Title: "The Center Holds"

Author: Cret Kid aka Cal (aim: cretkid)

Category: CJ/Toby

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: General Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. 'Nuf said.

Summary: "The center holds or so they say / it never held too well for me"

Author's Notes: Another addition to the Parachute series of CJ/Toby stories. Title and summary from "Become You" by Indigo Girls, off their album of the same title. Fluff-like story, 'cause one was needed. You can find all of these stories at my web site www.oocities.org/rdcottrell/parachute.html

"The Center Holds"

==============

Toby was waiting near the base of the stairs when the briefing broke camp. Leaning against the wall, he watched with rapt attention as CJ stormed down the short flight of steps, her entire body exuding righteous indignation. She stopped short on the final stair, her height advantage more than doubled.

"What?" she spouted with vehemence.

"You showed incredible restraint in there," Toby commented.

The flash of lightning in her eyes told him what he could do with his comment. He held his hands up in surrender.

"I'm just saying," he said, pulling away from the wall.

CJ stepped down the last stair and dared him with her eyes to say one more word. Side-stepping him, she headed for her office, stopping to make sure that no one was in the hallway to halt her getaway.

Before she made it through the intersection, she turned on the ball of her foot and stormed Toby. "Who the hell invited them anyway?" she demanded, pointing at the briefing room door.

"I believe you did."

"Why didn't you stop me?"

Toby walked with her to her office. "Because then they start spouting First Amendment rights and freedom of the press."

CJ stopped and threw her hands up in the air. "It was a stupid softball game, for crying out loud! Why the hell do they have to report on that?"

"What I don't understand is why they waited until the end of the day to rib you about it," Toby pondered, tugging on her elbow to keep her moving along.

Digging her heels, CJ stopped their forward momentum. "Why are you in such a hurry to get to my office?"

Toby pulled on her arm again. "Because I would like to avoid a display similar to what I am willing to bet you wanted to show in the Press Room."

"You have so little faith in me," CJ started to say. Her voice drew out as she spotted a memo taped to the bull pen window.

Toby glanced at the topic of the memo and inwardly groaned. As the author of the memo became apparent, he had no wish to be within 30 feet of the inevitable explosion.

"I'm going to kill him," CJ said through clenched teeth as she searched the bullpen for soon to be carrion. She ripped the memo from the wall, leaving little triangles of recycled white paper under cellophane tape.

She did not need to look far. Toby watched as a white rage glossed over her features as Josh's voice echoed through the hallway.

"Hey, Rollie Fingers! Nice game yesterday!"

Josh practically cackled as he sauntered towards his office.

Clenching the material of Toby's shirt sleeve, CJ demanded, "Give me one of your stick balls."

Toby grimaced as shirt material was not the only thing held in a vise grip. "I don't think so."

CJ's grip tightened. "Toby--"

"Okay, okay! Just let go of my arm. I'd like to use it later."

After she released him, Toby shook the feeling back into his hand. Fishing in his suit pocket, he produced a small pink rubber ball. He placed it in the palm of her hand before she could snatch it from him.

"Please remember where you are," Toby added.

"Of course," CJ said sweetly as she wrapped the ex-memo around the rubber ball.

Turning on her heel, CJ targeted Josh's backside. Donna stepped into the hallway and froze like a deer caught in headlights.

In a sing song voice, CJ belted, "Donna, I suggest you move."

Donna darted back into the safety of her cubicle area. At the mention of Donna's name, Josh turned around; in time to see heavy object make a bee-line for his thigh.

He turned, only into the line of fire. The stick ball-paper combination bounced off his left hip and ricocheted down the adjoining hall. A childish, high-pitched cry erupted from Josh's lips as he rubbed the abused area.

"CJ!"

As she walked down the hall towards Josh, CJ grabbed yet another taped memo from the wall. Without reading from the piece of paper, she recited, "'The President cries foul after relief pitcher CJ Cregg allows game winning hit by Josh Lyman in yesterday's intra office softball game.'"

Josh backed up against the door frame of his office, hand protecting his bruised hip. "It's true! My team did win."

"You swung at a pitch in the dirt, Bat boy! We were playing softball, not cricket!"

Josh straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. "The ump said nothing about it."

"That's because the First Lady was laughing so hard at your pirouette in the batter's box she couldn't speak!" She shook the crumpled piece of paper in his face. "How many of these did you put up? And did you manage to slip one to my Press Corps?"

"I think you're taking this a little too personally, CJ," Josh said, edging closer into his office. "After all, it is just a friendly game."

"And because of this," CJ replied, stuffing the memo in his shirt pocket, "I have to give up another weekend to your ego. 'The Presidential rematch will take place next weekend, same bat time, same bat channel'," she recited, slapping his breast pocket as if to tattoo the memo to his chest.

"What does my ego have to do with this?" Josh asked.

CJ continued to jab at him in the chest. "Just whose idea was it to have a rematch?"

"The President's!"

"And who placed that little worm in his ear?"

"Why would I want a rematch? My team won!" Josh reasoned. "You're just sore because you had to endure a history of baseball with the President last night."

CJ glared at Josh; Josh withered into his office.

"I'm just going to stay in here until that little vein in your forehead stops pulsing," he said, sidestepping the door frame and feeling his way into his office.

"You do that," CJ agreed, watching him with a mindful glare until he was behind his desk.

As she spun in place to resume her original course, she caught sight of the audience that had gathered. She turned an evil look on all gathered.

"What?"

Onlookers scattered like leaves before a strengthening storm. CJ rolled her right shoulder and stretched the muscles of her neck. Her path cleared, she walked to her office.

Toby joined her mid stroll. "Feeling better, there, slugger?"

"Actually, yes, I am," she answered cheerily.

Not surprised by the sudden shift in disposition, Toby tossed her the pink stickball someone had retrieved during her verbal melee with Josh. "I think you should keep this, just in case. Maybe practice your pitching."

"There is nothing wrong with the way I pitch," CJ replied, giving the ball an experimental bounce against the carpeted floor.

"Only that the ball tends to fall in front of the plate rather than behind the plate," Toby added as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Shut up."

She bounced the ball against the floor again. "You know, there's something therapeutic about bouncing these things around."

"And you've been doubting me all this time." Toby waited for her to enter her office first.

After tossing the ball into the corner of the couch, CJ took a seat behind her desk. She propped her ankles on the trash can near the side and invited Toby to take a seat.

He chose to stand near the door, hands still entrenched in his pockets. "You do realize that if we are forced to play this rematch, you and I will miss that show." At her stymied expression, he amended, "The play in the park, the -- the show. The charity thing for that kids' group in Bethesda."

"Shakespeare in the Park to benefit Children's Leukemia Society?"

Looking at his shoes, Toby replied, "Yeah."

"The 'thing' where the kids sent you a personalized, home-made invitation, made with crayons and construction paper and everything."

"Yeah."

"These kids that were asked to play sprites and nymphs in Bethesda Playhouse's rendition of 'A Midsummer's Night Dream', and because you have been known from time to time to read to them at the children's hospital, they asked you to come see them in their premier performance."

Toby stepped into the room and closed the door. "You know, coyness is not your strong suit."

"And playing Scrooge is not yours. Can't we do both? The play starts at 6 pm. The game, if it really happens, starts at 1 pm. And I really want to throw softballs at Josh."

"Don't you mean 'pitch softballs to Josh'?"

"Whatever."

Toby sat forward on the couch. "You do remember that I was on Josh's team."

"What's your point?" CJ leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers behind her head.

"So you will pitch to me rather than throw at me, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," she dismissively assured him.

Toby wagged a finger at her. "You are not bestowing me with any confidence. I think I'd rather have the President pitch again."

"Not after all the bellyaching Josh did to get someone else to pitch," CJ replied, sitting forward in her chair. She picked up a pencil a proceeded to lecture him. "None of you would swing at the ball for fear of the President calling you on to the carpet for a history of baseball if you won. Well, you guys did win, and *I* got called on the carpet."

"Well, you know, you did throw the pitch that won my team the game," Toby nudged.

A pencil was thrown end over end at his shoulder. The eraser end bounced off his suit coat and behind the couch.

Casually looking over the back to see what was now behind the furniture, he mentioned, "Did you know you have like 100 pencils behind here?"

"Yes, and now I need more. Carol!"

The dutiful assistant ducked her head in through the now open door. "Yes?"

CJ planted her forearms on the desk and smiled beseechingly. "I need a copy of yesterday's DOD transcript and another box of pencils."

Carol's phone rang.

"Yes to the transcript, no to the pencils," Carol replied, stepping back to pick up the phone.

"Damn."

Toby settled against the couch cushions. "I take it this is a matter of contention between you?"

CJ shrugged a shoulder. "As I don't use them for their intended purpose, Carol refuses to bring me pencils. It is my opinion that pencils are meant to be thrown. However, that argument doesn't jive with my assistant."

Carol knocked on the door and stuck her head in. "Toby, Ginger called down here for you. The President wants to speak with you at your earliest convenience."

Dropping his head to the back of the couch, Toby groaned his protest to the ceiling. When CJ nearly howled in laughter, he growled in her direction.

"Thanks a lot for your support," he mumbled as he hoisted himself off the couch.

CJ continued to laugh, having to wipe a hand at an errant tear that slipped from the corner of her eye. "Know what? It's Sunday afternoon. No one has tried to blow up anything around the world, the campaign will be in full swing soon, and there's a full lid. I am going home."

"Deserter," tossed over his shoulder as he left her office.

"I won't wait up," she called after him.

Toby knocked before using the key he had to enter her apartment. Three hours discussing the pros and cons of the designated hitter had not put him in as foul a mood as he had originally anticipated as he made the dead-man-walking trek to the Office of the President. Shifting the take out bags to one hand, he made sure to close and lock the apartment door before venturing farther into CJ's home.

Dusky twilight filtered through the bay window in the living room. He made his way blindly into the kitchen and set his wares on the counter before looking for his wayward dinner partner.

CJ was camped out on the couch, one arm flung over her eyes and the other hand clutching the remote control to the television. CNN rattled quietly in the background. Realizing the time, Toby stepped over to the wall outlet where the automatic timer for the floor lamp was plugged in and pulled it from the socket. Sleep was a precious commodity, and he didn't want the sudden illumination from dusk to dawn floor lamp to disturb even a catnap on the couch. CJ had a lot of catching up to do in the sleep department.

He cleaned up the Sunday circulars from the arm chair and sat down. Carefully pulling the remote from her hand, he turned the channel to ESPN to catch the latest sports scores, making sure to hit the mute/closed captions button so to not waken his sleeping charge. Not that CJ needed taking care of, but it was a constant he could count on from time to time. Come over, eat dinner, watch some television and not think about the rest of the world for a time.

He felt rather than heard her stir. Turning his attention to her, he waited to see if she would wake up. The arm lifted from her eyes, her head turned towards the television, then turned in his direction with a slight groan.

"Go back to sleep," he said softly.

"You eat yet?"

"I brought Chinese back for you, you can heat it up later. Go back to sleep."

"'K."

"You need your rest so you can throw softballs at Josh next week."

CJ smiled as she turned into the couch cushions. She had mumbled something that Toby had not quite caught but he wasn't going to ask her to repeat it.

He waited until he was sure she had dozed off again to turn his attention back to the television.