C.J., Josh, Toby, and Sam belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, Warner Bros., & NBC. The other characters are all original. Lyrics are by Carly Simon. Standard disclaimers apply. Please send feedback.

First To Burn And Then To Freeze
Violet & Cinnamon
I'm home again, in my old narrow bed,
Where I grew tall, and my feet hung over the end --
The low beam room with the window looking out
On the soft summer garden,
Where the boys grew in the trees....


Friday


"Carol!"

She looked up from her cluttered desk. "What?"

C.J. emerged from her office with an armload of files. "At the Human Rights conference, today's keynote speaker on women's rights is -- Azizeh Asgaripour?"

"Yes," her assistant confirmed.

"Can you give me even a vague idea how that's spelled?"

"Which? Azizeh or Asgaripour?"

She struggled to put the files in order. "Either. Both."

"I'm not sure, but--"

"Two minutes," C.J. warned, semi-frantically.

"You'll have it," Carol promised.

C.J. nodded and hurried away, through the hectic bullpen. She didn't get far before Josh called out to her. "C.J.! You know the thing with the Southern Baptists tomorrow?"

"Out with the trash," she assured him, still rummaging through her notes.

"Yeah," he said, following her. "Although, if we mention it, it might look good, because otherwise we'll start to hear about family values--"

"Please. We hear about that anyway. We just don't need to hear it from the Southern Baptists. You want to make me their puppet, Josh?"

He grinned. "I don't think I could get my hand that far up your dress."

C.J. rolled her eyes as Josh strode off. Further down the hall, Sam fell into step with her. "Hey, C.J., guess what?"

"The British are coming?"

"China. Suicide in China. Did you know that five hundred girls and women--"

"Kill themselves in China every day? Yes, I did know that. I actually pay attention to the things I say when I'm talking sometimes."

"Okay, you know what?"

"I know I can tell the difference between Oregon and California." She gave him a playful sidelong glance. "I don't even need to look at a map."

"See, that's not funny any more!" Sam protested, as she quickened her frenetic pace. "Stop trying to outsmart me, stop trying to outdo me, and stop being six feet tall!"

"No dice," she answered sweetly, leaving him behind.

As she rounded a corner, Toby appeared just ahead of her. "C.J.!"

"Oh, not you too. What do you need?"

"The HMOs summit. You're going to need to make a statement."

"Every American should have access to health care and treatment; it's part of the Constitutional right to life."

"Right."

"I've got all that already." She looked up and realized she'd made a complete round of the corridors. "I'm walking in circles!"

"You should join the circus," Toby said sarcastically.

As he turned away, Carol rushed up with an index card. "Azizeh Asgaripour."

She shuffled it in with the rest of her notes. "Thanks."

"And you have a phone message from your brother," Carol added, handing it to her.

"I don't really have time now--" C.J. broke off as she read the message. She stopped in her tracks, nearly causing Carol to run into her. "Okay."

"Do you want me to--"

"Call him back." C.J. took a deep breath. "Okay. I have a briefing." She gathered her files, and her wits, and stepped into the Press Room.


* * *


C.J. fidgeted for most of her trip. When she finally landed in Dayton, she impatiently pushed her way through the crowd and found herself growing annoyed when she didn't spot her brother right away.

"Hey."

C.J. whirled around, startled, and saw him standing behind her, grinning. "You ass!" She chuckled lightly, trying to catch her breath.

Thomas laughed and pulled her into a warm embrace. C.J. smacked his arm in exasperation, then relented and hugged him tightly.

"It's good to see you, babe," he said, taking her bag and slinging it over his right shoulder. "Is this all you brought?"

She nodded. "I'm not staying long. You know, Thomas, I've missed you a lot, but that sneaking up on me thing? Try not to do that anymore."

"I've been sneaking up on you since I was eight years old. You should have expected it."

"I keep hoping you'll grow out of it," she remarked dryly.

"Don't hold your breath." He grinned again. "You look really nice."

"I try. Actually, I was supposed to do a--" she waved a hand in the air, then gave up trying to explain. "A thing today on women's rights."

"Sounds interesting."

She shrugged. "What about you, Dr. Cregg?"

"It's my day off." Thomas shifted her bag to his left shoulder. "Actually, I took the whole week off."

"You've known about this all week and you didn't call me until today?" C.J. looked at him sharply.

"No, I just found out this morning, too."

"Then--"

"I was in Montana," he said simply.

"You went on vacation in Montana?"

"There's incredible fly-fishing in Montana, C.J."

"That's good to know." She paused. "So how bad is this? Have you talked to his doctor?"

Thomas nodded. "Yeah, I spoke with her this morning. Aaron has a tumor surrounding his heart."

"Jesus, Tom."

He touched her arm and they stopped walking. "It's infiltrating his lung, but -- but they're trying radiation and chemo. They're hopeful."

"What do you think?"

"Well, I'm not an oncologist." He noticed C.J. shake her head slightly. "He has a chance to beat this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." C.J. took a breath and resumed making her way through the airport. They remained in silence for several minutes, until Thomas spoke.

"God, kid, do you always walk this fast?"

She slowed her pace. "It's a little trick I picked up at the White House."


* * *


"Here we are."

Thomas turned off the engine. As C.J. unbuckled her seatbelt, he reached into the backseat and pulled out her bag.

She opened her door and gazed up nervously at the old gray house. "How are they doing?"

"Mom's bustling around cleaning everything, and Dad's not saying much of anything to anyone. So, you know, the usual."

"Is Johnny--"

"He's at work right now, I think. Are you coming?"

C.J. slouched a little in her seat. "Can't we just sleep at a hotel?"

Thomas looked at her seriously. "Come on, Ceej."

"Yeah." She climbed out of the car, stretched, and grinned at him wryly. "After all, it won't be that bad, right?"

"'Course not," he said, with equal irony. They walked up the steps and into the house.

"Hello?" Thomas shouted as they came through the front door.

"In here," George Cregg's gruff voice replied. They followed it to the kitchen. He looked up from the sandwich he was making. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

"Hey, Dad." He waved her closer and she bent and kissed him on the forehead. "Where's Mom?"

"She went to the store," George told her. She tried not to seem visibly relieved. He continued, "She needed something for spaghetti sauce. I still don't know what she puts in that stuff. I'm getting a snack before she chases me out of the kitchen."

"You're supposed to be watching your diet," Thomas reminded him.

"Ah, you sound like your mother," George grumbled. "It's just a sandwich."

"No mayonnaise."

George cast a pleading glance at C.J. "He had to be a doctor. He couldn't have gone to law school?"

"He's right." C.J. held up her hands. "Sorry."

"And look at you, Claude!" Her father beamed at her. "Working in the White House. You get to hear all the President's dirty little secrets?"

"This President doesn't have any dirty little secrets," she teased. "That's only Republicans."

George scoffed. "Things were better four years ago."

Thomas smiled at C.J. "He says that every four years."

"It's true every four years!" George took a defiant bite of his sandwich. "Your mother made the bed up in your old room."

"I'll take my stuff up."

C.J. took her bag from Thomas. As she left the kitchen, her father mumbled, "My daughter's a pinko-liberal--"

"I heard that," she called over her shoulder.

"Good!" he shot back, playfully.

She shook her head and climbed the back stairs. Walking into her old bedroom, she was amazed at how little it had changed since she was fifteen. There was the same peach-colored paint on the walls, and a familiar old red quilt was on the bed. She set down her luggage, crossed to the window, and opened the curtains. The view hadn't changed. She watched the late afternoon sun play across the branches of trees, and recalled years of tagging along after her brothers, as they built forts and played war games. Each of them had gone through a phase of sneaking out at night, during their teenage years. She'd caught each one trying to creep back in, been bribed dozens of times not to tell their parents. She never had.

C.J. stared out the window for a minute longer. Finally, she rubbed her forehead and settled on her bed. Kicking off her shoes, she dialed Josh's office, and after a moment, Donna put her through.

"Josh Lyman."

"Hey, Josh."

"C.J.! What's up? Where are you?"

"Home," she said, then corrected herself. "Dayton."

"Ohio?" he asked, surprised.

"No, France. Of course I'm in Dayton, Ohio, Joshua."

"Thank you, Snippy McSarcasm." He switched the phone to his other ear. "Seriously, what's going on? Leo won't tell us why you left."

C.J. took a breath. "My oldest brother is in the hospital."

"Claudia Jean," he said softly.

"I'm going to see him in the morning. I'm just staying for the weekend, but I'll tell you, Josh, I'm really not looking forward to spending time with my other brother. He doesn't get along with my other brother and--"

"Wait, wait. Exactly how many brothers do you have?"

C.J. leaned up against the headboard. "Three. Aaron's the oldest, then Thomas, John, and me."

"Huh."

"Huh?"

Josh took a sip of coffee. "Yeah, huh."

"Huh as in what?"

"Huh as in, that explains a lot."

"Okay, I'm hanging up now." C.J. heard a knock and looked up to see Thomas standing in her doorway. He mouthed the word "Mom" and pointed downstairs. She simultaneously rolled her eyes and nodded.

"C.J.?"

She turned her attention back to the phone. "Yeah, I'm here, but I have to go."

"Okay. Take care of yourself and call me whenever."

"Thanks, Josh." C.J. switched off her phone, then climbed from her bed and slipped on her shoes. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and slowly made her way downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Claudia!" Mia set down a bag of groceries and dashed over. She stood on tiptoe to kiss her daughter on the cheek.

"Hi, Mom."

"You shouldn't wear heels," Mia scolded her lightly.

"I know." C.J. stifled a sigh.

Mia handed her a plastic bag of tomatoes. "Be a good girl and put these away." She turned away, and added, "It's good you're home. I'm just worried sick about your brother."

C.J. opened the refrigerator. "How's Paula holding up? And the girls?"

"I was at the hospital with them all day. Paula's trying to be brave. The girls?" Mia threw her hands up. "Who knows with kids? They seem fine so far."

She raised her eyebrows as she put away a gallon of milk. "How long has he been sick, Mom? This can't have just come out of nowhere."

"He had a cough that wouldn't go away. Paula says he's been coming home from work tired for months. I thought it was just because he works so hard." She nudged C.J. "You work too hard too, you know. We never see you."

"Well, my job is important."

"It's unhealthy, that's what. Spending all that time at work. When do you ever get a chance to relax?"

"I do all right," C.J. said patiently.

"When do you have time to meet--"

"Mom!"

"--A good man?" Mia gave her a worried look. "You're not getting any younger, sweetheart."

C.J. interrupted before her mother could continue the familiar tangent. "I'm doing fine, Mom. Where'd Tom go?"

"Outside to have a cigarette. Disgusting habit."

C.J. put a loaf of bread away. "I'm going for a walk."

"Be careful in those shoes."

She headed for the back door. "I will."

"And don't roll your eyes at your mother!" Mia reproached her.

"I wasn't."

"And don't lie to your mother!"

C.J. groaned and let the screen door clank shut behind her, walking around to the front of the house. Her brother was smoking on the porch steps. She sat down next to him, reached over, and gently swiped the cigarette from his lips.

"I thought you didn't smoke," Thomas said mildly, as she took a drag.

"I don't." She exhaled slowly. "Only when I'm home."

"Is Mom getting on your case?"

"A little." C.J. half-smiled. "I think she's still mad that I was taller than her by seventh grade."

Thomas lit himself another cigarette. "No, she's mad because you got a great education and have a great career, but you're not getting married and making babies."

She laughed. "Mom wants you to get married and make babies, too."

"She has better chances with you," he observed. "You been seeing anyone?"

"No, not really."

"You sound doubtful."

She pushed her hair back wistfully. "It's complicated. There was someone -- I thought it might be something, but work kind of got in the way."

"Your job or his?"

"Both, actually." She rested her head on her hand and regarded him quizzically. "You're so nosy. What about you?"

"I stopped seeing somebody recently." He shook his head. "You don't even want to hear the sordid details, trust me."

"Sorry." She looked up at the old oak in the front yard. "God, I haven't been back in a long time."

"Neither have I. It still looks the same around here, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. Dad looks older, though."

"He's 68 years old," Thomas reminded her.

"I know." She stubbed her cigarette out on the wooden step. "It's really weird."

"What's that?"

"Our parents being in their sixties. I don't know about you, but that makes me feel old. And now Aaron...."

"You'll always be younger than me." He patted her hand. "Aaron's going to be--"

"He has cancer."

"Yeah." He frowned. "It's getting cold out here. You want to go in?"

"I guess." She stood up and hugged herself. "Dad's going to make us watch hockey."

Thomas grimaced and got to his feet. "As long as Mom doesn't try to make us go to Mass, I guess it's okay with me."

"We should probably come home more often," C.J. said guiltily.

He tossed the remnant of his cigarette into the bushes by the porch. "We should probably do a lot of things."


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