect you at all costs."

"I expect the guys will want to do that as well," she pointed out knowingly.

The President rolled his eyes. "Actually, I expect you'll need protecting from them the most."

He heard her chuckle, and his grin widened.

The elevator stopped and the doors parted. Bartlet held back, allowing CJ to exit first. Then he led her towards the South Portico entrance. A new agent discreetly fell into step behind them.

Another agent waited at the door with two thick overcoats.

The President took one of those coats and held it open for her. "We're going directly to the Oval Office. This way you bypass everyone."

For one jarring heartbeat, the scene froze. In order to be helped on with that coat, CJ would have to turn her back and allow both arms to be encumbered for at least a few moments...

Not one of the men moved, fully aware of her thoughts. Bartlet's pensive expression said plainly that he would understand if she didn't feel ready for this yet.

CJ's lips pressed into a thin, determined line. "Thank you, sir." Her words contained a dual meaning. Deliberately, she steeled herself and accepted his assistance. Very carefully, he helped her slip the garment into place, and stepped back at once to give her a bit more room.

Looking almost victorious after that small yet vital accomplishment, she buttoned herself up as the waiting agent helped the President on with his coat. Then this four-person parade stepped out into the chilly December afternoon.

Of all the staff, only Charlie and Leo ever got the chance to walk this route. CJ tried not to glance around in obvious fascination.

"CJ, I want to be sure that you're sure you're willing to return to your job." Bartlet sounded very serious indeed. "It means re-entering the public spotlight, as well as a whole lot of now-personal media attention."

She gathered her nerve. "I know what I'm in for, sir."

"I sure hope so." He didn't meet her eye. "I can't help feeling like it's very much my fault that you're so... visible."

The pillars of the presidential walkway gleamed like soft gold as the spotlights of the White House fought off encroaching nightfall.

"The visibility comes with the territory. I've always accepted that."

"Well, none of us ever dreamed that it might include such a risk!" His steps slowed as his thought accelerated on. "God knows I don't want to lose you, CJ – but I don't want to put you at that risk ever again."

This time it was she who stopped in her tracks. Even a world leader felt compelled to turn and face her.

She stared down at him from her superior height. "Then let me put your fears to rest, Mr. President. I have no intention whatsoever of bailing on you, now or ever. No one could have foreseen such a risk as a lovesick lunatic. You've kept that particular detail from the press, for which I thank you, so I'm not letting myself worry about a copycat getting the same idea. Also, just so you know, I have discovered in this process that I could be the direct cause of an attack against you. But the same would apply to whoever holds the position of White House Press Secretary. So it might as well be me, since I know precisely what I'm getting into – and so that I can ease my own fears by taking steps to ensure that it doesn't happen again."

She paused to recover her breath... and suddenly realized that she had just delivered a very strident lecture to her boss and her Chief Executive both.

Now that she had finished, Bartlet allowed his smile to poke through. It was a smile of pure delight. After a few seconds, CJ found herself smiling back, in genuine pride.

"If I had a dime for everyone who wanted to threaten me... Forget about it, CJ. The only important thing is that you're back."

She was, too – back to herself. That fact amazed her more than a little.

The President enjoyed her look of wonder for a couple of moments, then inclined his head towards the door right behind him. "Come on. Let's get out of the cold."

"Yes, sir." Almost glowing with this new sense of triumph, CJ followed him into the Oval Office.

Charlie was waiting; he rose as they walked in. "Hey, CJ." He grinned in quiet welcome, apparently forgetting all about the man beside her.

"Hello, Charlie." She didn't miss the hint and couldn't prevent her own smile from spreading. Nor did she have any problem letting him take her coat. His age might have had something to do with it, but the mischievous gleam in his dark eyes did the rest.

"Good man," Bartlet teased, shrugging out of his own coat unassisted. "You've got your priorities in order. Now go away."

"Yes, sir." Charlie made no attempt to hide his slight smirk.

"Oh, and send Agent Reilly in, would you?"

"Right away, sir." His personal aide took both coats and exited.

Both of them watched him leave, then looked at each other, their expressions identical.

"He's going to tell everyone you're here," the President predicted confidently.

CJ sighed, but her smile didn't fade much. "Of that I have no doubt."

"If you change your mind and want to run, consider this office your refuge." A joke it was – and yet a sincere offer as well.

"Thank you, sir. Hopefully I won't have to come and hide under your desk."

The door through which Charlie had vanished now reopened, and a woman slightly younger and slightly shorter than CJ walked in.

"Mr. President." She nodded to her leader with military deference... and then addressed CJ in almost exactly the same fashion. "Ms. Cregg."

"CJ, this is Colleen Reilly. She's on temporary transfer from Abbey's detail." Bartlet said no more, watching for his Press Secretary's reaction.

CJ realized at once just what he meant. Her jaw dropped. "You mean, transferred to my detail? You're telling me I now have a detail?"

"For as long as you like, and even after that."

CJ was trying not to stare. Colleen's functional pantsuit blended into the White House dress code perfectly; she could have been just one more of the hundreds of female employees around every day. Not a bulge or wrinkle betrayed the firearm that had to be present.

Colleen shrugged casually in an effort to break the ice. "It was felt that you'd be more comfortable with a woman around."

CJ just shook her head – not in refusal, but in bewilderment. "I'm not sure I believe this either way..."

Her personal bodyguard smiled, more gently than would ever be expected of a professional killer. "Just go about your business and pretend I'm not here."

CJ frowned. "That sounds rather rude."

"Ask the expert," Bartlet offered, raising his hand with a grin. "Lessons are free." He paused. "But seriously, CJ – anything you want, you have only to ask. Any of us."

For another few seconds CJ just stood there, reveling in the high value these people all placed in her.

"Mr. President, I want you to know that I really appreciate all you've done for me."

Standing with one hand on the surface of his desk, he returned that gratitude in full measure. "I should say the very same thing a whole lot more often than I do."

*****

The short passageway linking these two premier offices in the land had a door at each end, for double privacy. Of course, as a rule the only person who came looking for the Chief of Staff through this route was the President himself.

Acutely conscious of that fact, CJ tried not to feel like a usurper or a trespasser as she pushed the second door open.

"Hartley, I'm telling you. He's not going to go for – "

Hinges in this House were not permitted to squeak. However, Leo was very sensitive to any movement from that direction. His head turned at once.

The moment had to be savored at least a little. CJ struggled to act nonchalant, as though she strolled in like this every day.

From the emotion that now crossed his face, he wouldn't trade this day for anything.

"Listen, I'll have to call you back." He still held the phone receiver in place, but his eyes never left her... and they were shining. "Well, since I'm right next door to the Oval Office, you can probably guess who just walked in."

Nonchalance went right out the window. CJ almost burst out laughing right there.

A faint but detectable undercurrent of amusement tinged Leo's words. "I will." He hung up, then rose in the formal welcome of a gentleman to a lady. However, there was nothing formal about the small yet warm grin that played around his mouth.

Still, he did not approach, keeping his desk between them as a safety barrier.

"Congressman Grovesnor extends his regards."

"To the President, you mean." CJ grinned back at him. "I'm not sure you have the authority to promote me that high, Leo."

"Hey, I can't help it if he guessed wrong."

Pause. He studied her. She watched him.

"How are you feeling today?"

CJ glanced down at her attire, as though to remind herself that she was wearing her own clothes again... as though she needed constant reminding of that. She had chosen a blouse, slacks and jacket combo such as she usually favored, stylish but professional – plus, she was back in these familiar chambers where she did the work she so loved to do.

"More normal all the time, thanks."

"Glad to hear it." Leo made the attempt to sound more like his usual reserved self. He moved sideways, to the end of his desk, so that they no longer looked like a boss and his subordinate... although he continued to keep his distance.

"You realize that the moment you set foot outside this office, you're gonna be mobbed – no matter how much we've told them not to."

She nodded patiently. "Might as well get it over with."

"If at any time you feel that you need sanctuary..."

CJ automatically brushed her hair behind her ear, a common mannerism for her. However, on this day it served to reveal the ugly welts both behind her right eye and around the corner of her jaw. Leo's gaze dropped a couple of inches to the accompanying bruises on her throat. Her hand drifted that way self-consciously.

Neither of them commented on that moment. She did her best to shake it off.

"Yeah, I don't think I'm up to the full contact sport just yet."

Leo grinned anew. "Don't wear yourself out." He advanced now, but swerved a few extra degrees to port in order to miss her by a comfortable margin, and headed for the main entrance to his office. It seemed perfectly natural for CJ to fall into step. Just like before.

His voice dropped conspiratorially as they neared the threshold. "If you could give Margaret a hug or something... she was really worried about you." Then he turned back, leaving her to continue alone. Giving her arm the merest touch on the way past.

CJ just had to stop and look at her boss. Sure, he made a point of telling her that his secretary had been upset... but of course he wouldn't admit to feeling the same.

She smiled even more broadly, soaking up the affection and – yes, the love – that her colleagues didn't have to voice... and stepped into the outside world.

*****

"That's a stupid idea!"

"It is not a stupid idea."

"It's the stupidest idea I've ever heard!"

"I booked this guy because he's the best masseuse in DC. He comes very highly recommended; Mallory says that a lot of teachers have gone to him when they're stressed."

"Sam, she's not stressed from grading papers! She's lucky to be alive!" Josh shook his head at his friend's inability to grasp that simple fact. "This is better. I've booked dinner for the bunch of us at the Hay-Adams Hotel. She should be treated like royalty."

"Right after the two of you are treated for a shared psychosis," Toby interposed, frowning at them both. "We're not going to do either of these things. What she needs is peace and quiet. I'm sure she wants nothing better – "

"Than to sit and read the newspaper."

All three whirled to stare, dumbstruck, at the object of their conversation. She stood in the doorway of Communications four yards off, smiling a bit, looking so much like her old self that it robbed even this famously articulate trio of speech.

Josh gave a wonderful impression of a kid caught with the cookie jar. "Yeah," he said softly. "I guess that's what she wants."

He and Sam stood facing each other, Toby between them and a few feet back. They all held very still. How scared was she now? How scared of them?

Slowly, deliberately, CJ closed that gap until she could lay a gentle hand on the shoulders of both Sam and Josh. She looked at all three of them in turn. Here they were, in their bumbling, masculine, lovable way planning a big welcome for her. It was just as well that she'd headed it off at the pass... yet she was touched by their good intentions.

"You guys are so sweet. But I really would rather just get some work done. Honest."

None of them grinned yet. They couldn't help but see the bruises. However, a lot of the tension drained away – from Josh in particular.

"Sorry. We've just been a little excited all day."

"And we've had a lot of coffee," Sam added quickly.

Toby half-closed his eyes in resignation. "Nothing that a baseball bat wouldn't fix."

CJ smiled. Now she truly felt at home again.

"Thanks," she said very quietly. She waited another few seconds, drinking in this togetherness that she had so missed... and then at last she moved away, leaving behind two broad grins and one prayer.

The entire office area was otherwise glaringly vacant... save for one desk.

Carol rose, slowly and officiously and fighting to keep her huge smile at least partly in check. "The Acting White House Press Secretary begs leave to tender her office."

CJ couldn't help it this time; she laughed. Everyone smiled, as though they hadn't in a far longer time than four days. That happy sound seemed to ripple through the entire office and chase away the last clouds of lingering concern.

"Well, I have no doubt that the office was in good hands."

Carol rolled her eyes. "All this time and I never really understood how hard your job is. I don't ever want it again."

CJ hesitated. Naturally her job had gone on without her – it had to. No one was truly irreplaceable. That knowledge brought both a twinge of sadness, and a wave of relief.

Carol had tackled an extremely hard job and done it well. CJ reached out and touched her arm, in a very non-threatening way, trying to express both thanks and congratulations... then suddenly she reconsidered and drew her assistant into a light hug.

The three men watching resisted the urge to let out a maudlin "Awww..."

Carol blinked rapidly, and fell back on business before her composure broke down further. "I call-forwarded your phone to mine. Leo said not to reroute your calls back for at least one more day."

CJ nodded in resignation. "Yeah, I expected something like that. But believe me, the best possible medicine is just to be alone in my office and back at work."

"Sure thing. Anyway, now I have to go report to the girls – they're waiting in the mess, and I am under strict orders to bring them a full report on you."

"You do that. And then I think you deserve the rest of the night off."

"Gosh, thanks." Things really sounded normal now. Carol flashed a radiant grin before slipping out.

CJ continued... to the dark office just ahead.

The place looked right. The air smelled right. The atmosphere felt right. She stood there on the threshold, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let the euphoric sensation wash over her. She had returned to the one place in the world where she wanted most to be.

Then she looked at her desk.

Consigned to the top of the filing cabinet in recent weeks to make room for the sheer amount of paperwork, Gail's fishbowl had been returned to its place of honor beside the desk's blotter. The goldfish swam about as placidly as ever... and a small yet bright banner had been draped across the bowl's outer surface: Welcome Home.

*****

The sight could not have looked more natural: her bangs falling forward as she bent over her desk in concentration, pen moving rapidly, thoughts taking shape.

At one point she paused, propped her forehead up with her left hand, and sighed. "This sounds like I'm accepting an Oscar."

"CJ?"

She started, her battered nerves still taking instantaneous control.

Toby stood back from the entrance, as though afraid to even suggest that he wanted to trap her in a small room with no other exit.

"May I come in?" he asked, very quietly.

CJ was back in her office, where she undeniably belonged, proving that the physical nightmare at least had ended.

Toby was her friend.

Agent Colleen Reilly sat just outside.

She straightened, raking her fingers through her hair in a symbolic gesture of placing her life back in order. "Sure."

He entered slowly, as if walking on eggshells, careful not to make any sudden moves. Still, some of the sadness she had seen in him the previous evening had faded. In fact, he looked more natural now as well, especially with the thick pack of files under one arm.

"What are you doing?" From his tone, he was genuinely interested. This would not be a brief business conversation with only the merest nod to courtesy, as so often happened on normal days.

The slight distance between them, the shield of her desk, the underlying concern in his words and her own growing sense of comfort all came together. CJ relaxed a bit more.

"Well, I'm going to have to face the press at some point. I thought I might as well be prepared." She shook her head at the paper before her. "I don't know how you stand it. I never thought writing just a few lines of gratitude could be so daunting."

That might have been the merest precursor to a smile, but Toby erased it at once. "I solve the problem by not writing gratitude."

She smiled. He did not, nor did he say anything else.

"Thanks."

He performed that characteristic foot shuffle. "For what?"

"For not offering to write it for me."

Clearly he'd never considered such a thing. "It's much too personal."

"Is it ever." CJ looked back down... and then back up. "I'm sorry. You wanted to talk to me?"

Toby fingered his stack of paperwork. "I would like your opinion on a few things," he said in that slow, reserved manner he used when his course of action had been well planned.

The thick bundle looked like more than "a few things."

"You know, I'm not sure whether I should be flattered that so many details demand my attention, or annoyed that you guys can get so little done without my help."

He tried not to look embarrassed. "Probably both. May I?" He glanced towards the sofa.

CJ measured the distance with her eye, judging how much closer that move would bring him – and then quickly shook it off. She was really getting sick of this caution, but at least she was beginning to be able to control it.

"Of course."

Still maneuvering carefully, Toby settled into the farthest corner of the sofa. He took a few moments to spread out his stuff and find his pen. CJ felt compelled to watch every single move he made, nervousness warring with reassurance.

"Uh... I'll need a moment to remember where I left off." He didn't look up.

"Oh. Okay. Say when." She wasn't sure she wanted to turn away, to take her attention from a man's presence, to let down her guard for even a moment... but this was Toby, after all. With an effort, she returned to her own writing endeavor.

Several minutes later, she stopped in growing frustration at the way her words persisted in sounding trite or downright silly – and realized that her visitor still had not broached a topic. In fact he hadn't made a sound at all. Yet from the redistribution of the piles on the sofa, he'd gone through a good chunk of that original stack already.

She frowned. "Was there something specific you had in mind?"

He still didn't look up. "Well, there is this report... but I'm not quite done with it yet. Give me a few more minutes."

CJ sat there and studied him. She could tell that he was deliberately avoiding her eyes... and suddenly she knew why. He had not come to consult her, but to keep her company. He had intended from the start to work away unobtrusively in her office, get her re-accustomed to his presence, and provide his own brand of personal defense.

"Toby, you're too much."

His pen slowed at the new, unexpected brightness in her voice, but otherwise he still didn't move. "What did I do wrong this time?"

"Do you have such a poor opinion of the United States Secret Service that you feel it's necessary to protect me yourself?"

Now he stopped... and slowly his eyes swiveled her way. She'd caught him, and he had no idea how she'd react.

She was smiling.

Josh arrived right then, with absolutely the best possible timing – from one person's perspective, at least. "CJ." He too checked at the entrance, clearly uncertain as to just where that delicate line had been drawn.

CJ's smile widened: from the reddening of Toby's ears she knew exactly what he was thinking right now. "Come on in, Josh."

The Deputy Chief of Staff complied at once, doing his best to act normal. That is to say, he was his usual goofy self. "So, how do you like your new twenty-four hour protection?" He shot a glance back at the female yet unmistakable agent seated only a few feet from CJ's door.

CJ looked at Toby, whose presence Josh hadn't yet noticed. Her shoulders shook in suppressed laughter. "If he'd get me some coffee, I'd like him even better."

In dignified silence, the Communications Director rose, as though he'd planned to do so all along, paid no attention to Josh at all, and stepped out.

Josh watched him go in voiceless disbelief.

CJ watched Josh. He wore that familiar flustered expression which indicated he wasn't sure just how to start the conversation.

He turned back. She still sat behind her desk. He stayed several feet off.

"Well, I wanted to say this when no one else was around anyway." He paused. "CJ, I really, really apologize. For last night."

At first she had no idea what he meant. "For what?"

He looked down. "For the – thing. When I scared you."

Now she remembered that moment when she had cowered from his joyous approach. Obviously it had haunted him ever since.

He spoke barely above a whisper, still focused on the carpet. "God, I felt like a complete ogre."

She was horribly uncomfortable with this entire topic. However, they'd both have to face it eventually. "Actually, Josh, I feel like I should apologize to you. It was just a gut reaction. You didn't do anything wrong."

Now he looked at her again.

She gave him a soft smile.

He hesitated, trying to decide what to say next, then drew a deep breath.

"And one other thing... I have no idea if it's appropriate... or kind... to say this to you, but it's been eating me alive and I don't know that anyone else can stand to hear it from me anymore. I was worried about you, but I was worried about... specific things."

He had to pause now – and then it all burst out in a rapid stream. "Not that I enjoyed it or even that I was trying to think those things. In fact I was trying everything to keep from thinking those things. But every waking moment I couldn't get those thoughts – and worse – images out of my mind. Even when I was able to catch a few minutes' sleep here and there, I dreamt of those things..."

"Josh," CJ interrupted gently. He halted in the middle of his arm-waving frenzy. She had to ask him this. "What exactly are you referring to?"

For one long, painful moment, he couldn't meet her eyes again. "I was... I kept being scared of all the things that man could be doing to you. And I couldn't make myself stop."

A range of emotions flitted across CJ's face, from horror to disgust, at her own memories.

He didn't notice because he still wasn't looking at her. Now she could see the sheer agony this had caused her friend as well as herself.

She groped for words, uncertain how to comfort him.

"Josh, I don't know what to say to make you feel better."

Another long pause stretched out, while he shut his eyes tightly against the visions that were still tormenting him.

"Would it help if we talked about it? I mean, I don't think I can do it right now, because I wouldn't have any... composure while doing so..."

Now, slowly, he turned back to her, teeth clenched.

"But if it would help put your mind at ease, at least I can narrow down the range of what you're worried about by simply... eliminating some of those images."

It is a proven fact that people with someone else to care for handle their own troubles better. CJ found to her considerable surprise that the thought of discussing this with Josh did not unnerve her as much as she had feared. He needed to hear about it as much as she needed to talk about it.

He looked utterly torn. On the one hand, he didn't want to really know what had happened to her – but he had to know, because the uncertainty of it all was tearing him apart. He was a man who thrived on information; once he had the truth, he'd know how to proceed from there.

She sat back and re-evaluated. "On second thought, maybe we shouldn't wait to have this conversation after all. I expect that composure is a commodity that neither of us will be able to afford for awhile. And we need to start... moving on... as soon as possible."

Josh's face cleared a bit. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, I think so, too..."

CJ exhaled; her nerves were all tensed up again. "Okay. Maybe even tonight? You can walk me back to the Residence..."

He thought about that. Slowly, a hint of a smile peeked out. "Okay."

That would still be a few hours away; she wanted to bring down the final barriers between them now. Feeling calmer than she had for some time, she rose, came around her desk slowly, and put her hand on his arm.

"Josh, you have no idea how thrilled I am to see you, too."

He stared at her hand, and then at her. They really were friends again. No – still.

CJ saw that amazement dawn on his expressive features, and it wiped away the last of her fear. She stepped even closer and put her arms around him. After only the barest hesitation, he carefully returned the gentle pressure.

It was some time before she felt like drawing back. No doubt he didn't want to let go either, but he did at once. They stood like that, beaming at each other in shared joy.

Two hugs in one evening. She was definitely making progress.

In another example of fortuitous governmental timing, Toby returned. He was not alone – Sam crowded right on his heels, almost banging into him when he unexpectedly stopped in the doorway.

They were arguing, as usual.

"It's not important, Sam. She doesn't need this right now. Go away."

"I want her opinion."

"I'm your boss. You've got my opinion."

"I don't like your opinion."

"Want my opinion?" Josh offered brightly.

Sam noticed him for the first time. "Sure."

"Okay. About what?"

His pal sighed. "Never mind."

Toby caught CJ's eye, silently asking permission to enter. She nodded at once, in what she discovered to her delight was fast becoming a mere ceremony.

Oblivious to all this, Sam followed without any pause or discomfort whatsoever. "How's it going, CJ?"

"It's... going."

In that same silence, Toby handed her a steaming mug. The other two men both registered some surprise at this privileged treatment by the least likely staff member to play butler to anyone.

"Thanks, Toby."

So that was why he'd put himself out. Any of them would have done