Category: Toby friendship fic

Rating: G/PG/13 this part

Characters: Toby plus Rebecca Martin (new character)

Series: Yes

Spoilers: Anything from Season One onwards

Summary: Toby goes to Arlington. Pure coincidence. And someone else is there paying their respects. Again, pure coincidence. They have something, or someone, in common. Now that’s spooky. But in a good way.

Archive: Just tell me where it’s going

Additional ‘stuff’: I had the idea that Toby should get some kind of reward for organising Walter Hufnagle’s funeral. And Rebecca came into my head. Some of the lines in the opening paragraphs come from Aaron Sorkin’s mind, not mine. Toby may or may not have been in Korea. But this is my fic. So he was.

Title: Shared memories – Part One

Toby stood in front of the grave. Simple. But important. Simple because they all were. Important because Toby remembered Korea. And while the public all remembered Viet Nam, many forgot Korea. Or only thought of it when they saw re-runs of MASH.

Walter Hufnagle had been in Korea. The tattoo Toby had recognised on his forearm was the Marine Battalion Second of the Seventh. And he’d known he would have to do something. The man had died wearing his coat. A coat he had donated to a charity. And guilt made him use the White House for his own ends. Because it was important. Because Marines guarded the White House and the President. Because Walter had been a Marine.

He’d done as much as he could for Walter’s brother, George. A little slow, but important too. Family mattered. Toby became a regular visitor to the place under the bridge where George and his friends lived. He brought clothes, food, sometimes he just spent time with them. All had stories to tell, most were veterans of some conflict or other from WW2 to the Gulf. Some had memories of families left behind, others, like George, were completely alone in the world.

****************

Arlington Cemetery, section 43. Walter Hufnagle’s grave. Toby stood silently, head bowed, only looking up when he realised there was someone behind him. The young woman was replacing the flowers in the silver-mesh topped glass bowl. She smiled slightly, acknowledging Toby’s presence but remaining silent as she filled the bowl from a bottle she held then straightened up.

**************

A month later…

She looked at the name on the newly-placed headstone. Toby saw her frown as she rummaged in her large shoulder bag.

‘Excuse me, are you a relative or a friend of Walters?’

‘Er, neither, I…it’s a little complicated. Did you know him?’

‘No, but I think my grandfather might have done.’ She handed Toby the black-and-white photograph. A group of men, all in immaculate uniforms. ‘Turn it over.’

Toby read the names on the back, each written on top of the image of the person visible through the thin sheet. Wally Hufnagle. Turning the picture back over, Toby stared at the young man. Not a handsome man, but a kind face. And very like his brother.

Rebecca’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Haven’t I seen you here before.’

‘Walter was only buried a few weeks ago. This is only the second time I’ve been here.’

‘I’m here every week. Monday is my day off.’

Toby handed the picture back. ‘What do you do?’

‘I work at the Visitor Bureau. You?’

‘I work at the White House.’

‘What as? A tour guide?’

Toby shook his head slightly. ‘I’m the Communications Director.’ He saw Rebecca’s smile.

‘I recognised you. I just couldn’t place you.’

Uncomfortable at being teased, Toby looked away.

‘I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Rebecca Martin.’ The young woman extended her hand.

‘Toby Ziegler. Quite a coincidence, them being buried so close to each other.’

‘Yeah. And if you hadn’t been here, I probably wouldn’t even have noticed the name on the headstone.’

Toby smiled. ‘I’m glad you did.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Forgive me?’

Toby nodded. ‘Sure. I have to go. It was nice meeting you.’

Realising Toby was already walking away, Rebecca said quickly: ‘You too.’

************

A week later…

‘Hi.’

‘Hi. I was hoping I’d see you here. I have some pictures of Walter and my Grandfather. Would you like to see them?

Toby nodded. ‘Yes, I’d like that very much.’

Rummaging in the copious shoulder bag, the young woman pulled out a photo album and walked across to a bench, sitting down and opening it. Toby sat beside her as she flicked through the pages of photographs.

‘I didn’t know Walter, but Grandpa Daniel talked about him a lot. He was awarded a Purple Heart.’

Toby nodded. ‘I know. I gave it to his brother.’

‘I didn’t know he had a brother. Grandpa never said.’

‘He is…slow. Perhaps the family were ashamed.’

Rebecca nodded. ‘Quite possibly. Back then. You said you’ve met George. Where?’

Toby sighed. ‘He lives under a bridge.’

Rebecca put a hand to her face, her eyes bright with tears. ‘How horrible.’

Toby had long-since decided that, although he wanted to help George, people who cared about him surrounded the man. ‘He’s happy. And the other people who live there too keep an eye out for him. There’s a soup kitchen a few blocks away and…’

Rebecca stared at Toby’s thick coat and expensive shoes. ‘You live there?’

‘Er, no…I…’

Rebecca raised her voice. ‘Then how the Hell do you know he’s happy?’

Toby said gently: ‘Because he told me. I have tried to get him into a shelter, but he says there are people worse off than him, and he won’t go.’

Embarrassed, Rebecca turned to leave. ‘I’m sorry.’

Toby was suddenly uncomfortable. ‘I should go.’

‘Yeah, I have to get back too.’

Toby decided to take a risk. ‘You have time for a coffee?’

Rebecca nodded. ‘My treat. It’s the least I can do after yelling at you.’

Reassured that Rebecca had at least decided he wasn’t an axe murderer, Toby said casually: ‘If you’d like, I could take you to meet George.’

Rebecca smiled. ‘I’d like that very much.’

‘We’ll pick up some stuff on the way. I usually take some food or other things when I visit.’

On to Part Two

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