Fandom:

The West Wing AU

Pairing:

C.J./Danny

Rating:

PG-13 for topic

Distribution:

How much do I owe you for hauling it off?

Spoilers:

Up to and including Full Disclosure, from which the series follows on

Email:

exfilia at livejournal dot com

Disclaimer:

if I owned them, they'd have a lot more fun

Warning:

mentions nonconsensual sex

Note:

Hoynes lovers should probably be hitting delete right about now.

The First Lady reappeared momentarily, still trailing her detail.

"I forgot to give her something," she told the agent at the door.

"There's somebody with her," he replied, peering at his sheet. "Giving her a painkiller."

Abbey took his clipboard and frowned.

"There shouldn't be," she said. She beckoned her agents to follow her into the room.

"Hi," said Marc.

"What?" said C.J., and giggled.

"Nothing."

"You came by my office in the middle of the day for 'nothing?'"

"Actually I came by to apologize."

"For what?"

"Sticking up for John Hoynes the day we met him."

"Don't. He's a nice guy. No, really, if he believed he'd done anything wrong, he'd be shattered."

"So you with the broken arm, and the girl that's dead... C.J.?"

"Her name was Katie," she said with a sniffle.

"Katie. Were you really close?"

C.J. shook her head and dabbed away tears.

"Seems like you might have been. She wasn't another...?"

"No! How can you say such a thing? Poor Katie."

"Okay...."

"She was a reporter in my press room, all right?"

"So was the one you're with now."

"Are you trying to twist this so it's her fault?"

"No! Exactly the opposite, C.J.! You're the one that said Hoynes...."

"I know what I said! And it doesn't mean he doesn't terrify me. He's totally out of touch with the real world, Marc. He really doesn't understand. How can somebody not understand like that?"

Marc stood looking across the desk at his sobbing sister, and pondered much the same question.

"Hello," said Amy. Bernard reached to cover her mouth, but when she didn't try to scream, he touched her hair instead. "Do I know you, too?"

"This will help with the pain," he told her, uncapping the prefilled syringe.

"Have you got anything that will help with the not knowing? 'Cause that's a lot worse than the pain."

"I think this will take care of it," he said. He reached for the valve on her IV line, and the door flew open.

"Excuse me," said the First Lady.

This was surreal in the extreme. Bernard moved the syringe toward the lock, and found Abigail Bartlet's hand on his forearm.

There were two Secret Service agents in the room with them. If Bernard was going, he had to go now. He twisted out of Dr. Bartlet's grip, dropping the syringe in the process, shoved the First Lady at her detail and bolted for the door. A third agent met him there, but his momentum bowled the man over. Then he was out and running down the hall, and then he was up the stairs to the next floor.

That had been far too close.