Communications Blackout - The West Wing (Toby) [5/7]

[AdrianMarx]

Hello again! I've been pretty busy with school and UCAS and trying to sort out what the hell I'm going to do with my life so apologies for the temporary absence. I must be honest and say I've been spending every break I give myself (probably too many) working my way through my parents' box set of The West Wing.

So I hope somebody enjoys this because I'm having fun writing it.It's set somewhere in the second half of Season 4 so there are spoilers for after that which I'm going to mention now. This is sometime after Will Bailey is officially appointed DCD.

Also, I haven't seen beyond much of Season 5 yet so, if you've seen all the seasons, I have to ask you not to mention any spoilers since I have been avoiding them like the plague. Thank you! Okay, that was long-winded enough. On with the story.

One

Will only just manages to duck out of the way in time as Toby's much-loved rubber ball comes flying at him at top speed. Generally, he throws it at the window connecting their two offices if he wants to see him. Throwing it at the door is a new one.

"You wanted me?" He says sardonically as Ginger, Toby's assistant, appears beside him and tosses the ball back to its owner who seems to be just a little more tired than usual. He's still wearing yesterday's clothes.

Toby stares at him for a moment, rolling the ball between his fingers, before scooping up a file from his desk and crossing the room to thrust it into Will's hands. "Yeah. I need you to write better."

Will rolls his eyes. "Any specific complaints?"

"Some verbs would be nice," Toby shoots back and Will leaves but not before he notices the smouldering heaps of paper in Toby's wastepaper bin. Clearly he's not the only one who can't quite get to grips with language today. He smiles sympathetically to himself. Writer's block will forever be tha bane of his life.

The harsh coughing he hears through the wall once he has resumed his seat stops him dead. He's starting to think that Toby's exhaustion might be down to something more than working through the night.

~

Ginger pokes her head round the door to Toby's office.

"Senior Staff in ten minutes," she reminds him. "Fresh clothes are in the closet."

Toby nods and rubs at his eyes in exasperation. He must have read the same sentence at least twelve times and he honestly still couldn't understand what it's saying. He reaches into the middle drawer on the left and dry swallows three painkillers. If Sam were here, he'd tell him two was the maximum but three have never killed him yet. Besides, Sam's not here.

He abandons the memo and changes and is all set to make his way there when he's seized by an unexpected itch which leaves him only just enough time to pull out his plain, white handkerchief. The tickle doesn't build but the force of it throws him forwards.

"hehUSHHCH!"

Oh, God. Not today.

"hHUSHHOO! USHHOOO! hh'HHEHSHHOO!"

When he has to blow his nose, Toby knows he'll have to admit his illness to himself within the next few minutes. He doesn't just sneeze. It doesn't happen. Toby Ziegler is sick and God help anyone who gets on his nerves.

Struck by a sudden thought, Toby glances at his watch. Senior staff in three minutes. He can make it.

"Toby!" Ginger yells as he hurries past. He turns just in time to catch the tie she's thrown at him.

He does it up while he's walking and arrives just as Debbie is about to close the door. She shoots him a stern look which says just this once and he takes his seat next to Josh Lyman, sparing a brief through for how rare it is to have a Senior Staff meeting sitting down.

"Toby, glad you could join us," President Bartlet says with mock enthusiasm.

Toby tries to roll his eyes but the pain which shoots through his temples reminds him that it's not really a good idea. The President stands and comes to lean in front of his desk.

"Hit me," he says, dropping his head back momentarily onto his shoulders before fixing his gaze on Josh who immediately launches into a thinly veiled rant about Congress. Toby finds himself silent while everyone else briefs the President with surprisingly loud voices. And he doesn't remember the Oval Office being quite so cold.

"Toby?" The President says and Toby looks up to find all eyes on him.

"Yeah," he starts hoarsely but he has to clear his throat before he can go on. "Sounds good."

The eyes on him have that look in them which Toby can't quite put his finger on, like they've all been certain there's life on Mars and he's just confirmed it. The following silence grates on Toby's headache until they are dismissed and murmurs of "Thank you, Mr President," accompany their exit.

He's about to shut the door to his office when Ginger tells him Mrs Whatsherface from the Department of Something Unimportant is on Line One.

"Toby Ziegler," he answers, putting the phone on speaker so he can light a cigar in the hopes of clearing his head. He's really not in the mood to listen to a woman with a voice that could shatter glass whining about her funding being cut.

"It's just totally unacceptable that a government claiming to represent the people would ignore figures which clearly state that-"

"Look," he finally interrupts. "I understand that you're outraged but if you wanted the government to continue to support compulsory school prayer then you should have voted for somebody else."

He breaks off coughing right as he hangs up, pinching the bridge of his nose. Resignedly, he puts his cigar out and finds himself wincing automatically when Ginger knocks and opens the door again.

"Agriculture Secretary on three."

Toby puts his head on his desk. Today is not his day.

Edited July 1, 2015 by AdrianMarx

[cally]

Eeeeeeeeee! I the West Wing so much OMG I am so excited for this. Yes. Yes.

[AdrianMarx]

Eeeeeeeeee! I the West Wing so much OMG I am so excited for this. Yes. Yes.

Omg I am also excited. I hope this lives up to your expectations ahh!!

Two

With an exhausted sigh, Toby reaches for his lighter, setting his latest attempt at coherence on fire. He watches the flames eat up the paper. It’s calming, seeing his thoughts burn away. Though he’s just recently pulled himself out of a ten month slump, he seems to be slipping back in again. He hopes it’s just the cold and not repeat of what came before.

Toby rubs absently at his nose with the back of his hand, trying to quell the itch which is making his chest feel uncomfortably tight, like he’s constantly on the verge of gearing up for a sneeze but not quite able to get there. If Sam were here, he'd probably remind him that he does himself few favours by smoking like a chimney.

“Toby?” Ginger has placed a cup of coffee down in front of him before he’s even noticed she’s there. He shakes his head quickly.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” he mutters, closing his eyes briefly. His head is just thumping; it’s like standing outside a nightclub and hearing the bass pounding through the walls.

Ginger hovers uncertainly. “Okay?”

“Mm. Fine.”

“You need anything?”

Toby makes an attempt to appear less dazed and sits up straighter, looking up at her from his seat. “No,” he says firmly. His nose is starting to itch again but he doesn’t risk rubbing it in front of her for fear she’ll do something rash like take his temperature or stay. But it really does tickle. He sniffles discreetly but it seems only to make matters worse.

“Sure?”

“Ginger,” Toby warns but the effect is lost along with his self-control when he has to quickly twist to the side and cup his hands over his face for want of tissues.“hhUSHHHOOO! ih’UHNGCHHuhh!”

“Gesundheit,” she says. He shoots her a look over his hands which are still cupped over his nose and mouth and she quickly turns on her heel and leaves, making sure to shut the door firmly behind her. He sees her check on him through the blinds before she sits down and rolls his eyes, pulling out his decidedly soaked handkerchief before reaching instead for a tissue. He’s all out and it would seem he’s down to his last few aspirin. Excellent.

He sniffs thickly and grimaces at the feeling before wiping his nose on his cuff. Frankly, he's exhausted. But it doesn't matter. He can get through it.

Slowly, he moves the papers around on his desk to a slightly more organised form of chaos but the words start to blur and he can feel another sneeze coming on. He’s in desperate need of tissues but asking someone would be admitting defeat and one glance at the torrential rain outside convinces him that he doesn’t feel much like walking to the nearest store. He shivers at the thought.

It’s only now that he realises this is the first time he’s ever actually run out of tissues. Or painkillers for that matter. Even on bad days, Toby knows he’s sharp and he doesn’t understand how he can have been so oblivious.

Sam.

Toby almost smiles. Almost. He sneezes instead.

“hnGCHHOO!”

Even after just one sneeze, Toby finds himself breathless and light-headed. In an effort to banish the black spots from his eyes, he puts his head in his hands and focuses on breathing. Someone is yelling in the corridors; someone with a voice at a frequency which just goes right through him and he can’t resist a soft groan.

“Hey!” He hears Ginger yell before her voice drops to a low murmur he can’t quite hear. Whatever she says, people stop shouting. Toby thanks her silently and hopes she understands his gratefulness. He’ll make her coffee when he feels up to it. Definitely not now.

“USHHOOOO! hngKHSHOO!”

Alright. This is ridiculous. He pushes himself upright in his seat again and waits for the room to come to a standstill before he attempts standing up. Crossing the room proves to be more difficult than expected but he makes it and leans on the door handle for a moment before opening it to reveal a near silent corridor. Well, as silent as the White House ever is.

Only Ginger stops to look at him but one glance from him practically glues her eyes to her screen. She’ll only pry if she watches him shuffling abashedly to the bathroom. There are no paper towels so he settles for an extra roll of toilet paper. He makes no attempt to hide it while he returns to his office and instead carries it by his side as discreetly as one can.

It seems he makes it back just in time because the permanent itch in his nose fights its way through and he freezes in the middle of the office with a handful of toilet roll hovering in front of his face. His breath runs away without him and he's left with his mouth slack and his eyelids fluttering and his nostrils twitching while he waits it out. When the sneeze finally does come, it provides little relief from the tormenting itch but his collapse forward releases some muscle tension if nothing else.

"heh'USHHHOO! hh'USHISHhuh!"

Every sneeze is making him dizzy and he suddenly can't support his own weight anymore and winds up on the floor where he stays until the nausea dissipates, though he's still caught in the throes of a horrendous ticklish fit.

"USHOOO! hhISHHHkhh! uhh...HEHISHHOO! heh'USHHHOO!"

He digs his cool fingertips into the corners of his eyes, feeling them burn. He's so cold.

When he feels like he can, he shuts the blinds and heaves himself back into his chair where he intends to bury himself under a mountain of work until this cold runs its course.

[snuffles]

I never really got into West Wing but this has just made me a convert. I am so full of Awwwww I can't wait for more!

[cally]

Oh Toby. You're never going to get better if you're still smoking cigars! Silly man!

His realisation when he figures out it was Sam who was doing all the caretaking . . . . . .

Edited October 22, 2014 by cally

[AdrianMarx]

I never really got into West Wing but this has just made me a convert. I am so full of Awwwww I can't wait for more!

I used to leave the room at the very suggestion of watching it and now I can't stop fdgkjhgkr

Oh Toby. You're never going to get better if you're still smoking cigars! Silly man!

His realisation when he figures out it was Sam who was doing all the caretaking . . . . . .

Sam is a good guy. I imagine he'd do the same for anyone but he's just more aware that Toby needs him to because everyone else at least respects their limits and probably knows that smoking will do the exact opposite of helping.

Three

Will's fingers twitch above his keyboard. He knows what he wants to say but he can't quite put it into words just yet. He catches himself muttering under his breath.

"...to fulfil humanity's promise...to remind our fellow..." He sighs. It would appear he's hit a block and he's about to put his head on his arms for a moment when the sound of Toby's harsh coughing snaps him out of it.

At first, he thinks he must be hearing things. It must be coming from somewhere else. That cough this morning was an isolated incident, something caught in his throat maybe. He''s sure Toby's fine. But when he risks standing up to peer through the window, his suspicions are confirmed by Toby leaning heavily against his desk and rubbing at his chest. Though Will can't see his face, the very sound of it suggests it's sporting a pained expression. He sits back down quickly. Sometimes he gets the impression that Toby has eyes on the back of his head.

Perhaps he should do something. He's no sooner considered the possibility that he remembers he doesn't actually know what to do. And, if he's honest, the whole thing is putting him a little on edge which he knows is selfish but he can't help it. Seeing Toby so- he can't think of the word. But whatever it is makes him uneasy. This just isn't like Toby at all. Will, perhaps stupidly, considers him to be the epitome of strength. He's Toby. He gets things done and he doesn't complain because he is the job. Seeing him like this reminds Will that he probably has a much wider range of emotions than angry, scared, and sad.

Will remembers the word. Vulnerable. Vulnerable is the word.

He shakes his head to pull himself out of this thoughts and prepares himself to stare at the page again when a wave of inspiration hits him out of nowhere and suddenly his fingers are flying over the keys like he'll forget what he's trying to say before he gets there.

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in," he calls absently, rushing to finish typing his sentence before the phrasing escapes him. He glances up to find Ginger already closing the door behind her. "Oh, hi, Ginger," he says and waits for her to announce her business while he fixes his typos.

But she stays silent until he looks up again. "Ginger?" He prompts her and she seems to come back to herself.

"Toby has a meeting with Patrick Willis and Geoff Parker."

"Does he want me there?" Will says, confused. "I mean, I know he hates me but I thought we were making progress."

Ginger smiles. "Actually, I was hoping you could go instead."

Will sees what she's doing. It's actually kind of sweet. He glances back to his computer screen. It's unlikely he's going to make any more significant progress on this for at least an hour. He's had his big breakthrough for the moment. In the end, a well-timed sneeze from Toby's office makes his mind up for him.

"Alright," he stands up and accepts the memo from her, scanning it quickly. When he reaches the end, he sees the part she carefully neglected to mention but, by the time he tries to protest, she's returned to her desk.

If these two Congressmen have requested Toby specifically, they're going to be more than a little offended when his deputy turns up instead. Somehow, Will gets the impression that Toby won't care.

As he passes Toby's office, he hesitates, wondering if he should give him what he's got so far. But it doesn't seem right to disturb him when he doesn't even have a first draft yet so he keeps walking.

~

When CJ enters carrying shopping bags with a familiar logo on the front, Toby finds himself caught between denying yet again that this is anything worse than a sniffle and a craving for chicken pasta from the shop on the corner.

“Alright, I’ve got pasta and salad but you’ve got limited choice because the salad is mine,” she says without so much as a hello, setting the bag down on the table and pulling out aforementioned pasta and salad as well as two bottles of still water. Toby watches her take a seat on his couch. She looks up at him and raises her eyebrows. “Come on. It’s not gonna eat itself.”

He doesn’t need much persuading. He’s sat on the perpendicular seat before she’s managed to outmanouvre the incredibly strong glue which seems to be keeping her from her rabbit food.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance in the nine circles of hell itself that you’ll leave me alone until I’ve finished this whole thing?” He mutters, leaning forward to grab the tub of pasta from the table while simultaneously ignoring CJ’s wince at the obvious congestion in his voice. She rolls her eyes.

“Eat your pasta,” she laughs. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Before he picks up his fork, Toby retrieves the toilet roll from the top drawer of his desk and continues to ignore CJ’s concerned expression while he wipes at his nose. He gives a liquid sniffle and tentatively puts a small forkful into his mouth. It’s embarrassingly widespread knowledge that chicken pasta from a very small, very specific chain of corner shops is all Toby will eat when he’s under the weather.

"If I'd known you were out of tissues, I'd've-" she begins but Toby interrupts with an unexpected:

"huh'RSHHOOO!"

CJ blesses him while he blows his nose, feeling the course paper rubbing against his already inflamed nostrils.

"Don't worry about it," he murmurs but he can feel himself gearing up for another sneeze. "I hh I'm f- hhh huh HURISHHHOO! UH'ngcHKH!"

"Bless you," CJ says again. Toby can hear her trying not to sound concerned. He doesn't bother trying to finish his sentence. Even if he hadn't just completely proven himself wrong, he really should have learned by now that that stuff just won't fly with CJ. She's not afraid to confront him, a trait for which he's thankful because he's grown so used to retreating into himself that he generally doesn't know how to bring these things up.

In short, as much as he hates the attention, he's grateful someone is willing to give it all the same.

"So, how is Andy doing? Are the twins okay?"

Toby clears his throat. "Yeah. She's fine. They're fine," he wakes one hand vaguely to indicate that he doesn't know where to go from there. CJ says that's good and lets it drop while they fall into amiable silence for all of a minute before CJ asks him when the babies are due and how he's feeling about the whole thing and whether or not he and Andy are planning on giving things another shot. From anyone else, it would be invasive. But from CJ it's different somehow.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to relieve his headache. "Is this what you meant when you said I wouldn't even know you were here?" He asks. Again, someone with less experience of Toby's manner might take offence but CJ just smiles and returns to her salad.

“You should go home,” she says eventually and his feeble attempts to demonstrate that he’s actually perfectly healthy are foiled by a chesty coughing fit which knocks the wind right out of him. Instead, he croaks, “I don’t have the time.”

CJ squeezes his upper arm. “I know,” she says quietly.

And there’s a moment – just a moment – where Toby considers admitting that he actually feels like he’s been filled right up with cement, like his head is full of white noise; like he can’t write. He wants to tell her that he feels his talent is slipping away what with ungodly long blockades followed by just minutes of inspiration. He wants to confide in her. He wants to tell her that Andy won’t marry him because she thinks he’s too sad. He wants her to know how frightened he is that he won't be able to love his own children, that he might not have the capacity for those feelings. He wants her to understand that he’s fast approaching breaking point and he can’t get a good grip on his parachute. For the first time in a long time, he wants to truly open up to another human being and finally, finally understand what the hype is all about.

But the moment is lost because he doesn’t have the guts and CJ chooses just the second he attempts to begin clumsily pouring his heart out to change the whole tone of the conversation.

“Anyway,” she smiles. “Eat your sick food.”

“Y’know, most people wouldn’t dare call it that.”

“I’m not most people.”

Toby makes a move to respond but his nose has other ideas and his eyes flutter shut without his consent before he can even find his makeshift tissues. In desperation, he buries his face in his elbow and releases two explosive sneezes which leave him fighting for air afterwards.

"HUH'ISHHhhOO! HUhRRUSHHOO!"

He's verging on wheezing as he mops at his runny nose with yet more toilet paper. It really is starting to burn the sensitive skin but the alternative of having his nose leak unattractively over his face is not something he wants to consider.

“No,” he agrees stuffily, having caught his breath. “You’re not.”

CJ finished her salad fifteen minutes ago. Quietly, she gathers up the rubbish and ties the handles of the bag together, intending to dump it in the nearest bin on her way out. Toby stays put, rubbing at his nose with another piece of toilet paper. CJ gives his shoulder a squeeze on her way past.

"Take care of yourself," she reminds him gently and then she's gone.

When Toby looks back at the table, he spots a receipt she's forgotten on her way out. He reaches for it to crumple it up but stops himself when he notices CJ's neat handwriting on the back.

Check the fridge.

That's all it says. When Toby turns his attention to the receipt itself, he notices chicken pasta is listed three times.

[cally]

I love how naturally this has been progressing, like it was an actual episode! You have it all down, completely and utterly especially the background drama that is Andi/Toby!

[AdrianMarx]

I love how naturally this has been progressing, like it was an actual episode! You have it all down, completely and utterly especially the background drama that is Andi/Toby!

Omg. Since Aaron Sorkin wrote my favourite play in the whole entire world (that being A Few Good Men, of course) that it possibly the best compliment ever oh my goodness. Thank you!!

My admissions essay for uni is due so here is some unrelated fanfiction because I'm apparently content to jeopardise my future over this website ^-^

Four

When Will finally escapes the meeting with the two Congressmen, he takes a moment to regain his will to live before heading back to his office. He can hear Toby's now persistent and muffled fits of nine or so sneezes in a row echoing. With a sympathetic wince, he picks up the phone.

"Seaborn," Sam's voice is comforting to hear. If anybody knows what to do, Sam will.

"Hey, Sam. It's Will Bailey."

Sam's smile is evident in his voice when he next speaks. "Will! How’re you doing?"

"Fine. Everything's fine."

There is silence on the line for a moment. No matter what people might think, Sam isn't stupid.

"What's wrong?" He asks quietly. Will swallows.

"Just got out of a meeting with Parker and Willis," he tries to joke, suddenly doubting whether calling Sam was a good idea. "I'm ready to rip my hair out."

Sam isn’t fooled. "What is it, really?"

Will sighs.

"Toby's sick."

He bites his lip, praying Sam will have something constructive to say about the situation. After all, this can't be the first time Toby has been sick in the lifetime of this administration. Sam will know what to do. He has to know.

"How long?" Sam asks. Will doesn't answer. "Will, how long has he been sick?"

"Since this morning," he confesses. "I think it's just a bad cold but I don't know if I should mention it or-"

"I wouldn't. There's nothing to be achieved by trying to get him home," Sam says, confirming everything Will has been thinking. "What have you done for him?"

Will frowns. "I don't really feel like I've done anything. I mentioned it to Josh and he was a little off during Senior Staff so it's hardly a secret. I've just been taking any meetings Ginger can't reschedule."

"Good. That's good," Sam says. Will rubs his eyes tiredly while Sam goes on. "Okay, here's what you have to do. Next time he's out of his office, replace his tissues. He won't do it himself. He'll just use toilet paper. And restock his painkillers as well - make sure he has Tylenol and aspirin. He takes too many so they'll run out quickly. And dim the lights in his office too. Not too much. Maybe about halfway because he's definitely got a headache so just lower your voice a little when you speak to him."

Will grabs a pen to write these things down. He hadn't expected there to be quite so many.

"I usually turn the thermostat up in his office by two degrees. Anything higher than that makes him drowsy."

Will lets out his breath, still scribbling the last couple of notes down. "Thanks, Sam."

"No problem. Oh," he adds as an afterthought. "You're doing well with lessening his workload. Just take any drafts he doesn't desperately need to see to Josh. When you do have to give them to him, make sure you double space the lines and up the font size to fourteen or maybe fifteen."

"Wow," Will chuckles nervously. "Does he even know you did half this stuff?"

There's the sound of shuffling on the other end of the line before Sam says quietly, "He'd do the same for me."

Will sighs quietly. He's got what he needs but he doesn't really want to hang up yet. Ending the phone call means going it alone and he kind of wishes Sam were here.

"There's something else," Sam says worriedly.

"No," Will says too quickly.

"There is."

"It's fine."

"You sure?"

Will can't deny Sam is thoughtful. He wants to do his best for everyone and sometimes it just kills him because he's never met someone like Sam who wasn't corrupted by politics. Sam is just Sam but it's soppy and ridiculous to tell him something like that so he keeps quiet.

"Yeah," he says instead.

Sam pauses, assessing whether or not to push it. "Okay."

"No, wait," Will changes his mind. "Sam, I- I don't really know how to put this but- I just-"

"It feels wrong, doesn't it?" Sam supplies. "Seeing him like that. Makes you uncomfortable? Uneasy, even?"

Will swallows. "Yeah."

"I can understand that. But we have to remember that he's only human. I think even Toby forgets that sometimes," Sam laughs quietly. "He needs you to look after him but he needs you to do it in such a way that all you're really doing is helping him to look after himself."

The sound of Toby's coughing is more harsh and ragged this time and Will can almost feel it in his chest. Sam sucks air in through his teeth.

"Is that him?" He asks but he already knows the answer. "Sounds pretty bad."

They lapse into silence again because Will doesn't quite know what to say but Sam is still working up to something so he leaves him to think. It's strange how much a silence can tell you. Eventually, Sam clears his throat.

"Will?" He murmurs. "Take good care of him, will you?"

The he matters a lot to me is left unspoken but Will knows it's there. He finds the same attitude from everyone else. They all respect Toby and take his advice when he gives it but they're always ready to celebrate with him and call his bluff and make sure he doesn't work himself into the ground. Toby is an odd character but Will feels he's starting to understand him.

"I will," he says quickly, hearing the door to Toby's office opening, accompanied by a rough, congested sneeze. "Uh, yes. Thank you, Mr Secretary. Much appreciated."

Sam laughs. "Good luck," he says before Will hangs up.

Toby eyes him suspiciously. "What was that?"

Will looks up to meet his gaze and notes Toby's reddened nose and cheeks. He's shivering though Will can see him trying to suppress it. With the best will in the world, he looks dead on his feet. Will blinks to bring himself back to the question.

"Secretary of Defence. I needed some figures," he lies smoothly. Toby observes him quietly.

"Alright. Josh wants us in a meeting," he tells Will hoarsely. "Now."

---

Sidenote: I initially said two degrees but then I remembered the US works in Fahrenheit. Writing stories set elsewhere is really difficult. I also realise that I refer to the bin as a bin but I cannot conceivably write "garbage can" without feeling like I'm using it incorrectly.

New sidenote: Apparently I am bad at maths.

Edited October 25, 2014 by AdrianMarx

[cally]

Omg. Since Aaron Sorkin wrote my favourite play in the whole entire world (that being A Few Good Men, of course) that it possibly the best compliment ever oh my goodness. Thank you!!

My admissions essay for uni is due so here is some unrelated fanfiction because I'm apparently content to jeopardise my future over this website ^-^

Ummmm, story of my life here.

Awwwww Will called Sam? :melts:

[snuffles]

My admissions essay for uni is due so here is some unrelated fanfiction because I'm apparently content to jeopardise my future over this website ^-^

Ummmm, story of my life here.

Awwwww Will called Sam? :melts:

Ditto on this life here.

I haven't had a chance to post coherently earlier but I'm still so insanely looking forward to the next parts! And oh man I so wish I knew these characters better but Will sounds awesome and Sam sounds so sweet! I love the picture you paint of them all. And that receipt and pasta part, Awwww!

[AdrianMarx]

Life has been somewhat overwhelming recently. Sorry about that. Everything just kind of sucks a little bit. I hope you still want to read this update though. I'll be honest, I had to re-read the rest of it because I'd forgotten the story.

Five

“UFOs?”

“Toby…”

“UFOs?”

“Toby, the Citizen’s Bureau for the Monitoring of Alien Activity…”

“Has absolutely no place in the White House to begin with. What the hell are we doing discussing funding for the monitoring of flashing lights in the sky?”

He’s done. He’s so done. Josh looks amused. Toby looks around for something large and solid to hit him with but comes up short.

Ed (or possibly Larry) opens the manila wallet in front of him – Toby notes with disinterest that there’s one in front of him too that he doesn’t remember seeing when he sat down – and pulls out a statistics sheet, saying:

“Polling shows that…”

“We spent money polling this?” Josh asks from the head of the table, clearly enjoying every moment of Toby’s growing irritation.

“Not us,” EdOrLarry responds. “The Citizen’s Bureau for…”

“Yeah,” Toby cuts in, unwilling to allow anyone but himself to finish a sentence when he’s in this current mood.

EdOrLarry starts again. “Polling shows that 73% of Americans feel the federal government should be paying more attention to UFOs.”

Toby is reminded briefly of a meeting Sam once took with Bob Engler during one of Leo’s Total Crackpot Days during which he became obsessed with the possibility of UFOs becoming a matter of national security.

“Are we paying any attention to UFOs?” Will asks from beside him and that’s roughly where he zones out.

He’s noticed that these short periods of lost time have begun to occur much more frequently in the past hour or so. In fact, other than this realisation, he can’t remember what he’s been doing for the past hour. He briefly remembers Josh coming to drag him to this godforsaken meeting out of what he can only presume is sheer spite and the sadistic enjoyment of watching him slowly deteriorate into boredom-induced madness.

EdOrLarry keeps rambling and his voice cuts though Toby’s headache like a hot knife. He wishes he had the energy to excuse himself but he’s honestly not sure he’ll make it to the door unscathed at this stage. He’s not sure he’ll make it to the door at all and the Roosevelt Room, being largely made of glass, doesn’t allow him much privacy to make his stumbling escape back to his office.

He worries that if he stands up he might fall back down again.

He zones in and out. At one point, he notices that Josh has moved to the opposite end of the table in an attempt to distance himself from Toby as much as possible who, having realised this, then makes every attempt to breathe heavily in Josh’s direction every chance he gets. Serves him right for dragging him to this meeting in the first place.

Git.

There’s a knock at the door and a horrid wave of pain surges through Toby’s temples. He has to bite back what would no doubt have been an utterly pathetic moan.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Donna speaks from behind him. He doesn’t turn around. “Josh?”

Josh stands, giving Toby a childishly wild berth as he passes, and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Toby gives in and puts his head on the desk, briefly relishing in the comfort the cold wood provides against his hot skin before he sits up again, adamantly ignoring the fact thathe can’t see past the white haze obscuring his vision and glaring in the general direction of Ed and Larry.

“Ed, Larry, whichever one of you was talking just then, I’d like you to know that I think you’re an idiot,” he says. “Furthermore, I would like to tell you that we have been in this meeting since the dawn of time and I know and care about as much as I did when I first sat down.”

Silence meets him and, by the time he speaks again, he can see.

“Meeting adjourned. Go and work for a living.”

Nobody moves.

“Now!”

Reluctantly, Ed and Larry begin to gather their papers. Toby runs a hand over his face before resting his chin on it, drumming restlessly at his cheek with the tips of his fingers. By the time he stands up to leave, Will is also gone.

He doesn’t quite make it to his office all in one go; he stops in the hallway to gather his wits and his breath.

The couch in his office is occupied when he gets back. Bonnie peeks her head round the door.

“CJ is in your office.”

“I see that.”

“She wants to see you.”

“I’d never have guessed.”

“She…”

“Is perfectly capable of telling me herself, thank you, Bonnie,” he cuts in impatiently. He just wants to sit down and he’s sick of keeping up the act. Bonnie leaves and for that he’s grateful. This bloody itch in his nose is killing him but he’s been holding it in for so long that he can’t figure out how to let it go.

CJ looks him up and down.

“Sit down,” she says.

He doesn’t know what makes him say it but he says, “I’m fine,” even though he thinks he might actually be able to fry an egg on the top of his head and Cj has never once believed his bullshit.

“Sit down,” she says again and he’s grateful she’s taking away any need for him to go back on his word and sit down of his own accord. He all but collapses next to her, pulling apathetically at his collar as it attempts to strangle him.

“Here,” she leans closer and tugs at his tie so he has room to unbutton the top of his shirt.

“What do you want?” He asks, and he doesn’t mean to be rude. She knows that.

“You to go home, the world to be a better place, some chicken pasta, and someone to buy me diamonds and take me out to dinner,” she mutters, flicking absently through some papers from the coffee table to avoid looking at him while he struggles with the tickle in his nose.

“HeHISHHOO!”

When she glances up to bless him, his nose is buried in his elbow and he’s not quite through so she bites her tongue and waits.

“hih! hihISHHuh! ihh…”

He gives a frustrated growl in the back of his throat and coughs abashedly. Lost it.

“Gesundheit,” she says as she stands, squeezing his shoulder on her way to the door. “Don’t work too hard.”

And she’s gone.

[anna]

And there’s a moment – just a moment – where Toby considers admitting that he actually feels like he’s been filled right up with cement, like his head is full of white noise; like he can’t write. He wants to tell her that he feels his talent is slipping away what with ungodly long blockades followed by just minutes of inspiration. He wants to confide in her. He wants to tell her that Andy won’t marry him because she thinks he’s too sad. He wants her to know how frightened he is that he won't be able to love his own children, that he might not have the capacity for those feelings. He wants her to understand that he’s fast approaching breaking point and he can’t get a good grip on his parachute. For the first time in a long time, he wants to truly open up to another human being and finally, finally understand what the hype is all about.

But the moment is lost because he doesn’t have the guts and CJ chooses just the second he attempts to begin clumsily pouring his heart out to change the whole tone of the conversation.

AAaaagh Toby! This bit really pulled on my heartstrings. CJ/Toby is something that I only stumbled across after finishing all seven series but now I'm really big on it so it was nice to see them interacting here.

It was interesting how every part felt self-contained, so it was always a pleasant surprise to read more. And some lines were so spot on they could've been lifted straight from an episode. Sneezing!Toby doesn't actually do much for me but this was a lovely piece of West Wing h/c so thank you