Kathleen A. Klatte

"The Morning After"

Feedback and commentary are most welcome.
Disclaimer: The West Wing is the property of NBC, et al; this is a recreational endeavor, no profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Another take on a cliffhanger resolution.
**Spoilers for "What Kind of Day Has It Been."
C.J./Danny shipper

Golden sunlight streamed through a gap in the drapes directly onto C.J. Cregg’s face. The light and warmth gradually dragged her to full wakefulness. She opened her eyes and panicked for a moment – her room didn’t have gray drapes or a dark blue bedspread. Then again, her room also didn’t have an armchair complete with a sandy-haired reporter.

Danny. C.J. relaxed as she recalled how he’d found her, dazed and hurt in the aftermath of the shooting. He’d ridden with her to the ER and stayed by her side through the x-rays and the stitches, then insisted on bringing her home with him so he could keep an eye on her and wake her up during the night as the doctor (and the First Lady) instructed. She started to prop herself up on one elbow, then winced as her body began to remind her of the events of the previous night. Tentatively, she raised a hand to her forehead...yup, the bulky bandage was still there. So much for hoping that it had all been a bad dream.

"Don’t mess with the bandage," Danny muttered from the depths of his chair. He got to his feet stiffly and moved over to sit on the side of the bed. "How’s your head?" he asked gently.

"Hurts," C.J. mumbled.

"Concussions have a habit of doing that," Danny agreed amiably. He checked the clock. "It’s been more than twelve hours...I think you’re about due for a painkiller."

"Twelve hours?" C.J. exclaimed, then cringed at the sound of her own voice. She started to push herself up from the bed. "What time is it? I have to -"

Danny grasped her shoulders and gently pushed her back against the pillows. "You have to stay put," he told her firmly.

"Danny."

"You have a concussion, remember?"

"I have a job. I am the Press Secretary and there is a crisis-"

"And Abbey Bartlet has a fully qualified staff that wasn’t out getting shot at last night!" Realizing that he was coming perilously close to shouting at her, Danny drew in a deep breath and cracked a smile of sorts. "Besides, I have a job, too. It was conferred upon me by the First Lady." He held up a long list of instructions with a flourish. "Let’s see...I’m supposed to take you home and put you to bed. Did that." He didn’t have to look up from his list to know that C.J. was blushing furiously. "Wake you every hour for twelve hours. Did that. After twelve hours, let you rest as long as you wanted. Did that. OK, here we go...now I’m supposed to feed you and get you to take a couple of pain pills. Then, if your breakfast seems to be staying where it belongs, you can get up and freshen up if you want. Carol brought you a bag," he added.

"Hold it. Carol brought me a bag? Here? Carol knows I’m here?"

"Yeah, Carol swung by your place this morning and grabbed you some clothes and stuff."

C.J. closed her eyes and groaned.

"Hey, what is it?" Danny asked, greatly concerned, "Is the pain worse?"

"If Carol knows I’m here, then it’s going to be all over the West Wing...hell, all over the White House."

Danny chuckled at that. "C.J., it’s already ‘all over the White House.’ Everyone who was in that ER last night knows that you’re here with me, Josh is staying at Donna’s and Toby is camped out at his ex-wife’s place. The First Lady was handing out orders left and right. And by the way, you’re supposed to get checked out again by a doc before you even look at the White House."

"That’s absurd," she protested, trying again to rise, "I’ve got a -"

"-concussion," Danny finished, helping her lean back against the headboard in a more or less upright position.

"Tell me again why I’m here?"

"’Cuz your choices were come home with me or spend the night in the hospital. And also ‘cuz you’re madly in love with me," he added, hoping to make her smile.

It almost worked. "Which one of us hit their head last night?"

"That would be you."

"Uh-huh. And why am I wearing a Dallas Morning News tee shirt?" C.J. asked.

"’Cuz it was clean," Danny replied innocently. "I’m gonna go get your meds, OK?" He almost made it out the door when her voice called him back.

"Danny? You said Josh and Toby...what about the President? And Leo and Sam?"

He turned and slowly walked back to the bed. Sitting down beside C.J., he took both her hands in his own. "The President is OK. Sam caught a bullet in the arm, but I think they’ll let him out of the hospital today...the Secret Service agent who pushed you both down is dead."

C.J. squeezed Danny’s hands convulsively. "Leo?" she whispered.

"Leo...he had a stroke. He...there was no blood, you know? So everyone thought he was all right. But then...when he didn’t get up..."

"Is he...?"

"He’s stabilized, but they don’t know the extent of the damage yet."

C.J.’s eyes widened in horror. Leo could still die...or live and be permanently disabled...or worse yet, live and not really be Leo anymore. Her eyes stung with sudden tears.

Danny saw and pulled her into his arms. He rested his chin on top of her head and rubbed her back soothingly. "Shh...it’s OK...we’ll get through this..."

After a long time, C.J.’s tears quieted. She pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands.

Danny leaned over and grabbed a box of Kleenex from the nightstand and gave it to her. "Now I really think you need those meds. Sit tight for a minute, OK?"

Still sniffling a bit, C.J. nodded.

Danny brushed a light kiss on her forehead, next to the bandage, then disappeared into the hallway. A moment later he was back with a large tumbler full of juice and a small pill bottle. He sat down on the bed, sliding an arm around C.J. so that she leaned against his side. He handed her the juice. "Sip that slowly," he warned. "God only knows the last time you remembered to eat anything."

"I think I had lunch yesterday."

"That’s what I figured. Here," he added, pressing two pills into the palm of her hand.

C.J. swallowed obediently, then asked, "How is everyone holding up?"

"Better than you might expect. I think it has alot to do with the outpouring of good will from the public. Those bozos with the guns failed in more ways then one. What they have succeeded in doing is making everyone who was there last night a martyr. As soon as the story hit the news, people started gathering outside the White House, keeping vigil and praying. You can’t even walk on some of those sidewalks now...they’re leaving candles and flowers and wreaths...there’s posters and flags tied to the fences...it’s incredible. People are putting up stuff on their websites, too, and sending emails. The tech guys had to set up some kind of special email thing to handle all the messages. Then there’s the stuff people are sending directly to the White House – the hospitals, too - flowers, a few thousand cards so far today, teddy bears... I’ve never seen anything like it."

"In eight years of covering the White House?" C.J. teased. "Speaking of which, why aren’t you at work"

"Well, see, there’s this new invention, called a modem."

C.J. smacked him lightly in the arm.

"No, seriously, I called my editor from the hospital last night...he got someone on it and we ran the same basic facts as everyone else on the front page this morning. My piece will run tomorrow." He sighed. "An attempted presidential assassination, up close and personal."

He suddenly sounded terribly vulnerable and C.J. nestled a little closer. "Can I read it?" she asked.

"Sure," Danny replied, brightening. "After you eat something, OK?"

"OK."

Jed Bartlet awoke to find his wife gently checking his pulse rate. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Good, you’re awake," Abbey replied crisply as she popped a thermometer in his mouth.

"Whatimezit?" he mumbled around the irritating little device.

"Close your mouth," she ordered.

Abbey in full ‘doctor’ mode was enough to disabuse him of the idea that the shooting had all been some horrible nightmare. He knew that her professional facade was a wall she used to protect herself and the fact that she was in full swing this morning convinced him that it had, in fact, happened.

The thermometer beeped and Abbey removed it from his mouth, checking the reading and muttering her approval.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" he asked quietly.

"A little."

"How’s Zoey?"

She sighed heavily. "About as well as can be expected. I finally got her to sleep a couple of hours ago."

"Couldn’t you give her something?" Jed asked, upset at the thought of his youngest daughter’s pain.

"I thought it was better to let her get it out of her system...bottling up strong emotions can lead to other problems."

He nodded soberly. "OK." He sat up gingerly and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Any pain?" Abbey asked.

He thought a moment, then replied, "No. I’m fine...just a few bumps and bruises."

"You’re sure?" she demanded.

"Yes."

"You’ll tell me immediately if you have any headache, dizziness, or nausea?"

"Yes, ma’am," Jed replied wearily.

"OK." Abbey smiled then, and leaned forward to kiss him.

"I need to do a press conference today...what kind of staff do I have to work with?" Jed wanted to know.

"Josh and Toby are in their offices right now. Lilly Mays and the rest of my staff are over there filling in with whatever’s needed."

"Thanks," the President replied, cracking a smile of sorts.

"Always glad to do my part to protect freedom and democracy," the First Lady quipped.

"What about Sam?"

"Sam was released from the hospital a couple of hours ago, but I want him to rest at home today."

"OK. Leo?"

Abbey’s expression grew serious again. "Leo is still in ICU. He hasn’t regained consciousness, so there’s no way to tell how severe the damage is just yet."

"Damn," Jed swore softly, suddenly looking very old.

"Jenny and Mallory are with him."

"Good...good. How’s Charlie?"

"Too soon to tell, but he’s young and strong, and he seemed to come through the surgery all right."

Jed sighed heavily. "You know, sometimes I wonder whatever possessed me to want to be President of a nation where people fire guns at a teenaged girl because they don’t like who she’s dating."

"You wanted to be President because the vast majority of people in this country are good and loyal and brave and generous and caring...and if you don’t believe me, take a look out that window right there...or call down to the mail room."

"I love you, you know that?" Jed announced with a sudden broad grin.

"I know, but it wouldn’t kill you to say it a little more often," Abbey teased in reply.

"I’m going to go look in on Zoey, then I’m going to take a shower and get dressed, and then I need to see C.J."

"Sorry...three out of four."

"All right...which one don’t I get – shower, dressed, Zoey - ?"

"C.J."

"Abbey, I have to hold a press conference as soon as possible to reassure the American people. I need my Press Secretary."

"Seeing a Press Secretary with a head injury pass out on international television isn’t going to reassure anyone of anything," Abbey replied tartly. "Carol can organize things...she’s got plenty of help...and besides, this shouldn’t look staged. People do need to see that you’re all right, but it should be simple and low key. Speak from your heart – that’s what the people want to hear right now."

"When do I get C.J. back?"

"I’m sending a medic to check her out today."

"What about Charlie’s little sister?"

Abbey chuckled warmly. "Deena is over in the West Wing right now. She’s sitting at Charlie’s desk and Mrs. Landingham is feeding her cookies. I think...having a child to make a fuss over right now is helping people to keep sane."

"OK," Jed replied with a tired smile. He sighed again. "I guess it’s time to go find out what kind of day this will be."

"Ta-da! Breakfast is served, Madame...sort of."

"Oh, this I gotta see," C.J., replied, sitting up to get a better look at Danny’s tray. "I see...coffee."

"Yeah, well that’s what I meant by ‘sort of.’ See, here we got coffee. Now for the main course, you have a choice of cereal...from a box, or waffles...also from a box."

"You know, Danny, I can cook."

"Nope...you’re my guest. And besides..."

"There’s no real food in your fridge, is there?"

"Uh...no."

"Didn’t think so," she said with a grin.

"Saved by the bell," Danny muttered as the sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment. "Be right back," he promised.

True to his word, Danny was back in a couple of moments, escorting a young Naval officer who carried a medical bag.

"Good morning, ma’am," she introduced herself. "I’m Lieutenant Commander Heller and the First Lady instructed me to look in on you to see if you would be fit to come back to work tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" C.J. demanded.

"Yes, ma’am, my orders are that you’re to rest today."

"That’s absurd," C.J. declared flatly.

"I’m sorry, ma’am, but those are my orders," the medic apologized. "If you try to do too much too soon, you might exacerbate the injury, which could require even more days of bed rest or even hospitalization."

"I am the White House Press Secretary and there is a major situation," C.J. protested. "I have to –"

"C.J., will you for heaven’s sake listen to the doctor?" Danny finally exploded. "You scared the crap out of me last night! The building is not going to collapse if someone else does the briefings for one day. As long as it’s not Josh, that is," he added as an afterthought.

C.J. cracked a grin in spite of herself, not even noticing as the medic fastened a blood pressure cuff around her arm. "Let’s see...what kind of secret plan could he announce today?"

Danny snickered.

"Have you had anything to eat today?" the commander asked C.J.

"We were just discussing the culinary possibilities...or lack thereof, when you arrived."

"Then I guess it’s a good thing the First Lady also sent groceries," the young medic quipped.

"Hey," Danny said appreciatively when C.J. emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing faded jeans and a soft red cardigan.

"I’m glad to see that my assistant has such faith in my recuperative powers," she replied tartly.

"I think maybe she just wanted you to be comfortable," Danny said as inoffensively as possible.

"Yeah...maybe you’re right," she sighed. "I’m sorry."

"For what?" Danny asked gently.

"I...every time I allowed myself to...imagine...what it would be like to spend time with you like this, it was always happy or...funny...not...this..." C.J.’s voice trembled as her eyes filled again. "Oh, damn," she whispered, pressing her hand against her mouth.

Danny came quickly around the counter to fold her into his embrace. "Hey...hey, it’s all right."

"I’m sorry," C.J. whispered brokenly.

"Again, for what? C.J., you’re hurt. Your friends are hurt. Just let go for a little while. I’m here...just hold on to me."

Toby and Josh looked up as Donna poked her head into Toby’s office. "C.J.’s on the phone," she announced.

"For who?" Toby demanded.

"Whichever one of you is available."

The two men exchanged glances and Josh shrugged. "Can you put it on speaker phone?"

"Sure," Donna replied with a weary smile. "Oh, and I’m supposed to remind you that the First Lady said that C.J.’s absolutely not supposed to come in today and that she’s not supposed to be on a business call for any more than ten minutes."

"Duly noted," Josh answered.

"Just out of curiosity," Toby added, "why are you answering my phone?"

"’Cause Kathy is taking care of Sam’s stuff, Ginger is helping Mrs. Landingham, and Bonnie is helping Carol set up for the press conference."

"OK," Toby answered with a slightly dazed expression. "Put the call through, please."

"Then go get yourself some coffee or chocolate or something," Josh added. "I know for a fact that you haven’t had a break all morning."

"OK," Donna answered quietly, too tired to argue that no one else had taken a break either.

A moment later, C.J.’s faint and tinny voice sounded from the speaker. "Josh? Toby? Who’ve I got?"

"You’ve hit the jackpot, Ms. Cregg," Josh said lightly, "you’ve got both of us."

"That’s not the jackpot," she replied acidly, "that’s the booby prize."

"Well, I see someone is feeling better this morning," Toby interjected.

"Who might that be?" C.J. responded in a voice that was suddenly heavy with sorrow.

"No one around here," Toby admitted.

"Hey, look," Josh said trying to lighten the tone, "Mrs. Bartlet has us on a stop watch here, so we can ether use up your ten –"

"Seven and a half," Toby corrected.

"- seven and a half minutes insulting one another or we can give you some news."

C.J.’s normally rich laugh sounded hollow and bitter. "Would you believe that the Press Secretary would really rather not hear the news today?"

"Easily," Toby assured her.

"So what’s new in the White House?" Danny asked as C.J. hung up the phone.

"Well, it seems that the President has an honorary Personal Aide."

"Do tell?"

"Miss Deena Young is currently occupying Charlie’s desk. Mrs. Landingham is feeding her cookies."

"She never feeds me cookies."

"Deena’s cuter then you are."

"This from a woman who admits to having fantasies about me."

"I did no such thing!" C.J. retorted.

"Sure you did. You said whenever you imagined –"

"Yeah – ‘imagined’ not ‘fantasized’! There’s a difference."

"Not much!" Danny scoffed. "Keep it up and I won’t let you read this," he teased, waving some neatly typed pages.

"Is that your article? You finished it?"

"Yeah," Danny replied, suddenly sober.

The amusement died out f C.J.’s eyes as she took the proffered pages. She settled her glasses into place and began to read.

"This is good, Danny," C.J. said when she finally looked up.

"Thanks."

"Really good...like Pulitzer Prize good or basis of another book good."

Smiling, Danny gently laid a hand over C.J.’s lips to hush her. "You didn’t have to qualify the statement...you saying it’s good is all that matters to me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." And he leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips.