Served
by Suz
Disclaimer: Umm, yeah. They own them; I don't. No profit etc.
Notes: My first ever West Wing fanfic. Feedback would be very much appreciated.
Dedications: For Morgan, who taught me everything worth knowing. Like the best Toby quotes.
***
If someone had thought to forewarn him, if someone had grabbed his arm on his way here, pulled him aside, and explained in thorough and intimate detail just how disgustingly cheerful Sam was going to be, he probably would have believed them. He'd long grown accustomed to - and quite preferred - his own realistic view of the world.
Nothing, however, could quite prepare Toby for what he was currently facing.
Sam Seaborn didn't often get over-excited; that job was usually left up to Josh Lyman, who was most accurately described as a clumsy Labrador puppy who never seemed to realise that every step he took was going to end with him smacking his head against something painful. After an inevitably painful encounter, he would immediately forget what had happened and gleefully step out in front of an oncoming bus.
That, however, wasn't the point.
Toby had been in the room for three minutes and as yet had little understanding as to the reason behind Sam's excitement. In all honesty he had long ago stopped caring, and until Sam got to a point where something interesting was being said and done - unintentionally hilarious gesticulating aside - he was filling up what would have been a waste of his time by opening the mental thesaurus he had access to, flicking through it to look for alternate words for 'damaging', and trying to decide if it was worth getting arrested for stealing CJ's podium and shoving it-
"You're not excited."
"I'm sorry?" Toby asked softly, somewhere around 'detrimental'.
"You're not excited," Sam repeated accusingly, now standing in front of him.
"No really, I am," Toby insisted with no emotion. "I'm actually excited all the time; that's why you can't tell the difference."
Sam studied him curiously for a few moments. "So you really are excited? Because I don't think it would be especially nice of you to lie to me-"
"I may not actually be excited, but for all intents and purpose you will be convinced that I am, in fact, excited. That's the best I can do."
"Really?"
"Absolutely." Toby's countenance didn't change an iota. By now he was onto 'injurious'.
Sam smiled. "Wonderful. Okay, wait until you hear this!" As he spoke, Sam moved around to the other side of his desk and picked up a handful of papers, which he proceeded to pull and pluck at. "Wait...wait..." He murmured, mostly to himself. "I want to get these details just right..." Pieces of paper started to escape from his grasp, and fluttered away.
Toby's face remained expressionless. "Sam..."
By now several pieces of paper were clamped between his lips. "Hmpfh?"
"My fake enthusiasm is waning."
Before Sam could formulate any kind for response - aside from the furrowing of his brow - they were interrupted by someone knocking on his office door.
Sam moved his head to study the newcomer, the paper between his lips jerking slightly. Toby turned in the chair he was sitting on.
Josh peered around the door. "Am I interrupting something important?"
Pulling the papers from his mouth, Sam puckered his lips.
Toby stood up carefully. "I can't begin to tell you how absolutely un-important this conversation is."
"Good," Josh grinned. "Because the President wants a few minutes of your time."
Silently thanking whomever may have been listening, Toby left without further conversation.
Leaning against the doorway, Josh studied the Deputy Communications Director. He said nothing until he turned away, then parted with "Puckered lips is a good look for you."
The last piece of paper Sam had been holding finally, inevitably, fluttered to the floor.
Catching up with Toby, Josh tapped him on the shoulder dramatically.
He barely paused.
"Toby...you're a speech writer, aren't you?"
"Unfortunately, last time I checked I was a speech writer, and I had to work with Sam Seaborn."
Josh nodded sagely. "So tell me...just how is 'un-important' a real word?"
*
"Hello, I wonder if you can help me."
CJ barely flicked her eyes up as her brain registered the familiar voice, continuing to focus her attention on the words that even she had to admit she was typing into her laptop at a pretty impressive rate.
"What is it Josh?"
His humour didn't fade at her brusque tone. "I'm looking for the woman of my dreams."
"Have you considered a personal ad?" Her flow of words never paused.
"Once, but the woman of my dreams turned out to be a male lounge singer by the name of 'Betty', who had a fondness for putting spaghetti where it really didn't belong. Still, he could carry a tune."
CJ didn't bat an eyelid. "Josh, we really have to stopping delving into your psyche at every available opportunity, okay? I've already been scarred for life by that peanut-butter thing-"
"Hey, you asked!"
"And I've long since regretted it." Her fingers stopped moving, and she finally looked at him with the beginning of a smile on her features. "What do you want?"
"I don't want," He told her. "The President wants."
"Who?"
"You."
"For?"
"Two minutes of your time."
"When?"
"In two minutes."
Pausing, she frowned at him. "You know, for a few moments that felt remarkably like I was in a musical."
"Do you want me to contact Betty? He does a great number with-"
"Don't tell me, Josh. I'll be forced to hurt you if you do."
He grinned, watching as she closed the laptop and walked around her desk. "Ah, CJ. You never disappoint."
"I should hope not," She retorted.
As she went to pass him in the doorway, he spoke. "You could be in a musical, you know."
CJ paused and considered him dryly. "I could?"
"Absolutely. Your legs are much better than Ginger Rogers."
*
Quickly brushing crumbs off her mouth from the cookie provided by Mrs Landingham, CJ entered the Oval Office fully expecting to see the President of The United States ensconced safely behind his vast desk.
It wasn't what she found.
What she saw was a tennis ball. It was moving up and down rapidly - obviously being thrown - from an unknown source on the other side of the couch. Deducing the President's whereabouts, she moved around the couch until she saw him lying across it, lobbing the tennis ball in the air.
"Working on your coordination, Mr President?"
He almost looked surprised to see her. "CJ! I didn't hear you come in." Catching the tennis ball, he held it in his grasp and carefully sat up. "How are you today?"
"Fine, Mr President. And you?"
"I'm doing good, actually CJ. I'm happy."
"Well...good for you sir."
The President nodded, mostly to himself. "How are the press?"
She shrugged. "As well as can be expected when there's absolutely no news to report about the President."
He grunted his agreement. "Nipping at your heels, huh?"
"Something like that, sir." CJ had decided as far back as "How are you today?" that this was a distinctly bizarre conversation. "Sir, may I ask why you want me here? Clearly - or at least hopefully - it's not to discuss the emotional well-being of the press corp."
Bartlet chuckled. "True enough, CJ."
It was only then that CJ noticed Toby. How she had missed him she had absolutely no idea - it wasn't as if this was the easiest room in the White House to get lost in (the less said about her first week there, the better).
Yet Toby, remarkably, seemed to be hiding in a corner, which was quite some achievement considering that The Oval Office was called The Oval Office for a very good reason.
"And Toby's here," She found herself saying. "Why is Toby here?"
The man in question moved towards the centre of the room.
Shrugging, as if the answer were obvious, Bartlet explained why they were there: "I need a man and a woman."
Nodding once, as if she understood, CJ then studied Toby. This had to be something serious - he looked depressed. Correction, he always looked depressed, but this was an actual expression of dismay.
"Why?"
Standing, Bartlet threw the tennis ball at her.
Whooping a little in surprise, CJ nonetheless managed to catch it after fumbling for a few moments. Once the ball was safely in her hands, she stared at the madman known to the world as President Bartlet.
"Mixed doubles," He said.
"Why?" She repeated.
Shoving his hands in his trousers pockets, he proudly declared: "Because I'm the President. Because I'm your boss. And because I said so."
*
"Tennis?" Donna asked.
Josh nodded, not really paying attention, too engrossed in the report he was reading.
The woman he was currently ignoring was doing an equally good job of ignoring his lack of interest as she rested the lower half of her body against his desk. "Toby?" She continued.
Again he nodded, turning over to the next page.
"Toby." Donna was definitely having trouble with the concept. "Tennis. Toby Tennis." Tapping the pen she was holding in her right hand against her chin, her frown deepened. "Isn't that an oxymoron?"
Another page turned. "It's not the only thing in here that's a moron."
The pen stilled.
The sound of paper turning stopped.
Expressions grew, then froze.
Then...
"Did you...say what I think you-"
"I didn't mean to - I wasn't even paying attention!"
"Well..." Donna paused, considering. "Congratulations, Josh. That was a good one." And she smiled.
Josh's heart started beating again. He threw her a careless smile, trying to act as if he hadn't been fearing for his life, and decided the best way to carry on was to become absolutely fascinated by what had ultimately been a one-sided conversation. "So...you don't think Toby is particularly brilliant at tennis?"
"No."
He wasn't surprised by her blunt reply. "Why?"
"Why won't he be brilliant, or why do I think he won't be brilliant?"
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"Not always."
That immediately caught Josh's interest. "So...you're actually admitting that you don't always know everything? That you may think that you know the explanation for something, but in fact that explanation is wrong and there's another - correct - explanation that you hadn't thought of?"
Rolling her eyes, Donna stood and shook her head. "God, Josh. If I knew you were going to-"
"You're avoiding the question." He was having the time of his life, placing the report on his desk and standing up, smirking.
"And you have an unhealthy obsession with proving me wrong. You really should study this competitive edge of yours, Josh; it can't be healthy, and is bound to cause conflict in the workplace. After all-"
"Enough, Donna. I give." He'd discovered a long time ago that when Donna didn't want him to know something, she could keep talking about one of his faults for a very long time. Rather than have to sit through thirty minutes of psychoanalysis, he thought it better to quit; not while he was ahead, but more while he at least had some chance of perhaps one day being able to see the finish line with a powerful telescope.
Donna simply smirked triumphantly. "So, as I was saying, Toby will be useless at tennis."
"For what reason? His build? His lack of skill? His-"
"-partner," Donna concluded.
"CJ?"
She nodded.
He frowned. "How is CJ going to make Toby into a terrible tennis player?"
At the perfect moment, Donna heard the voice of the very people they were discussing approaching. Silently nodding to Josh, she indicated for him to listen. He rolled his eyes, but did so anyway.
CJ's words became decipherable first. "So, Toby...I look forward to seeing you in white shorts."
Toby's response was no less exasperated than usual. "I won't be wearing white shorts."
"Really? Damn. For a while there that was a nice mental image."
It was then that CJ and Toby walked by Josh's office, giving the eavesdroppers the wonderful opportunity to see Toby's face change colour.
Once he was sure they were a safe distance away, Josh shrugged. "I don't see your point. That's CJ; she's like that with everyone."
"No she isn't."
"Yes, she is."
"No she isn't."
Knowing this was going to go on all day (and weren't they supposed to be working?) Josh changed tactics. "I say stuff like that to her all the time!"
"Yes," Donna agreed, twirling her pen around. "You say things like that to her, but does she ever make comments about your body, about how you'll look in a pair of shorts?"
"Well...no..." Josh finished lamely, feeling more than a little inadequate. "But how is that going to put Toby off his game?" He rushed the words out, eager to change the subject.
"Because," Donna smirked as she continued, "That man has no idea what he's letting himself in for. Besides, have you ever seen anyone else who can make Toby blush?"
*
Ten minutes before the tennis match was due to begin, CJ was inside tying up her sneakers. She'd already changed into comfortable jogging bottoms and a form-fitting top, and her work glasses had been swapped for the pair she usually kept at home because she really didn't care what happened to them.
As she was musing that she was actually quite looking forward to the match, she heard footsteps approaching. Surprised to see anyone else aside from the players and security there, she frowned, then smiled. "What are you doing here?"
Josh smiled broadly. "I volunteered my services as the ball boy."
Finished with her sneakers, she stood up. "Are you so desperate for entertainment that you volunteered?"
"Hey, Claudia Jean, I'll have you know that I am a great follower of tennis."
CJ held up a hand. "Okay, okay."
Josh cleared his throat as if he were uncomfortable with something, then said, "Well, I'll think I'll limber up a little."
She nodded, and almost before she had time to blink he had dropped the to the ground and started doing vigorous press-ups.
Her eyes widened for a moment but she knew warming-up was a smart idea, so before long she started her own - much less strenuous - warm-up exercises.
Josh stopped almost immediately, gasping for air. Pushing himself up he faced her, held out his hands and said, "What do you think?"
Stretching to one side, CJ frowned. "What do I think of what? Your hands?"
"No, my outfit."
CJ regarded said outfit, and shrugged. He was simply wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. "It's okay. I'm not sure I'd choose that colour scheme..."
"Forget it," He muttered, then headed out towards the court.
Her gaze followed his back for a while, until a new voice interrupted her thoughts.
"What's he doing here?"
She didn't turn. "Ball boy."
CJ could almost hear him nod slowly, carefully.
"Some people spend their free time at the opera or planning a free world..."
"Would we rather we make you get the balls? Because I could make you do it."
Toby didn't argue that. "I didn't think it was physically possible to hold one position for that long."
CJ had begun to wonder by certain parts of her body were aching, and only just realised that she was still stretching to one side. Carefully standing straight, she finally turned to look at him. He had changed into comfortable clothes just as she had; in his case, jogging bottoms and a shirt.
Folding her arms across her chest, she stuck her chin out. "Some of us are born with talents."
Toby began walking slowly, making his way by her and towards the court. "If that's the case...most of them are hidden."
Her response failed to take form as the limousine arrived. Almost immediately security swarmed into view, and the President - already dressed for the game - emerged, smiling triumphantly. He seemed to be under the impression that he had already won.
"CJ, Toby."
"Mr President," They greeted.
He spotted the ball boy and shook his hand. "Josh, thanks for doing this."
"Not a problem, Mr President. A pleasure to be here."
CJ tried to peer through the windows of the limousine. "Where's your partner, sir?"
"Oh, she's in there," He assured her. "She'll be out in a minute."
As if on cue, someone taped on the window from the inside of the limousine. "Ah!" The President declared dramatically, then opened the door himself. His partner stepped out, and he began introductions. "Everybody, this is Ms Smith. She works at the American Embassy. Ms Smith, this is CJ Cregg my Press Secretary, Toby Ziegler, my Communications Director, and Josh Lyman, my Deputy Chief of Staff."
Their mouths hung open, their greetings evaporating, and the arms that had immediately lifted up to shake hands now hung in mid-air, as they took in her appearance.
It was Steffi Graf.
She said nothing. Nothing at all. She merely smiled, and nodded, using movement to express her pleasure.
Then she moved towards the court.
The President deliberately mistook their silence. "I know she's a little quiet, but she's a lovely woman-"
"Talented, too." Toby told him.
"You've met her before? Wonderful! Well, if you'll excuse me, I really should get ready..." Then he, too, headed towards the court.
Josh, closing his mouth and rediscovering his feet, took up after him. "Mr President..."
"Yes, Josh?"
"Have you noticed your partners unbelievably strange likeness to a particularly well-known female tennis player?"
"You noticed that too?" The President sounded shocked, then shrugged. "Hardly surprising, I suppose. She does look quite a bit like Monica Seles."
"Yes sir," Josh conceded. "She does at that."
Back by the limousine, Toby turned to CJ. "At what point would you like to admit that the Presidents tennis partner is Steffi Graf?"
Finally she blinked. "You heard him. It's not Steffi Graf. It's Ms Smith from the American Embassy."
"Really? Well, if you're sure. Although I'm certain that on the side she runs a very profitable look-a-like company."
Straightening her back, CJ turned towards the court. "Come on, Toby Ziegler. We've got a tennis match to lose."
*
There was not a single chance, even in a million different versions of her life, that CJ was ever going to live this down.
The snickering started long before she entered The White House. The guard who waved her through looked as if he had eaten something disgusting and was desperately trying to stop it from coming back up. Members of staff that she passed on her way made a point of smiling dramatically or waving, then turning around into heated whispers the moment she was gone.
Eventually, she entered the West Wing.
She walked proudly, desperate not to show any anxiety. The moment her presence registered in the minds of her colleagues, silence fell. CJ would be hard-pressed to remember a time when it had ever been that quiet.
Then they began to clap.
Ignoring the applause, her face burning, she pushed on eager to hide in her office.
Josh wasn't going to give her than chance. As the applause and whistles died down, Josh suddenly bounded up next to her. "Anyone for tennis?" He asked loudly, drawing a giggle from those listening.
Except for CJ. Who was not in the least bit amused. Who was quite obviously not in the mood.
"Go away, Josh."
"You know I don't see that happening?" He responded, keeping up with her as they dodged person after person, most of them congratulating CJ in a variety of ways. "I've got to tell you - in case you couldn't tell - they're impressed. Seriously." At her look of disbelief he continued. "We haven't had a juicy bit of gossip in here for weeks, and you provided us with some. On behalf of everyone in the West Wing - and the entire White House, actually - I thank you."
Stopping a few feet from her office and not wanting to think about just how many people knew, CJ finally faced him. "Go away, Josh."
He didn't seem fazed. "On a more serious note, what are you going to do when the press find out?"
"I'm the Press Secretary to the President of the United States, Josh. Do you honestly believe I won't be able to deal with that?" Her expression conveying her surprise at his ignorance, she covered the last few steps to her office and confidently swung open the door. "Besides, what makes you even think that the press are going to find out-"
Danny was sitting on the edge of her desk.
"So I got a tip," He began immediately, looking far too pleased with himself.
Mortified but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing it, she calmly strode further into the room, pulling off her jacket and throwing it over her chair. "It wasn't Steffi Graf." Placing her bag on the desk, she securely placed her glasses over the bridge of her nose, and studied him as if he were a particularly unattractive bug under a microscope. "And get off my desk."
He did as he was told, but it didn't deter him from his line of questioning. "Apparently you and Toby were playing a mixed doubles tennis match against the President and-"
"It wasn't Steffi Graf," CJ reiterated in what she hoped was a tone of voice that indicated she wasn't paying much attention, as she sifted through the pile of messages and reports that had appeared on her desk overnight.
Danny merely continued. "For some reason you got extremely enthusiastic about playing against such a well known-"
"It wasn't Steffi Graf."
"-tennis player, but when she wasn't particularly nice to you - although I have to admit I'm having a little trouble with this portion of the story, as all sources say the entire time she was there she didn't say a word, so we don't know quite how she wasn't particularly nice to you -"
"It wasn't Steffi Graf." Opening her laptop, she logged in.
He evidently chose to cut to the chase. "To cut a long story short-"
"Too late."
"The result was an injury to that well-known tennis player-"
"Who wasn't Steffi Graf,"
"-apparently at your hands. Would the Press Secretary to the President of the United States care to comment?"
"It wasn't Steffi Graf."
It wasn't CJ who had spoken. All eyes focused on the man who was standing in the doorway to her office, holding a wad of paper in his hands.
Relieved to see someone willing to back her up, CJ almost smiled. "Indeed it wasn't, Toby. I take it you have the proof there?" She asked, hoping like hell that he did.
"This is it," He agreed.
Danny frowned. "This is what?"
Toby walked towards the desk, and threw the paperwork he was holding onto it. "Once I heard the frankly bizarre rumour about who CJ was supposed to have injured, I started doing a little digging of my own. Right there," He nodded slightly, towards the paperwork. "is a detailed itinerary including all of Ms Graf's actions for the past week, provided by Ms Graf herself. Nowhere in this report does it mention anything at all about her playing tennis with the President, CJ, or myself. Nor does it contain any reference about her coming to visit Washington, to play any tennis matches whatsoever."
Josh, long forgotten by the doorway, smiled.
After a few more hopeful questions were expertly rebuffed by both CJ and Toby, Danny eventually claimed defeat and left her office. CJ had the distinct feeling that he hadn't given up at all, but he had no proof. Without that, he had no story. Although - she had to admit - that didn't matter to many journalists.
When he was gone, she leant back in her chair, closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. "Thank you," She murmured.
"Not a problem," Toby responded.
Opening her eyes, she leant forward and grabbed the 'report' still sitting on her desk. Flicking through it, her eyes widened. "This actually looks quite realistic..."
"Well, I had to make it look good in case he wanted details."
Her flicking paused and she glanced up at him. "Is this legal?"
"Only in the sense that it's not entirely illegal."
CJ stared at him. "What the hell does that mean?"
Leaning forward, Toby took the report from her. "It means stop worrying about it, and get on with your work."
She smiled sarcastically. "Yes sir. And may I add thank you, for not demeaning me in any way?"
He didn't smile back. Instead he turned to walk out of the room, dumping the report in the trashcan as he went. He didn't seem the least bit surprised to see Josh standing there. "Josh," He greeted. "Still chasing balls?"
Josh shrugged happily. "No more than you are."
Toby's exit from the room was blocked by the sudden appearance of Leo, who certainly wasn't smiling. He fixed his gaze first on Toby, then let it linger on CJ. "The President wants to see you," He said firmly. "Now."
Cowering against the wall, Josh swallowed harshly.
*
There were no cookie crumbs this time. In fact, this time there were no cookies at all. CJ mused that she would very much appreciate a cookie at this particular moment in time, as she stood in front of the Presidents desk, listening to the end of what sounded like a very unpleasant telephone call.
Toby stood a few steps behind her. She couldn't decide if he was trying to back her up, or was deliberately distancing himself. She hoped to God it was the former.
When the phone call came to an end, President Bartlet lowered the receiver onto the holder with a louder-that-usual audible click. Sitting in his chair, with an elbow resting on the desk, the fingers on his left hand slowly rubbed his temple.
Suddenly he moved, jerking his head back and sitting straight. Maintaining constant eye contact with CJ, he stated the fact that had caused this entire dilemma:
"You gave Steffi Graf a black eye."
Well, yes. Even CJ had to admit those were - essentially - the facts. But there was no way in hell she was going down without a fight. Fighting the reflexive urge to clear her throat, she did her best to respond in a strong voice. "Mr President, I think we confirmed several times over that it wasn't Steffi Graf-"
"CJ!"
"Yes Mr President," She responded, and promptly shut up. Clearly that tactic wasn't going to work. She had the uneasy feeling that Toby was smiling.
The President continued, apparently not at all concerned with her thought processes. "I've just had Andre Agassi on the phone - do you have any idea how pissed he is?!"
"I think I have a fair idea sir."
He seemed to find that darkly amusing. "A fair idea. Really." It wasn't a question. "Believe it or not, I do appreciate the fact that you have a competitive side. I do not, however, think it needs to be that competitive."
"Sir, it certainly wasn't intentional."
"It wasn't?" He mulled that over for a few moments. "Possibly. But it was certainly a hell of a lot more aggressive than usual. So, I ask you...what did she do to upset you? The only sound the woman made while she was there was a scream of agony. I'd be interested to hear your explanation."
Hell. How in the world was she supposed to explain this? Especially with Toby right behind her...she briefly thought of making a run for it before deciding that Josh would have no trouble catching up, and would continue to pester on behalf of the President.
CJ sighed. "She...made hand gestures."
Jed Bartlet didn't move. He didn't even seem surprised. "You want me...to explain to Steffi Graf, Andre Agassi, and anyone else who asks, that the reason you gave her a black eye was...hand gestures?"
It did sound rather stupid. "Yes sir."
"I see." His tone of voice indicated otherwise. "And obviously, these hand gestures were so obscene that you couldn't contain your naturally bottled ferocity."
"More or less, sir."
"Could you clarify the more or the less for me?"
"In what way?"
"Well..." He relaxed back into his chair, and spread his left palm on the desk. "Could you give me an example of one of these 'hand gestures'?"
Her response was immediate. "I'd really rather not, sir."
The President lifted both hands in mock surrender. "Never let it be said that I'm not sensitive to the needs of my staff." Lowering his hands, he smiled. "Very well. Could you then perhaps give me some indication of what they referred to?"
Her mouth suddenly felt clamped together. "It...they...she made gestures that indicated some kind of personal relationship between myself and Toby."
Realisation settled into Bartlet's features, but his reaction to Toby's reaction as he looked behind her had CJ almost dying to turn around. "You do have a personal relationship."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're friends," He pointed out. "Is that the kind of relationship she was indicating?"
CJ realised, then - and had actually realised it earlier but didn't want to acknowledge it - that he was trying to make this as painful for her as possible. "You're going to make me spell it out, aren't you?"
Smiling broadly for the first time since she and Toby entered the Oval Office, the President stood, walked over to the decanter, and removed the lid. Pouring himself a drink, he sniffed and savoured the contents before replying: "Every damn letter, CJ. Every damn letter."
Lowering his glass, he picked up the decanter once more and focused his attention on the man behind her. "Toby, you want a drink?"
*
"That man is a sadist," She began the moment they were clear of the Oval Office and began the trek back towards her office.
"Yes," Toby agreed apathetically.
"That man actually enjoys causing other people pain."
"Yes."
"And you had a drink with him!"
"I was thirsty; it was a basic biological need."
CJ didn't pause. "I haven't felt so humiliated since the eighth grade, when Simon Jenkins pulled my underwear down."
"I know - fun, wasn't it?"
She stopped and looked at him, unsure which activity he was describing as 'fun'. "Are you making fun of me?"
"Yes."
"Well stop it."
"No."
"Toby!"
"Yes?"
"Stop it!"
"No."
Without realising she was going to, CJ smiled.
Toby seemed relieved. "Now, let's do our jobs, and you can stop worrying about the terrifying idea of a personal relationship with Toby Ziegler."
"Toby-"
"I'm teasing."
"Toby-"
"Really."
"Toby-"
"I'm just teasing."
Folding her arms across her chest, she lifted her eyebrows. "Really? Because it's hard to tell. You only have two expressions - glum and glummer."
The said expression didn't shift. "I'll have to work on increasing my emotional repertoire - not much, you understand. I have certain people I still have to terrify."
"I understand. So, what are you planning to add to your repertoire?"
"I've done it already."
CJ blinked. "That was fast."
"I'm very efficient."
"Okay...so what did you add?"
"A child-like enthusiasm to make red heads laugh."
Technically, it wasn't quite an emotion. Technically, he was cheating. Logically, it worked.
CJ laughed.
*
"Hey, Ball Boy,"
Josh lowered his work to the desk and studied the woman who had just entered his office. "Donna, we really have to work on the respect you have for your superiors."
"Respect?" She questioned blankly, quickly followed by "Superiors?"
"Yes," He continued. "Technically you should call me 'Sir', 'Mr Lyman', or even 'Josh'."
She made a noise not entirely dissimilar from a snort. "Okay, so do you want to keep talking about something no one cares about or is interested in, or do you want to listen to my insights into the world of romance?"
He crumbled like a flaky pastry. "Shoot."
Moving further into the room, she sat opposite him. "You owe me an apology."
"For what?"
"I was right about Toby and CJ."
"I don't see how. Toby wasn't useless at tennis at all. If anything, he was quite good." Josh's words emerged faster, as his excitement grew. "Actually, in reality you owe me an apology."
She stared at him. "Josh, if you had any sense of reality whatsoever, you'd realise that that's never going to happen." When he didn't respond, she continued. "So, Ball Boy,"
Josh sighed.
"As I was saying-"
The distinctive sound of CJ Cregg's laughter filtered Josh's office, interrupting Donna's speech. On this occasion, she didn't mind. Grinning, she whispered for Josh to follow her and they both stood in the doorway of his office, looking out.
Toby stood there, alone, watching as CJ walked away, with more of a swing to her hips than usual.
Donna poked Josh in the ribs. "See?"
"See what? He made her laugh. I can do that-"
"Not that," She moaned. "Look at Toby's face. Closely. What do you see?"
"Apart from the beard?"
"Apart from the beard, yes."
Josh studied him closely, frowning. Was it... "I think he has trapped gas or something."
Donna smiled. "No."
"Toothache?"
"No." She rolled her eyes. "He's smiling, Josh."
Toby. Smiling.
Smiling. Toby.
Toby smiling. "Now that's an oxymoron," he muttered.
"Yeah, well as the saying goes," She began.
"-it's not the only moron here." Josh finished.
"Glad you admit it. I expect a full apology, typed up and on my desk by tomorrow morning at the latest." With that, she smirked and walked about.
Still in the doorway, Josh returned his attention to the balding, forty-something man who had a penchant for scaring just about everyone.
Who was smiling.
Josh shivered, then walked back into his office, determined that he would - someday, somehow, someway - help them realise just what was happening.
In a way, of course, that wouldn't end with Toby throttling him or CJ walking over him in a pair of stilettos.
Moron, indeed.
~ FINIS