Endings

Adrienne

Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me and no copyright infringement is intended.

Spoilers: Up to "Bad Moon Rising"

WARNING: This is an alternate universe story and it deals with a major
character's death. It is not a happy story. It is filled right to the
brim with angst. Proceed with caution. I mean it; this is, if possible,
even more depressing than the show itself. Really.

Thanks to Cretkid, who helpfully pointed out my misspellings, inconsistancies,
errors in grammar, and, despite the horrible things I do the our beloved
characters, still wanted to read to the end. She is a gentlewoman, a
scholar and a fine human being.

--------------------------

Tuesday...

CJ threw back her head and laughed for the first time in nearly a
week. James was an entertaining date, with a ready stock of
wickedly funny stories from his adventures in the diplomatic
corps.

There was no possibility of this turning into a real
relationship, and both of them knew it, but it was fun to go out
on the town together.

"Care to come up for coffee?" she offered, as she unlocked her
door. She knew full well that coffee wasn't exactly what she had
in mind. James was handsome and it had been a long time since
she had held a handsome man in her arms.

"I'd like that," James replied, following her in.

"I'll put on the coffee," CJ said, walking into the kitchen,
noting that her answering machine was blinking. "Turn on the TV.
I'd like to catch the last of the news."

"Sure," he replied agreeably. He, too, was a news junkie and he
understood her need to know what was going to hit her in the
morning.

CJ arrived with the coffee after the report on the collapse of
the Mexican economy.

"...This just in." The anchor put one hand to her ear, with that
look of Incredibly Important News coming in. "Washington Police
just reported that a senior staff member of the White House was
found shot to death near the Vietnam Memorial. We're going live
to the scene..."

CJ's mouth dropped open. At the same time, her phone and her
cell both went off. She ignored them, her eyes transfixed on the
television screen.

"... A passerby noticed the body of a man lying near the Memorial
and called police. The man had a single gunshot through the
right temple. We have now confirmed his identity as Toby
Ziegler, Communications Director for the White House. Police do
not suspect foul play..."

CJ bolted to her feet and fled to the bathroom. She made it just
in time, retching violently. James followed her and held back
her hair as she threw up.

"It's okay, CJ," he murmured to her, holding her. "Shhh. It's
okay."

"No, it's not," CJ replied, tears starting to fall. "It's not
okay."

"... Christ, CJ, pick up." Leo's voice, on her answering
machine, sounded through the apartment. "CJ, please. Pick up.
Call me as soon as you get this message. It's important. Ah,
Dammit!" The click was too loud.

CJ wiped her mouth and got shakily to her feet, leaning on James.
She tottered to the phone and hit the speed dial.

"Leo?"

"CJ. Thank God."

"I heard, Leo. It's on the news."

"I know."

"What the hell? Leo, what happened?"

"I don't know. I got a call half an hour ago and I've been
trying to beat the press in getting you guys."

"Does the President know?"

"Yeah."

"And Andrea?"

"I called her first thing."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Leo."

"CJ..."

"I need to know, Leo. I need to know more."

-----------------------

"Josh? Can I get you anything?" Donna asked, almost timidly.

"Yeah. You can turn back the clock about an hour," Josh said
bitterly. He was pacing restlessly, with his arms wrapped
tightly around himself. "When are we going to get information
from some one official?"

"They said they'd have a report soon," Donna said soothingly,
her voice catching as she tried not to break down. "The
television..."

"Shut the damn thing off," Josh ordered harshly. He could not
hear the endless commentary about what they were now calling
Toby's suicide.

Suicide. That made no sense to Josh. Toby was not suicidal, no
fucking way. He was too strong for that. Sure, he had been
preoccupied and grumpy the last week or two, but he went through
bouts of that sometimes. Hell, they all did.

There wasn't anything happening that could have produced this.
The guy had lived through a failed marriage and many failed
campaigns; everything was going fine now.

Josh started to tremble. If someone as strong as Toby had taken
his own life, then what did that mean for him? He had been
tempted to take that way out a few times, since Rosslyn. If Toby
couldn't resist the urge, would he...?

No, that was stupid. There had to be more to this. Much, much
more. Somebody had tried to kill Charlie for dating a white
girl. How much did those groups hate a policy making, powerful
and influential Jew? Dear God, had Toby been murdered?

----------------------------

"Jed, it isn't your fault," Abbey said sharply. The President
of the United States was sitting with his head in his hands.

"You didn't see his face last Friday, Abbey," Bartlet said
softly. "I did this. I destroyed him."

"The world doesn't revolve around you," Abbey said fiercely.
"This is not your fault."

"Abbey, four days after that meeting, Toby was found dead near
the Vietnam Memorial with a gunshot through his head," Jed
exploded, gesturing with his hand. "Single shot, right through
the temple. The gun was found next to him, with his fingerprints
on it. What I told him hurt him, Abbey. I let him down."

"You didn't put the gun in his hand, Jed," Abbey shouted back,
shaking. "You didn't pull the trigger. He did. If anyone is to
blame, he is."

Abbey bit her lip before she could say anything else, before she
said what could never be taken back. She was angry, so insanely
angry, that she forgot to be afraid. How could he? How could
Toby Ziegler, of all people, be so goddam vulnerable to do this?
How could he hurt so many people? How could her friend, the man
she could count on to be practical and sensible, possibly do this
to them?

Jed Bartlet looked at his wife and gave a deep sigh. She was
furious; he knew her well enough to know what fury looked like.

He was too guilt laden to feel anger. That would come later, in
spurts, as would the grief. Toby was a difficult man to know,
hard to get close to, but his friendship and support meant a
great deal to him. He closed his eyes, shutting out what the
loss of someone as brilliant as Toby to his team would mean.

He began to murmur, over and over again, the Ave Maria. He
wasn't sure if it was appropriate to recite Catholic prayers for
the soul of an observant Jew, but he did anyway. Toby may not
need his prayers. He did.

------------------------

Leo took his feelings and shut them up in that place where he put
away all his pain. It wasn't easy this time, but he managed. He
had work to do. He had to find out all the details, contact
Andrea and Toby's family, find the staff and bring them under his
wing, find a way to respond to this to the rabid press corp. He
knew that most of middle America would feel that it was a real
shame and be curious about the man's death, but it mattered
little to them. It mattered a whole lot to Leo.

He couldn't decide which was worse, calling Toby's ex-wife or
calling his mother. His mother went into hysterics, screaming in
several languages, none of which he understood. His ex-wife took
the news very quietly, thanked him and said she would be there to
help with the arrangements.

Toby dead. He couldn't wrap his mind around that one. Toby was
the first of Jed Bartlet's footsoldiers, the one who brought CJ
in, the one who had crafted and directed their message from the
very beginning, back in New Hampshire.

That Toby had taken his own life was completely incomprehensible,
so he refused to even try to comprehend it.

"Leo." Margaret, quiet and subdued, came in. "Everyone's here.
The police have just arrived with a report."

-----------------------

Leo almost smiled as the two police officers arrived. They had
needed a police escort to get through the crowds of reporters
crowding around the gates.

The vague impulse to smile vanished as he watched the faces of
the staff filing in. Sam, pale and silent, with red rimmed eyes.
Josh, holding himself in with visible effort. CJ, sick and
bewildered. The President, aged a dozen years. Andrea Wyatt...
He couldn't look at her.

The police officers didn't look a whole lot better. One of them,
a young man of maybe twenty five, was obviously terrified at the
identity of the faces in the room. The other, an older woman,
looked grim and her eyes were haunted.

"Don't I know you?" Josh asked her suddenly, coming out of the
manic haze he had been in.

"Yeah."

"You were the one at the protest."

"Yeah. I got the call." Officer Rhonda Sachs nodded sadly.
"Small world, ain't it?"

"Officers, if you could give us the facts?" Leo said, not quite
sure how to get the ball rolling. Sachs drew herself up and went
into professional mode, consulting a small notebook.

"We got a 911 call at twenty three twenty seven, reporting a dead
body at the Vietnam Memorial. Officer Hotchkins and I went to
the scene and found a white male, mid forties, with a single
gunshot wound to the right temple. The weapon, a fully loaded
9mm automatic, was on the ground nearby with one round fired.
There were no signs of a struggle." Here, her steady voice
started to falter. "I recognised him, despite the wound, but I
checked his identification just to be sure. His driver's license
and his credit cards confirmed that it was Toby Ziegler."

"Could he have been mugged and something went wrong?" Josh
asked.

"If he was, the thief left nearly two hundred dollars, three
Platinum credit cards and his car and house keys behind," Sachs
said, with painful flippancy. "I'm sorry, but all indications
point to suicide. Including this."

She pulled out two envelopes from a bag.

"Mr Ziegler's car was parked nearby. It was untouched," Sachs
continued. "We also went to his residence to see if there was
any evidence of a crime. We found two notes, one addressed to
Andrea Wyatt and one to CJ Cregg."

Andrea cried out softly as Sachs passed her a thick envelope.
CJ's was thinner and she took it with stoic silence.

"I'm sorry," Sachs said softly. "There isn't anything more we
can do."

"Officer, may I ask a question?" Andrea said, her voice steadier
than any of them thought possible.

"Yes?"

"Was he tested for drugs in his system?"

The room went silent. What was Andrea suggesting? Sachs checked
her notes for a long moment.

"Yes. That's standard procedure," she said finally. "There was
a small amount of alcohol in his system, not enough to suggest
impairment. There was a larger amount of diazepam."

"Oh, Christ," Leo muttered. Valium. Booze and Valium, his own
darkest nightmare. How in hell had he not seen that? He had
successfully hidden his own addiction to the pills, but he should
have known. He should have seen.

"Anything else?" Andrea asked, leaning forward.

"No." Sachs shook her head, rereading the report.

"Oh, God." Andrea put her head in her hands and started to cry.
It was painful to witness.

-------------------

Sam stood in Toby's office, with a vague notion of cleaning out
Toby's personal effects, since he needed to do something. Ginger
went with him, to keep her eye on him. She knew Sam was
devastated. Her own tears and grief could wait.

"What the hell was Andrea implying, anyway?" Sam asked her as he
shuffled papers from one side of the desk to the other. "That
Toby was on drugs or something?"

"Maybe she was looking for a reason why this happened," Ginger
said softly.

"Toby was not some pill popper." Sam slammed his hand down on
the desk.

"No, he wasn't," Ginger replied firmly. "He had a prescription
for it, though."

"He did?"

"Yeah." Ginger nodded. "He got it refilled a couple of days
ago. I picked it up for him at the pharmacy."

"You knew he was taking something?"

"Sam, if anybody around here needed to take a Valium, he did,"
Ginger pointed out. "He had a prescription for them, Sam, and he
had a full bottle a few days ago. If he was some kind of addict,
he would have had a lot more than that in his system."

"I guess." Sam opened a drawer at random. Inside was one of
Toby's rubber balls. He bit his lip. How often had he been
annoyed by the bouncing of that ball against the walls of the
office? Under the ball was a small pill case. Sam glanced at
Ginger and, since she wasn't looking, slipped the case into his
pocket.

-------------------

Josh sat in his office, thinking. The Valium was a blind. Hell,
he had a prescription for the stuff himself. Stanley had given
him some to help calm him down, although he rarely used it. If
there was ever a time when he should take it, it was now. But he
needed to think.

Everybody seemed to accept the police report. Suicide. The
notes were the clincher; Toby had written notes to the two women
he cared about and that was that.

Josh didn't believe it for a minute. He wished he could read the
notes, to find out what Toby had written. CJ and Andrea both
knew Toby's handwriting; they could not have been faked. Forging
a signature was one thing, faking a letter in someone else's
writing was quite another. It was possible that someone could
forge his indifferent scrawl, but not Toby's almost Spenserian
script. God, he had beautiful handwriting, difficult in this age
of computers to find. Not very likely to be forged.

So Toby had written the notes. Had he been coerced? That was
more likely. Okay, so Toby wasn't the most weak willed man on
the planet, but a gun to the head is pretty good incentive. And
Toby wasn't stupid; he would have gone along with it, looking for
a better opportunity to resolve the problem.

Somebody wants Toby dead. They want to make it look like
suicide. Josh spun that scenario. Okay, we have a break in or a
meeting at home with someone he knew. The guys force him to
write the notes, drive him to the Memorial in his own car, shoot
him and leave, maybe calling the cops themselves.

There were a few holes in the story, Josh admitted. Toby would
not have gone with them willingly and the report said that his
house showed no signs of a struggle.

Maybe that was where the drugs came in. He had been drugged into
going.

No, there wasn't enough of the tranquilizer in his system to
knock him out. The report was clear on that. The amounts of
alcohol and tranquilizers in Toby's bloodstream was so small as
to make no appreciable difference in his ability to function
coherently. Josh had to accept that. Toby had an amazing
tolerance for alcohol. He could drink everyone under the table
without seeming to get drunk himself. He would get depressed,
sure, but not out of control.

Okay, that theory wasn't plausible. Josh threw away the notes he
had doodled on a piece of paper and pulled a fresh sheet in front
of him.

-------------------

Sam looked at the pills in his hand. White and yellow capsules,
with "N 50" written on them. That meant nothing to him. He
tipped the rest of the contents of the container in his hand.
Eighteen of the yellow and white capsules, five Aspirin sized
white ones, many of them cut in half, and a half dozen tiny pink
ones. He couldn't even hazard a guess as to what they were. For
all he knew, they were for hypertension or something. Toby was
high risk for heart trouble, what with his appalling diet, the
stress of his job and his age.

He put the pills back into the container and put the container
back in his pocket. He wasn't sure what to do with them.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know what they were. He didn't want
to know that Toby had a drug problem.

Toby had some kind of problem, though. He had killed himself.
He had taken a gun and shot himself in the head.

-------------------

A gun. Josh frowned, doodling on the paper. Where the hell had
Toby gotten a 9mm automatic weapon? Toby didn't own a gun. Toby
didn't like guns, didn't approve of guns and tried to ban guns.
Yet he - or someone - had put the gun into his right hand, lifted
it to his right temple and pulled the trigger.

It wasn't hard to buy a gun, Josh allowed. It was actually
pretty damned easy. Toby had the money and would have passed a
background check with flying colours. Maybe someone would have
records of the purchase?

Blackmail. Was Toby being blackmailed? Toby had a surprising
number of friends, considering his rather prickly personality,
and many enemies. He knew a lot of people and a lot of people
knew him. Did Toby know something that somebody didn't want
anyone else to know?

Toby had been preoccupied for most of the last two weeks, working
on something he hadn't wanted to share with anyone. Friday
night... The meeting with the President. Toby had come out of
the meeting looking like hell. And he had been in a very bad
mood since.

Josh shot to his feet. He had to talk to Leo. If it was serious
enough to lead to this... No. If it was that serious, Leo would
stonewall. Maybe if he got his hands on Toby's notes.

-------------------

Was Toby ill? Sam recalled seeing a copy of the Merck Manual for
clinical diagnosis on the bookshelf. Had Toby always had that or
was it a new addition to the eclectic selection of reference
books on the shelf?

Cancer was the most obvious choice, that or heart disease. Toby
smoked, drank, ate poorly and was slightly overweight. He had
been in his mid-forties, a prime age for trouble of that kind.

Most diseases are treatable, Sam thought. Surely Toby would have
gone for treatment, rather than... Come to think of it, Toby had
been distracted for the last couple of weeks. Had he been in
pain? Had the pain become too much to bear? Maybe the pills
were painkillers and they weren't working anymore.

-------------------

CJ curled up on her bed and wiped her eyes for the hundredth
time, throwing the tissue on a growing pile. Toby was dead. It
was just too painful to think about. She rolled over, took a sip
of the water on the nightstand and picked up the letter for the
hundredth time.

"Dear CJ - " he had written. "It breaks my heart to imagine you
reading this. Despite the number of times I've yelled at you,
teased you and fought with you, I do love you. I hope you know
that. You've been my friend for a long time, through good times
and bad. Sometimes I wonder why you've stayed my friend, but
most of the time I've simply been grateful that you are there. I
know I've hurt you and I know I've disappointed you.

"Well, I am going to disappoint you one last time. I know you
will have questions, but I cannot answer them satisfactorily. I
don't have the answers for myself. I'm so tired of it all, CJ. I
don't think you can even comprehend just how tired I am. I don't
know how to deal with this anymore. I just want it to end.

"I love you, old friend - Toby."

--------------

Wednesday...

"Did he know?" John Hoynes asked bluntly. Leo slowly nodded.

"Last Friday," Leo confirmed. "We had to tell him. He figured
out what you were doing."

"I know. I intended him to," Hoynes replied. "How's the
President taking it?"

"He's blaming himself." Leo sighed. "You might get your wish,
John."

"Not like this, Leo. Not like this." Hoynes shook his head.
"Do me a favour."

"What?"

"Tell Jed Bartlet to get his head out of his ass," Hoynes said
sharply. "Toby Ziegler didn't do this because of what he was
told on Friday night. I didn't know him all that well, but I
know that. You should, too."

"Yeah." Leo was unconvinced.

"Look at what you do know about Ziegler. The answer's there if
you look hard enough."

"What are you getting at, John?" Leo nailed him with a glare.

"Toby Ziegler figured out your secrets in six days. How long
will it take you to figure out his?"

-------------------

The press briefing was hell. CJ tried to keep her voice steady
as she confirmed Toby's death last night. She succeeded until
Katie tried to ask a question.

"CJ? Could you clarify...?" That was as far as Katie got before
CJ snapped.

"He's dead. What more clarification do you need?" She shouted.
"He's dead with a bullet hole through his head." Her voice broke
at the last few words and she looked down, trying to hide the
tears.

The press room was eerily and uncharacteristically silent. When
CJ steeled herself to look up, she saw that everyone was looking
at her with sympathy, respectful of her grief.

"CJ, when is the funeral?" Danny asked quietly.

"On Thursday afternoon. The President will attend, as will the
First Lady. It will be a private ceremony, so I can't give any
details as to where it will be held." CJ had some of her
composure back. "That's all. The Washington Police will issue a
report to you by ten this morning."

-------------------

The west wing was as quiet as a tomb. The usual frantic pace was
slowed, although everyone was working hard. The business of
government could not stop for the death of one man. Sam tried to
concentrate on the report on his desk, but it wasn't easy. Toby
had been working on it yesterday, and his neat annotations were a
constant reminder of the fact that he wasn't around anymore.

Sam was not ashamed to admit he had cried most of the night.
When he first met Toby, he had been bewildered. He wasn't sure
what to make of him. Hard drinking, cynical and abrupt, Toby had
not impressed him much, not until the evening they worked on an
important speech. Toby seemed to know every fact off the top of
his head, referring to his notes only to make a quote.

And the speech itself was pure genius. Sam had to fix it; it was
not phrased the way Bartlet would speak, but it was brilliant.
That speech set the tone for the rest of their working
relationship. Toby would write the first draft, Sam would rework
it for Bartlet, then Toby and Sam would go over the final draft
together. Sam often wondered when Toby would write the
definitive work on American politics. Well, he wasn't going to
write it now and the world was poorer for it.

He got up and looked out his office door for a moment. The
bullpen was quiet and he noticed that everyone avoided the office
next to his. Toby's office door was open, but empty, untouched.

Ginger's desk was empty, too. She had taken the day off. Sam
wished he could have taken the day off, too, but he had work to
do. He went back to his desk, but didn't go back to the report.
Instead, he wrote what he was aching to write - what he needed to
write. He would write Toby's obituary, utilizing every bit of
skill that Toby had tried to teach him in the last three years.

------------------

Ginger put the phone down and sighed, crossing the item off her
long list.

"That's the papers cancelled," she said to Andrea, who was
leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking coffee.

"Ugh," Andrea said, dumping the coffee out in the sink. "That
has to be the worst coffee I've had in a while."

"Toby hated coffee," Ginger said wryly. "I think that coffee is
about a year old."

"He used to keep some fresh coffee on hand for guests." Andrea
shook her head. "I guess he hasn't had time for guests since
getting to the White House. What's next?"

"His will." Ginger looked at her list. "And if there are any
insurance policies and the like around, we need to find them."

"That would be in the safety deposit box," Andrea replied. "You
got his keys there?"

"Yeah." Ginger picked them up. "There isn't a safety deposit
box key here."

"Oh, great." Andrea rolled her eyes. "Okay, Ziegler, where did
you put the key?"

"I'll take the dining room if you take the living room," Ginger
offered.

The two women looked, to no avail. Ginger had offered to help
Andrea with closing up Toby's house and finding all the papers.
Toby's sisters had offered to come up, but Andrea refused. The
funeral was going to be held in Brooklyn tomorrow and they had
enough to do in making those arrangements.

Andrea looked at all the logical places where Toby might have
kept the key. She paused at the fireplace, remembering the times
they would sit together in front of the fire and talk. Her eyes
drifted to the mantlepiece and she took down the only photograph
on it.

It was their wedding day photo. They both looked so happy, so
young. Toby was slimmer then, but other than that, he hadn't
changed that much from their wedding day.

"Andrea?" Ginger said softly, coming up behind her.

"We were so happy then," Andrea said softly. "Of course, ten
minutes after the picture was taken, we were arguing about
something. His sisters were mortified, but I didn't mind. I
loved arguing with him."

Ginger said nothing, just put her arm around the older woman.

"Thanks for helping me with this, Ginger," Andrea said,
carefully putting photograph back, her fingers lingering on the
image of the happy couple.

"No problem. I wanted to help," Ginger said softly. "I used to
come here and get clothes and stuff for formal events, so I know
pretty much where everything is. It always used to surprise me
at how neat it is."

"Toby was pretty good about housework. Which is a good thing,
since I always hated it. It helped him to do the cleaning."

"Yeah. His office is like that, too," Ginger said, with a
slight smile. "Everybody thinks I was the one who kept it so
clean, but he didn't like me touching his stuff."

"Ginger, you knew, didn't you?" Andrea asked suddenly. "He told
you?"

"Not in so many words, no. But I knew," Ginger replied softly.
"I helped him as much as I could. I wish I could have done
more..."

"You and me both." Andrea sighed. "I did love him, you know."

"I know. I did, too."

----------------------

"Mr. President? Sir?" Charlie tried to get Bartlet's attention.
"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Charlie..." Bartlet pulled himself out of his abstraction
and tried to smile. "No, Charlie, I'm not."

"Is there anything I can do?" Charlie was sympathetic.

"No." Bartlet sighed heavily. "I need to find a new
Communications Director and all I want is to have the old one
back. It's funny, Charlie. I didn't want Toby in the first
place, but now that he's gone, I can't imagine anyone else in the
post."

"But I thought that Sam...?" Charlie frowned in confusion.

"Sam turned it down," Bartlet said tiredly. "I don't know.
Maybe I asked too soon. I need somebody now. Especially now.
Toby's death... We have to handle it better."

"Yes, sir," Charlie agreed.

"The timing's bad, Charlie. Real bad," Bartlet continued. "If
he reacted like this..."

"Sir, if you're talking about what I think you're talking about,
I think you're wrong."

"Am I?"

"Yes, sir. It wasn't your fault. Whatever was going on in
Toby's head, it wasn't that."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He waited four days. Now, I read up on suicide and it usually
doesn't take that long for a person to react to something,"
Charlie said earnestly. "Yeah, suicides plan how they're going
to do it. But Toby was a real smart man. His plan would not
have taken four days to work out. No, sir. It was something
else that caused this."

"I'd like to think that, Charlie."

"I don't know why he did this, sir, but he would not have come
into work yesterday if he had been that upset about what you told
him."

-----------------------

"I found it," Ginger said, holding up the key. They were in
Toby's bedroom, with Andrea looking through the closet while
Ginger looked through the drawers.

"Good. Let's hope the bank will let me access it." Andrea blew
a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"They will. I talked to the manager this morning," Ginger told
her. "He has to be there when you open it, but he said it was
okay for you to take the papers as long as you sign for them."

"Thank you," Andrea said gratefully, sitting down on the edge of
the immaculately made bed. She absently smoothed her hand across
the dark blue comforter. Ginger tucked the key into her pocket
and sat down next to her.

"This must be so hard for you," Ginger said slowly. "I mean,
you're divorced. You shouldn't have to do this."

"I miss Toby," Andrea said slowly. "I really do. I let him
down in a lot of ways. This is the least I can do for him.
Besides, the house is mine anyway."

"It is?"

"Un-hunh. Toby and I bought it when we moved to Washington.
When I left, he took over the mortgage payment, but the house is
in my name." Andrea made idle circles with her forefinger on the
bed. "May I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You didn't have to come help me with this. Why did you?"
Andrea asked slowly. "Did Toby ever get, well, personal with
you?"

"Me? No." Ginger gave a little laugh. "Although there was one
time...."

"Yes?"

"We had a tight deadline and Toby suggested that we work here
instead of at the office. I wasn't really sure about it, but I
agreed," Ginger said slowly. "We worked on the report and
finished it, then ordered in some food. I was starving and so
was he. We decided to watch a movie while we ate and ended up
cuddling on the couch."

"Toby's nice to cuddle with," Andrea observed, with a smile.
"What happened?"

"He kissed me. Or maybe I kissed him, I don't remember. We
looked at each other for a minute, wondering if we really wanted
to do this."

"And?"

"And we both shook our heads at the same time," Ginger finished.
"We watched the rest of the movie, cleaned up the kitchen and I
went home. And that was the only time we ever considered being
anything more than friends."

-------
CJ threw herself into her work for the rest of the day. Toby's
funeral was tomorrow and there was no way in hell she was going
to miss that. In fact, so many people wanted to go that Leo had
arranged for a flight for everybody who wanted to go. The White
House would be closed at eleven, unless something pressing came
up.

Simon took over the afternoon briefing, since she wasn't sure she
could set foot into the press room after this morning. The press
corp were being quiet and well behaved. CJ wanted to think that
they were being respectful of Toby's memory, but she knew better.

They were as confused by this as she was. Why had Toby done
this? That was the story they were after and they didn't need to
badger her to get it. They needed to investigate. Even now,
less than twenty four hours later, all sorts of bizarre
conspiracy theories were being circulated. CJ wanted to respond
to them, but Leo said no.

Leo was right; let them speculate. Toby's friendship with an
Indonesian dissident was hauled out and examined. The man was in
prison and hadn't seen Toby in nearly two years, but that didn't
stop the speculation that he had been involved in some kind of
international left wing protest conspiracy. The CIA was
implicated, but their spokesperson just shrugged it off. CJ knew
him; he said that speculation would have been laughable if it
wasn't so sad.

Then there was the wild rumours involving Ann Stark and some kind
of star crossed lovers scenario. That one did make CJ laugh
briefly. Ann, for all her meanness, was genuinely sorry to hear
of Toby's death and called CJ to tell her that. CJ could almost
like Ann for the way she had expressed her sympathy. Almost.

The drug scenario was more worrisome. CJ didn't believe that
Toby had a problem of that kind, but the mere hint haunted Leo's
eyes. The Surgeon General had pooh-poohed the idea of addiction;
there simply wasn't any evidence of heavy drug use, based on the
autopsy report.

CJ didn't know what to believe. She knew there had been
something he was worried about. Big potatoes, he had said. She
put a hand to her mouth. He had said that on Monday. And on
Tuesday night, he had killed himself. Was that what he was
referring to? Dear God, had he been planning this since Monday?
Or before?

---------------------

The President shook hands with his Secretary of State and watched
him leave. The Mexican economic collapse was not a good sign for
the US economy. And Canada's economic slowdown was not a good
sign, either. The market adjustment for overvalued internet
companies was causing a downturn in consumer confidence. He
jotted down a few ideas to raise confidence in the economy.
There was nothing fundamentally wrong with the economy, just
people scared that the internet boom was over. A lot of people
made a lot of money on it and now that people were losing money,
the markets were a little nervous. The internet stocks were
grossly overvalued anyway; an adjustment was inevitable.

Some people had made money on it, though. Toby had made over a
hundred grand on the wave of... Bartlet sighed, throwing down
the pen. He had almost forgotten, in the busyness of the day.
Toby's windfall was not that much of a windfall after all. To
allay the fears of impropriety, he had worked for a year without
salary, using his small investment to live on. He hadn't been
happy about it, but he had. And it had made no difference
whatsoever in how hard he worked.

The funeral was tomorrow. He had to be there. It was a
logistical nightmare, but he had to. He had to get some kind of
closure.

Closure was going to be difficult, for all of them. Not knowing
why he did this left them all open to their own fears. Leo was
so afraid that he had missed the signs of addiction. John Hoynes
was being a smug little prig, hinting at some kind of inside
information that would make this all make sense.

Damn John anyway, for his little 'you may be a Nobel laureate,
but I'm smarter than you where it counts' games. He played that
with Toby, daring him to figure it out. Toby had risen to the
challenge and look what happened.

Bartlet felt a rising rage at his Vice President. John had a
hand in this. If he hadn't dared Toby to figure it out. If he
hadn't played his little game. If only he hadn't told John in
the first place. If only he had told his staff. If only.

-----------------

Josh waited until the coast was clear. He worked insane hours
all the time, so nobody would think it weird that he stayed late.
After all, it was a short day tomorrow, what with the funeral.

He sent Donna home early. She had been useless most of the day
anyway, wandering forlornly around, looking for someone to talk
to. That was how she dealt with things; she talked. And no one
wanted to listen to her talk about Toby except Margaret.

She and Margaret left together, weeping and talking it all out.
It was good for them, he supposed, but it hurt like hell to hear
them.

He looked around, then darted down the hall to Toby's office. As
far as he knew, everything was still there, even his laptop.
Ginger had brought it in that morning when she opened the office,
since Sam needed some of the notes on it.

The door was locked, as it usually was at night, but Josh had the
key. Ages ago, Donna had made copies of all the keys and put
them away in the safe. Josh was forever leaving his keys on his
desk.

He unlocked the door and slipped in, turning on the desk light.
Toby had the second best office in the west wing, with only Leo
having a better one. It was not all that big, but it felt
spacious. Maybe that was because it was almost always
immaculate, without papers overflowing every surface.

How in hell did Toby keep the paper explosion to a minimum?

'Because I put things away when I'm done.' Josh could hear
Toby's voice in his head as clearly as if he was standing in the
room. Josh shivered, feeling Toby's presence haunting him.

Okay, enough with the imagination, Josh scolded himself, sitting
down behind the desk.

He started with the drawers. Spare keys, office supplies, a
stack of notebooks, pens, pencils, change and the like took up
most of the drawers. He flipped through the notebooks. They
were all empty.

One of the drawers held some interesting things. A rubber ball.
A lighter. Three cigars. A New York subway map. A novel, with
a bookmark at the two thirds mark. A substantial stash of
Belgian chocolates, with one box partly eaten. Josh grinned to
himself. Toby was a secret chocoholic. Nobody had that much
chocolate in his desk if he wasn't. Taking one of the
chocolates, he popped it in his mouth and ate it while continuing
looking.

"What are you doing?"

Josh looked up, guilt and chocolate all over his face. Donna and
Margaret were there, looking at him.

"I... Um..." Josh stuttered for a moment, then got up and went
past them to close the door. "I'm looking for something."

"In Toby's office?" Donna inquired, raising a brow.

"Yeah." Josh swallowed the last of the chocolate and faced her.
"I want to know why. None of this makes any sense to me. I want
to see Toby's notes. Maybe they'll shed some light on this."

"You think there was some kind of conspiracy?" Margaret asked in
a hushed tone. Josh felt a tingle of apprehension down his
spine, but ignored it.

"Yes," he said simply. Donna looked at Margaret, then both of
them nodded.

"I'll help," Donna said briskly, going to the bookshelf by the
door.

"So will I." Margaret nodded. "Leo's tearing himself up inside
about the pills. I sure wish we could find something to reassure
him on that point."

--------------------

Andrea sat in her darkened living room, with the papers on her
lap. She had not been surprised at what she found in the safety
deposit box. Toby's will, made over a year and a half ago, was
there, as she expected, and his insurance policies.

There were four different insurance policies in there, all paid
up and all well past the suicide clause. His mother was the
beneficiary on one of them, his sisters on another. She was
named on a third one and Ginger and Bonnie on the last, most
recent one.

Ginger had cried out in shock on that, while the bank manager
looked on in mild curiosity. Andrea knew what Toby had done; he
had taken care of all the women in his life. Ginger and Bonnie
had been good to him and they needed the money more than any of
his family did. This was his way of thanking them. It wasn't a
lot of money, but it was enough to help them along.

It was very like Toby, to do a kindness for someone in such a way
that he'd not have to acknowledge that he had done it.

Their marriage certificate was there, too, along with the divorce
decree. All the papers were the legal aspects of his life; there
was nothing personal or sentimental in them.

She smoothed the letter he had written her and placed it on top
of the papers. It was as personal as Toby could possibly get.

The letter was beautifully written and heartfelt. If she ever
doubted his love for her, the letter would have proved her wrong.
He wrote about his fears, his love for her, his growing feelings
for CJ, his confusion and his pain. He wrote about his friends
and his regret that it had come to this.

"Why didn't you show me this before you picked up the gun, Toby?"
she whispered, tears falling. "I would have been there for you.
We all would."

She wiped away the tears and folded the letter up, putting it
away. No one else could ever see the letter. CJ didn't need to
know about his feelings for her. And no one needed to know how
he had suffered. He was at peace now.

---------------------

Sam read over the obituary. It had taken all day to write it.
It was, he knew, the best writing he had ever done.

He could not write very much about Toby's personal life. He
didn't know much about that. He did know a great deal about the
effect he had on the people around him, and about the passion and
intelligence he brought to his work.

Sam wondered how anyone so cantankerous could possibly have
touched so many people, himself included. He recalled the number
of times he wanted to strangle Toby. The rubber balls. The
bell. The snide comments about punctuation. The teasing about
Laurie. The curt dismissal of his conversation.

Yet, there was something about Toby that forced him to do his
best, that made him want to excel.

"Good work," Toby had said to him once, tossing one of those
damned balls. Sam had caught it, surprised at the compliment.
He had been astonished, but he had caught the ball.

The metaphor weaved its way around his mind. Toby had expected
him not to drop the ball. And he would expect it now. Now, when
the White House needed someone to craft the administration's
message. Now, when they had to find a way to deal with this.

Toby trusted him not to drop the ball. Sam paused, then picked
up the phone. He would tell Leo that he would try to fill Toby's
place, at least until they could find someone more suited to it.
Toby had taught him how to do it. Toby knew he would not drop
the ball.

Sam put the phone down again. Had Toby planned this that far
back? How like Toby to quietly put everything in place for when
it was needed. Toby was a master at planning, staying ten steps
ahead of the game. That was why he could always beat the
President at chess.

How long had he planned this? How long had he been in such pain
that he felt that suicide was the only way out? And why hadn't
he told anyone? Surely he would have said something?

No. No, he wouldn't. Toby kept his innermost self tightly
buttoned up inside and no one was allowed in that far. Not even
CJ, who was one of his dearest friends.

"Why didn't you say something, Toby? Did you think we'd think
less of you for it?" he whispered. "I would have been there for
you. We all would."

---------
"I found something," Margaret said suddenly. She had been going
through the files on the laptop. Josh was dubious about letting
her touch the computer, but Margaret insisted and Donna backed
her up.

"What?" Both Josh and Donna crowded around.

"See this?" Margaret pointed to something on the screen.
"That's a hidden directory. Now, we go here and it shows the
files."

"Toby's personal notes." Josh looked at the display. "Can you
open them?"

"Give me a few minutes to break through the encryption,"
Margaret said confidently. "Toby's got a really good encryption
program on this."

"You're hacking into his computer files?" Josh asked, raising
his brows.

"Well, unless you have his passwords, there's no other way to get
into the files," Margaret replied, typing fast. "It isn't like
he can yell at me for it."

Margaret stopped, appalled at what she said.

"Go ahead, Margaret," Donna said softly, putting her hand on the
woman's shoulder. "We need to know."

"I don't know... Toby's privacy..." Margaret faltered.

"We can keep secrets, Margaret," Josh said gently. "Go ahead.
We need to know. Leo needs to know."

"Okay."

-----------------

CJ closed the suitcase with a thump. Suit, shoes, hose, blouse,
all in black. It had taken her a while to find the severe black
suit; she hadn't worn black for so long. It looked bad on her on
television. She wondered if she should bring a hat. She had
one, bought for her grandfather's funeral. She smiled sadly.

Toby had gone with her to the funeral. He had made fun of that
hat all the way to the church. All through the Mass, he had
glanced at her and she had tried hard not to laugh, hearing the
comments about the hat echoing through her head.

She tiptoed and pulled down the hatbox and took out the hat.
Putting it on her head, she looked into the mirror. He was
right, it did look silly on her. Especially combined with a
sleeveless undershirt and boxers, her normal nightwear. God, how
Toby would laugh to see her like this.

Or would he? She took off the hat and placed it carefully in
the box. Toby's eyes were as eloquent as his writing, and his
eyes said things that she wasn't sure she was ready to hear.

His eyes told her that she was beautiful. His eyes told her that
he was proud of her, no matter what his voice said. His eyes
told her he loved her.

CJ's eyes filled with tears. She knew he cared about her, that
he loved her as a friend. But did his eyes say more than his
words did? Did he love her?

They had been friends for a long, long time. She was the one who
could make him laugh when he was wallowing in a deep funk. She
was the one who could engage him in an argument to get him
thinking instead of brooding.

If he did love her, why did he not tell her? Was he afraid she'd
turn away? She wouldn't have turned away.

She paused, knowing it was true. She threw herself on the bed,
in tears. God, she did love him. It had snuck up on her so
silently that she hadn't noticed. It wasn't the grand passion
she had thought love would be. It was simply a sense of
rightness, of security. And now it was gone. He was gone.

"Why didn't you tell me, Toby?" she murmured. "I would have been
there for you."

----------------

"Fucking son of a whore." The words out of Margaret's mouth
startled both Josh and Donna.

"Who?" Donna asked, rushing to her side.

"Look." Margaret pointed to the screen. Toby's files were
there, neat and organised.

"Hoynes?" Josh looked blankly at the screen. "What the hell
does Hoynes have to do with this?" He pushed Margaret out of the
way and read rapidly.

"Josh?" Donna ventured as Josh leaned back. She had not seen
such a look on his face since Rosslyn.

"Fuck," Josh said finally, putting his elbows on the desk and
his face in his hands.

"What?"

"Ladies, we are looking at what might be the biggest scandal in
American political history," Josh said tiredly. "John Hoynes is
running for the Democratic nomination."

Margaret looked at Donna. Donna looked at Margaret, then at
Josh.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," she said carefully.

"Hoynes doesn't have a prayer against Bartlet. So he has to make
sure that Bartlet doesn't run," Josh replied. "He can't hit the
President directly."

"Josh, I'm still not following."

"Toby talked to Hoynes week before last, about the oil slapdown."
Josh said flatly. "That's when he started digging. He worked
out that Hoynes is running. And that means Hoynes thinks Bartlet
won't."

"Well, the President hasn't said anything about re-election,"
Donna pointed out practically. "Maybe it's a just in case
thing."

"Friday, Toby is in with the President for a long time. Security
at airports is pushed up and the President's security detail is
heightened," Josh continued. "Toby must have found something
out about Hoynes, something that isn't here. He told the
President and four days later, Toby's dead." Josh shot to his
feet and started out the door.

"Where are you going?" Donna cried out.

"To see Leo," Josh shouted back. Donna took off after him.

"No, Josh," she yelled at him. "You can't go off like this."

"Just watch me." Josh was at his desk, punching in numbers.
Donna put her hand down on the hang up button and faced him.

"Josh, before you accuse the Vice President of the United States
of murder, you better be damned sure of your facts."

"Donna..."

"No, I mean it. Toby killed himself and you can't face that. So
you're looking for some other reason. Don't let your need to
find another explanation blind you to reality."

"Thank you so much, Dr. Donnatella Moss," Josh said
sarcastically. "I need to talk to Leo."

"Yes, you do." Donna removed her hand. "But not to accuse
anyone of anything. Call him and Sam. You can discuss this
together and you'll see how incredibly stupid your scenario is."

---------------

Leo listened to Josh rant with as impassive a face as he could
manage. It was nonsense, of course. Now would be the perfect
opportunity to tell Sam and Josh what the President told Toby.

No. Neither he nor the President could deal with that
conversation right now. And Babish had warned them to keep tight
with that for the moment. The timing was incredibly bad right
now.

"Josh, that's ridiculous," Sam said quietly. "I know it's hard
to accept, but I think Toby really did commit suicide."

"So do I," Leo said, equally quietly. "Josh, I've been there,
with the booze and the pills..."

"It wasn't that." Margaret spoke up. Leo looked at her as if he
had forgotten she was in the room. "I didn't see any signs of
that. None."

"How would you know what to look for?" Leo snapped at her. She
didn't flinch.

"I watched you go through it," she said quietly. "Toby drank too
much sometimes, but he was never an alcoholic. He didn't need to
drink. He didn't pop pills to calm down, either. I may not be
an expert, but I know the signs, Leo."

Leo nodded tiredly. Margaret was right; she did know the signs.
But she didn't know Toby all that well.

"I think he may have been in pain," Sam said, after a moment or
two. "You know how Toby is... was. He'd never say anything
about it. He may have been sick and we didn't know about it."

"The autopsy would have shown that, Sam," Josh objected. I
still think there was some kind of conspiracy involved."

"So what are these?" Sam pulled the pill case out of his pocket.
"I found these in his desk."

Leo and Josh looked at them, but none of them knew what they
were.

"Margaret, take these and find out what they are," Leo ordered,
handing her the case.

"You mean I should just go to a pharmacist and ask?" Margaret
asked blankly.

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay." She nodded briskly. "Anything else?"

"Is everything set for tomorrow?"

"Yes. The flight leaves at eleven twenty for JFK. We'll be
picked up there to go to the funeral."

-------------------

Thursday...

CJ remembered very little of the funeral. What was supposed to
be a private affair turned into a three ring circus. Hundreds of
people were there, far more than the small synagogue could hold.
The press, naturally, had found the location, and showed up as
well, swelling the numbers to immense proportions. The New York
City Police had to send out crowd control squads and the
confusion was terrible.

Somehow, the security people managed to keep the service fairly
private and the rabbi locked the doors as soon as the small space
was full. The Secret Service agents were a big help with that.

CJ stared at the closed coffin, tears in her eyes. She wore the
hat, despite the misgivings as to its appropriateness. She hoped
that Toby, wherever he was, would laugh.

She watched as Andrea joined Toby's mother, sisters, brother and
father in the front seats. Funny, she always thought that Andrea
and his family did not get along. Yet, they seemed to welcome
her warmly.

---------------

Leo felt uncomfortable with the service. He had never been to a
Jewish burial before and he wasn't sure what to do or not to do.
He glanced at the President and the First Lady. They seemed to
be perfectly at home here. Zoey and Charlie looked less
comfortable, but were paying attention to the service.

It startled him when Ginger, of all people, rose to say a few
words. She spoke briefly, but eloquently to the crowd; Sam's
words, Leo realised. Sam had written this, but passed off the
task to Ginger.

As she spoke, Leo looked at her with new appreciation. She spoke
well, without faltering. She did not cry, although sadness and
grief shone through.

His eyes narrowed. Ginger had been a pillar of strength through
this. She had helped Andrea with the arrangements, coordinated
with the family and even helped people to their seats. She had
not, Leo realised, been shocked.

Everyone else had been shocked, but not Ginger. And, he
recalled, not Andrea. He looked from one woman to the other,
then to the grieving family. They, too, lacked the utter
confusion and shock that the senior staff had displayed. They
were grief stricken, but they did not seem to be utterly
surprised.

Toby's secrets. What the hell was John talking about? What did
he know? And what did they know that made this a tragic, but not
entirely unexpected event? It was all very puzzling.

------------------

After the service, the police and Secret Service cleared the
gravesite for the mourners, letting only the family and the
President and his staff inside the security cordon.

CJ tried to stifle her tears, watching Toby's coffin being
lowered into the grave. She felt an arm go around her; it was
Andrea, giving her the support she needed. She slipped her arm
around Andrea. They had been good friends, once. As she did so,
she realised that Ginger had her arm around Andrea on the other
side and Mrs. Ziegler was beside Ginger.

The four women stayed together as the burial was completed. CJ
closed her eyes and prayed as she heard the dreadful sound of
earth being dropped on the coffin. When she opened them again,
the people were drifting away. It was over.

She looked at the women beside her. Andrea was pale and her
cheeks were wet with tears, but she was composed. CJ let go as
Andrea approached the grave and took a small stone out of her
pocket. She placed it on the new, hastily carved gravestone and
kissed her fingers, touching the letters gently.

"Shalom," she said softly. Peace.

-------------------

Ginger helped Toby's mother to the waiting car, but CJ stayed
where she was. Andrea stayed as well.

"CJ. It's time to go," Andrea said gently, after a long moment.

"How can you be so calm, Andy?" CJ whispered fiercely. "You
loved him once."

"I love him now," Andrea replied softly. "Come, CJ. We can't
stay here much longer or the press will be asking questions you
don't want to answer."

CJ allowed Andrea to lead her away her car, rather than to one of
the limos. She felt horrible for leaning so much on Andy. Andy
had her own grief to deal with, but it seemed like she had no one
else to lean on.

"It's okay, CJ," Andrea told her as they got into the car. "You
can cry if you need to."

With that gentle permission, CJ burst into tears. She thought
she had already cried all the tears, but there seemed to be an
inexhaustable supply.

"I loved him," she said quietly, as soon as she was able to
speak. "I realised that last night."

"He loved you, too," Andrea replied, smoothing CJ's hair off her
face.

"He said he did." CJ nodded. "In his letter. He said he loved
me like a friend. He didn't say why he did this. He just said
he was tired."

Andrea went still. CJ didn't know. Toby hadn't told her. No,
of course he wouldn't say anything. He treasured CJ's
friendship. He had allowed Ginger enough hints for her to figure
it out, but not CJ. She bit her lip, wondering if she dared say
anything.

"He loved you, too," she repeated softly, urgently.

"Yes, I know. I was his friend."

"You were more than a friend," Andrea blurted out, then covered
her mouth with her hand. She hadn't meant to say that. The
flash of utter devastation on CJ's face tore at her. "God, CJ.
I'm sorry. I never meant for you to know that. To know how he
felt about you."

"He told you he loved me?" CJ asked, in a very strange voice.
Andrea knew she could not go back now.

"In his letter to me." Andrea nodded. "He told me that he was
falling in love with you. I wasn't going to tell you that. I
didn't want to add to your pain."

"Did he tell you why?" CJ asked fiercely. "Did he say why he
did this?"

"No." Andrea shook her head. "He didn't have to."

"But you know."

"Yes."

"Why?" The anguish in the question was unbearable.

Andrea told her. CJ listened in growing disbelief, tears falling
down her cheeks again. These tears were not the storm of before;
they were tears of sorrow.

"May I tell the others? Leo and Sam and Josh?" CJ asked
quietly. "I think they need to know."

"Leo already knows." Andrea looked puzzled.

"No, he doesn't. I'm sure he doesn't."

"He must know." Andrea spread her hands helplessly. CJ shook
her head and they both fell silent.

"Andy... Is this why you left him?"

"I couldn't cope with it anymore," Andrea admitted. "I just
couldn't deal with it. I tried. I really did try, CJ."

"I know."

----------------------

All of the White House people stood around the Ziegler family
home afterwards in a clump. Donna made the rounds of sympathy,
looking back at Josh as if to ask if she was doing it right, but
Josh was in his own little world.

"Guys?" CJ approached them, her eyes red and swollen. "Could
you come with me for a minute? I think Andrea wants to talk to
you."

Andrea was standing in one of the upstairs rooms, her arms
wrapped around herself. She turned as the group came towards
her.

"Leo, the President needs to hear this, too," Andrea said, her
voice brittle and cold. Leo glanced at CJ, who nodded, and left.

"Andy, I am so sorry..." Sam began, but Andrea brushed him off.

"This is where Toby and I used to stay when visiting," she said,
distantly. "If you look by that lamp, you'll see the dent in the
wall from when Toby threw his shoe at his sister."

Josh and Donna exchanged glances. Andrea had been composed
through all of this. Now it seemed she was starting to fall
apart.

Leo returned with the President and the First Lady a few minutes
later. The room was hot and stuffy, crowded with far too many
people. Leo and Margaret, Josh and Donna, the President and his
wife, Ginger and Bonnie, Sam and CJ all faced Andrea, who sat
down on the bed, with a sigh. She looked at each face
individually, then looked away.

"I once promised Toby I'd never tell anyone about this," she
began softly. "I never wanted to break that promise. But he
can't exactly yell at me now, can he?"

"Andrea..." The President tried to step forward. She looked at
him steadily.

"You all want to know why Toby did this. You need to know."

"Yes." Leo nodded once.

"Depression," Andrea said bluntly, looking at the floor.

"Depression?" Josh wrinkled his brow. "That's it?"

"Toby suffered from unipolar depression," Andrea said slowly.
"Not situational depression, but a rapid cycle affective
disorder."

"What was he taking for it? MAO inhibitors?" Abbey asked.

"No. Zoloft for the depression. Diazapam and Mogadon to calm
down. Clonazapam to sleep. That's why I wanted to know what
drugs were in his system. He must have gone off the anti-
depressants."

"Andrea..." Abbey hesitated. "Are they sure? I mean, most
depressives don't have the energy..."

"Toby's depressions were usually agitated depressions. Rather
than sleeping for days on end, he wouldn't be able to stop,"
Andrea explained. "He could work through mild episodes, as long
as he didn't get frustrated. If you could get him to think, and
engage his interest, he could cope with it. And as long as he
took the Zoloft, the episodes were very mild. They worked well
for him."

"Is that what these are?" Margaret asked, taking the pill case
from her pocket. Andrea took it and shook the pills into her
hand.

"Yes." Andrea put them back into the case.

"So if he was fine with the medication, why did he...?" Sam
asked.

"The meds can only do so much. He was tired of fighting it."
She shrugged. "Without the meds, he... stopped."

"He was suicidal?"

"Most of the time. Toby tried to kill himself four times in the
course of our marriage," Andrea admitted sadly. "And twice
since then. Toby would not be able to sleep and not be able to
turn off the dark thoughts. Alcohol sometimes brought some
relief, but it stops the Zoloft from working while there's
alcohol in his system."

"He concealed a medical condition." Bartlet's voice went hard.

"No, he didn't." Andrea nailed Leo with a steely glare. "You
knew. He told you."

"No, he did not."

"When you hired him, he filled out the proper forms," Andrea
returned evenly. "He always admitted to it on paper. He didn't
talk about it because he didn't want to admit openly to a mental
illness. That stigma is still pretty damn strong. But he did
put it on the form."

"I... never read it," Leo said slowly. "I had him fill out the
forms and file them. I never even looked at them."

"Apparently, neither did anyone else," Andrea replied, rising.
"Now that you know, you can stop wallowing in guilt about it.
There was nothing anyone said or did to cause this. He had an
illness. It eventually killed him. That's all there is to it."

-------------

"How dare he, Abbey?" Bartlet kept his voice low so the limo
driver and the Secret Service agent couldn't hear him.

"Jed..."

"How dare he stand there in the Oval Office and preach at me for
not disclosing my illness when he had something far more serious
that what I have."

"Maybe that was projection." Abbey looked out the window, so she
didn't have to look at her husband's face.

"Tell me about it, Abbey. Tell me about this illness."

"I'm not a psychiatrist, Jed," she said softly. "I don't know
all that much about that form of depression."

"Tell me."

"It's a brain chemical imbalance," Abbey said slowly, trying to
recall what she did know. "It's an affective disorder that
causes severe mood swings. The onset and the episodes can be
triggered by outside events, but the underlying cause is an
underproduction of serotonin and other chemicals in the brain.
Unipolar depression acts like manic depression, but without the
highs. Zoloft keeps the serotonin in the brain long enough to do
its work in modulating mood swings. One of its side effects is
insomnia and restlessness. That's why its usually taken in
combination with diazepam and clonazepam."

"And what does Mogadon do?"

"It keeps the mood swing from flipping over into rage," Abbey
said quietly. "Brain chemicals are tricky, Jed. These drugs are
effective, but it's still a hit or miss proposition."

Bartlett fell silent for a moment and Abbey looked at him
anxiously. She was about to say something when he spoke again.

"What is an agitated depression?"

"I'm not sure," Abbey admitted. "I think it's a state where the
depression has taken hold, but instead of collapsing into near
catatonia, the person gets restless."

"How does it affect cognitive function?"

"Intellect isn't impaired, so far as I know," Abbey said
carefully. "However, it has an enormous effect on the emotions
and reactions."

"So for the last three years, I've had a Communications Director
who was suffering from a mental illness." Bartlet's voice was
silky smooth with rage.

"Serving a president with a degenerative neurological disorder,"
Abbey agreed. "What's your point?"

"My point is, he should have told me."

"Like you told him about yours?" Abbey said coldly.

"Don't try that with me, Abigail. You and I agreed not to
discuss the MS with anyone."

"So it's okay for you, but not okay for someone else?"

"Dammit, Abbey, this could not have happened at a worse time.
Last Friday night, Toby was in my office yelling at me for lying
to the American public. Now, he's dead and I find out that he
lied to me."

"You didn't cause this, Jed."

"Like hell I didn't."

--------------------

Sam dithered for a moment or two by the doorway. After Andrea's
statement, they had all gone. The President and the Frist Lady
had leave. CJ had gone to talk to Toby's family, Josh and Donna
to get something to eat and Margaret and Leo to make sure the
arrangements were set for the trip back. He was left without
anything in particular to do.

Through the open doorway, he saw Andrea half lying on the bed,
her arms wrapped around a pillow, crying bitterly. He approached
carefully.

"I'm sorry, Toby. I had to tell them. I'm sorry. I broke my
promise and I'm sorry," she murmured, over and over. Sam reached
out a gentle hand and touched her hair, smoothing it off her
face.

"Sam." Andrea tried to sit up, but Sam smiled at her and shook
his head.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked.

"No." Andrea's voice was muffled by the pillow.

"I'm sorry, Andrea."

"For what? It isn't your fault he had this illness."

"May I ask a question?"

"Sure."

"When was he diagnosed?"

"About seven, I think." Andrea sat up and this time Sam helped
her.

"Seven?"

"There wasn't anything they could do then. Lithium wasn't even
available then. Not that Lithium worked for him anyway."

"If he had this illness since he was seven..."

"He was born with it, Sam. They only diagnosed it at seven,"
Andrea corrected swiftly.

"There were no treatments?"

"No. He just learned to cope with it on his own."

"But he finished school. He even went to law school." Sam
sounded puzzled.

"Toby wasn't stupid, Sam. He really was a brilliant man,"
Andrea pointed out. "I learned early on that if you got him
intellectually excited about something, it helped chase away the
depressions. It didn't matter what it was, as long as it was
something he could concentrate on rather than his own demons. I
remember one time..."

"Yes?"

"I remember once when he was going through a really bad patch, he
read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. No matter how many
sleeping pills he took, or how much exercise he did, or how many
relaxation exercises he did, he couldn't sleep until he dropped
from sheer exhaustion. So he read. I think that's one of the
ways he learned to cope with it."

"So that's how he knew everything." Sam gave a half smile.

"Yeah." Andrea nodded. "It used to drive me crazy sometimes."

"Me, too." Sam sighed. "He'd come up with some obscure fact and
I'd stand there feeling inadequate. Did you ever feel that way?"

"Yeah." Andrea looked away. "I couldn't do anything about his
mood swings. I felt helpless."

"That must have been difficult for you."

"It was. I used to have this image of a sampler in my head..."

"A sampler?"

"One of those embroidered things with sayings on them," Andrea
explained. "Mine said 'he's not doing this to piss me off'. It
was a great comfort to me to know he wasn't deliberately setting
out to hurt me."

"Weird." Sam shook his head. "I think I had one of those, too.
Whenever he did something that annoyed me, I would think to
myself 'it's nothing personal', that he was doing this because of
the job and not because he was trying to shoot me down in
flames."

"Did it work?"

"Sometimes."

"Toby liked you, you know," Andrea said softly.

"Really?" Sam blinked. He was never entirely sure on that
point.

"Really." She smiled a little. "I know. Sometimes it was hard
to tell what Toby felt about anything." She went pensive again
and Sam looked at her with concern.

"What?"

"Things were going so well for him," she said softly. "He was
doing what he always wanted to do, with people he liked and
respected. He had medications that worked. He was happy. I
guess I started to hope that it would be enough."

------------------

The flight back was very quiet, each of them lost in their own
thoughts, feelings and memories. Andrea asked to fly back with
them, much to the surprise of everyone but CJ.

"Had enough?" CJ said sympathetically. She knew Toby's family;
they were wonderful people, but a bit much to take in large
doses.

"Yeah." Andy nodded. "When the extended family starts to show
up, it's time to go. After all, I'm an outsider. I'm not
Jewish, I didn't give him any kids, and I left him. His parents
and sibs understood, but the rest of the clan don't know what to
make of me."

"Andy... I need to talk to you about the press," CJ said
carefully. "The speculation has been..."

"Intense." Andy finished. "I've read every word of it, CJ. I
know what they've been saying."

"I want to leak it. About his illness," CJ said bluntly. Andy
bit her lip and looked away.

"Andy, they're talking corruption. They're talking about some
deep dark secret he had. They're saying a whole lot of horrible
things about why he did this. I want to tell the truth."

"No."

"Andy..."

"No, CJ. I promised." Andrea looked her in the eye and CJ
flinched at the pain she saw.

"Someone will find the truth, Andy," CJ said gently. "Illness is
nothing to be ashamed of."

"He was ashamed of it." Andrea's voice went low, fierce. "It
destroyed our marriage. It stopped him from telling you how he
felt. It got him fired from a hundred jobs. It took so much
away from him. No."

"I don't understand," CJ replied, with a frown. "Andy, people
will understand."

"They'll use terms like how brave he was to fight this illness.
The press will leap on it and go on and on about his heroic
struggle. They'll talk about how this illness spurred him on to
achieve great things, which is unmitigated bullshit," Andrea
hissed. "He had no choice, CJ. He had to deal with it. And he
didn't succeed, did he, CJ?"

"No," CJ said softly, feeling tears prickle in the back of her
eyes.

"No."

------------------

The pen was in danger of being driven through the table.
President Bartlet tapped it over and over, with increasing
violence. Abbey bit her lip. It was Jed's turn for anger and
she didn't think that his anger was any less intense than hers
had been.

"Don't even say it, Abigail," he said to her, after the third of
fourth time she opened her mouth to say something. "Don't give
me that look."

"Which one?" Abbey shot back. "The one that says I care that
you're upset? Or the one that says get your head out of your
ass?"

"When I first found out about the MS, I was angry. I was upset
and angry," Jed said slowly, fury in his voice. "But I took
comfort that it isn't fatal, Abbey. You told me that. Four
specialists told me that. It won't harm anyone to keep it to
myself. You told me that. Leo later told me that. I told
myself that. But it was fatal. It was fatal to someone who
gave me three years of his life. Three years of a talent so
profound it made me weep at times. Don't even try to tell me
that I am not responsible for this."

"You aren't," Abbey said flatly. "Whatever Catholic guilt you
feel and whatever hair shirt you feel you have to wear, you did
not put the gun in his hand."

"I pulled the trigger."

"No. No, Jed, you did not."

"How could he do this to me?" Jed suddenly shouted, the pen
snapping with the pressure of being driven into the table. Ink
spattered, and Abbey stared at the pooling ink, as if it were
blood. "How could he let his illness take control of his life?
How could he fall so far into despair? Will that be me?"

Abbey blinked back tears. God, he wasn't angry. He was afraid.
She wanted so much to wrap her arms around him and hold him safe.
She knew he had to fight this demon on his own; no one was going
to banish this fear.

----------------

Leo had his eyes closed, his body relaxed, but his mind was
racing. That was what John was talking about. John had seen the
personnel records. He had known that Toby had this illness.

Was that why he challenged Toby to look? Why had John felt Toby
had to know? Did John know that knowing about Jed's MS would be
what tipped him over the edge? Or did he think that Toby would
somehow be more sympathetic to Jed and his struggles?

Leo gave a half smile. Toby hadn't exactly been sympathetic. He
had raked both he and Jed over the coals about it. And he had
been right; they had betrayed the public. Unwittingly so, but
they had. It was Toby's passionate defense of honesty and
integrity that had driven them to go see Babish, to see how this
situation could be rectified.

Why had John precipitated this? Was he playing some kind of
Machiavellian game, one that would rob the Bartlet administration
of one of its best strategists?

Leo thought back to what Jed had said about John's reaction to
the news. John had agreed to keep his mouth shut. Leo had
thought that John kept quiet willingly, but now he wasn't so
sure. There was that odd look of - relief? - when Leo told him
he knew.

He had to talk to John when he got back. He had to know which
way John had meant this revelation to play out. Had he done so
out of malice, knowing how it would affect Toby, or had he done
so out of desperation, knowing that Toby would set them on the
straight and narrow?

----------
Sam looked at the legal pad on his knee. They needed a statement
about Toby's death. The silence from the White House was going
on too long. They had to respond to the speculations and they
had to do it soon. The press had been fairly respectful, but now
that the funeral was over, the vultures would descend, wanting to
know the details. The spectre of juicy scandal was looming over
them.

He scribbled idly on the page, hoping for inspiration. This was
the sort of thing Toby himself could do with one eye shut. He
could say nothing of substance so beautifully that the reader was
fooled into thinking that their question had been answered.

He could not write that Toby had killed himself because had been
suffering from a mental illness. Andrea was right about that
one; there was still an enormous stigma to that. But if he
couldn't tell the truth, what could he say?

He wrote for a moment or two, without really knowing where he was
going with it. After a paragraph or two, the words came faster
and his pen flew across the page. It was as if Toby's spirit or
something had entered into his pen, as if Toby's favoured way of
writing had somehow evoked Toby's talent.

He wrote on and on, heedless of the odd looks he was starting to
get from Margaret. This was going to need heavy editing, but it
was a start.

-----------------

Josh was sitting with his head in his hands, still reeling from
shock. Donna sat beside him, rubbing soothing circles on his
back.

Josh felt stupid. He had been so busy trying to find a reason
for Toby's death so he wouldn't have to think about suicide. If
Toby had taken his own life, it was only a matter of time before
he thought seriously about that way out himself.

He never told Donna about how often he thought about that. The
fear and confusion had abated a great deal since Christmas, but
it still woke him up at night, bathed in sweat and trembling.

Toby was a fixture in his life and his death had taken away one
of the foundations of his healing. If Toby, of all people, could
do the unthinkable, it wasn't so unthinkable, was it?

He had always seen Toby as unshakable, someone who could walk
unscathed through the political minefields they both played in.
Knowing that Toby expected him to pick up and move on, as Toby
had always done in his long and not always successful career,
helped him do so. The shooting was the first time Josh had not
been in control of his own destiny and it scared him. Watching
Toby, who had lived through failure and pain, helped him believe
that survival and, eventually, success, was not only possible,
but inevitable.

And there was another feeling that was starting to surface. His
friend - a rather prickly and sometimes unlikable friend - was
dead.

Josh cried out softly. Toby was dead. For the first time in
this awful, nightmarish week, it hit him. Toby was dead.

He felt Donna's arms around him, her ready tears falling in time
with his, as he cried for his friend.

-----------------

Andrea looked over at CJ, who was trying to read. She hadn't
turned a page in nearly ten minutes, so she wasn't actually
reading. She ached for CJ. She knew, long before the letter,
probably long before Toby did, that he loved her. She was pretty
sure that CJ felt the same way.

Toby had been far too wary to bring up the topic with her, but
she knew. She had hoped and prayed for the day when Toby would
shuffle his feet, look everywhere but at her, and admit that he
was sort of, maybe, perhaps, kind of seeing CJ. She couldn't
quite let go of Toby until she knew that he was all right.

God, she hadn't even dated anyone until he was firmly and safely
ensconced in the position of Communications Director. She
couldn't. She couldn't give her heart to anyone else until she
could rest easily about the man she loved.

She had hoped that with the medication and with the knowledge
that he was valued and successful, that he would try to rebuild
his life, a life with someone like CJ at his side. She wasn't
jealous of CJ; she had had her good times with Toby, along with
the bad. She had too many memories of heartache to go back to
him. She had too many good memories not to wish the very best
for him.

She had kept his secret for so long. She almost resented having
to reveal it; that part of him, that trust he had given her, was
hers. It belonged to her, not to them. Good or ill, that part
of him was hers and she was damned if she'd let the ignorant,
uncaring, gossiping, scandal seeking press have that part of him,
too. Let them wonder. They had no right to dishonour his memory
by experts making reports about what he could have and should
have done. They didn't know. They didn't live with it, day in
and day out.

Let them wonder. The people he cared about knew he was a good
man. That was enough. The rest of the world could go to hell in
a handcart.

------------------

"I have to tell them," Bartlet said, as soon as Leo shut the
door behind him. Leo masked his surprise. Jed had been
resisting telling anyone else about the MS, despite Babish's
insistence that he had to.

"When?"

"As soon as possible," Bartlet replied, raking his hand through
his hair. "I can't let this situation go on."

"Why?" Leo asked quietly.

"For the sake of the people out there wandering around in a daze
because they didn't know," Bartlet replied. "I won't let the MS
destroy anyone else."

"Jed..." Leo reached out a hand. Bartlet gave a half smile.
Leo never called him Jed anymore; he had to be pretty shaken to
drop the protocol he had insisted on for the last three years.

"Leo, what we said last Friday triggered this whole tragedy,"
Bartlet said quietly, holding up a hand to forestall Leo's
automatic protest. "Toby got this dropped on him like a ton of
bricks. And he was right in every damn thing he said. We - I -
betrayed the American people. I betrayed those good people out
there. I need to make it right. I need to tell them."

"Are you sure that now is a good time?"

"No. I'm not sure there is a good time." Bartlet sighed.

"You sure you're not acting out of guilt?"

"Abbey thinks this is part of my hair shirt wearing Catholic
guilt."

"Is it?"

"And the truth shall set you free, Leo," Bartlet quoted. "The
truth is the only way to go. I am the way and the Truth. Is it
guilt that urges me to follow the lessons of the faith that is
the very essence of my life?"

"Are you prepared for the results?"

"Impeachment, hearings, relentless pressure from the press and
accusations of treason?"

"Giving the men and women out there another burden to bear," Leo
countered. "They are pretty fragile right now."

"I know."

"You feel responsible for Toby's death, don't you?"

"Don't you?"

"You want them to accuse you," Leo said sharply. "You want
absolution and you can't have that until someone accuses you.
You want to confess and be forgiven."

"No."

"If you want to confess, go to a priest," Leo continued
relentlessly. "I won't let you do that to my people."

"Your people? Those people out there serve at the pleasure of
the President. Last time I checked, you weren't the President of
the United States."

"I brought them in. I got Josh. He brought Sam. I got Toby -
against your objections I might add - and he brought CJ. Those
are my people, Jed. And I won't let you do this to them to
assuage your guilt."

"And I won't let you handle them this way," Bartlet shot back.
"How long will it take Josh to find what Toby found? And come to
us and ask? Will you decide we have to tell him at the last
minute, with our backs to the wall, like we did with Toby? No,
Leo. No more lies."

"Nobody lied."

"How often have I used that excuse? Nobody lied. No, nobody
did. And nobody told the truth, either. We tell them, Leo.
When we get back to Washington, we do it. We tell them and we
make sure that they can talk to each other about it."

"Will that make a difference?"

"When I found out, all those years ago, I would not have made it
without Abbey to talk to," Bartlet said, after a long moment.
"You talked to me, Leo. You talked to Abbey and to Fitz. Who
did Toby have to talk to?"

Friday...

Carol looked sympathetically at CJ as she handed her the morning
messages. There were more than usual, considering the half day
yesterday and Carol wished she could make them disappear. CJ
looked as if she hadn't slept a wink. Then again, all the staff
looked bad, ever since Wednesday.

"Thanks, Carol." CJ gave a brief smile as she took the cup of
coffee from her.

"Danny wants to talk to you for a minute," Carol said slowly.

"No. No, I can't deal with Danny right now." CJ groaned.

"I think you should," Danny said, from behind Carol. CJ blew
out a breath.

"Okay. Two minutes, Danny. Then I'm throwing you out."

"Okay." Danny slipped past Carol and shut the door. "Call on me
first this morning, okay?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm not going to ask any questions about Toby," Danny
said gently. "Katie and Steve both have something that you don't
want to answer."

"What?"

"Did you know Toby tried before?" Danny asked quietly. CJ
paused for a long moment.

"Yes, I did," she said truthfully.

"So does Katie. She has a question about a 911 call in New York
in '91."

"And Steve?"

"He has a question about a three week stay in hospital without
any apparent reason for it in '94."

"Oh."

"I'm not going to ask, CJ," Danny told her.

"Why not?"

"Not my story," Danny shrugged. "I was going to ask about
Mexico and why we're handing out money to them. And about the
Haitian election."

"I'm prepared for them." CJ nodded.

"I'm sorry, CJ. I know you cared about him," Danny offered,
stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I did." CJ tried to control the catch in her voice.

"Look. You've got a briefing. I'll catch you later."

"Okay. And, Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

-----------------

Babish took the news without even blinking. He nodded once,
slowly and Bartlet wanted to slap him.

"I have to tell the senior staff," Bartlet repeated. "Once I've
spoken to them, you can make appointments. Be gentle with them,
Oliver. It's not been a good week."

"I can't," Babish said flatly. "I can't treat them with kid
gloves. No one else will."

"For God's sake, have some compassion. One of their own just
died."

"And you're afraid that if I lean too hard, they'll kill
themselves, like Toby did?"

Bartlet felt the breath go out of him. Even in his innermost
thoughts, he hesitated to articulate that suspicion.

"I spoke to Toby on Monday night," Babish continued. "He was
perfectly coherent and composed. We had quite a productive chat,
he and I. He agreed with nearly everything I said and I agreed
with him. So when you think I'm being a callous, uncaring son of
a bitch, keep in mind that it's exactly the approach the late,
lamented Toby Ziegler recommended. He was a smart man. He knew
what he was talking about."

"And you're not concerned that the rest of my staff may react the
way Toby did?"

"No, because I am a callous, uncaring son of a bitch," Babish
retorted mildly. "If you wanted histrionics, you should have
hunted up Lionel Tribbey."

"Yeah." Bartlet sighed and slumped.

"Mind you, his death just makes this harder," Babish added.
"Not only are you not going to have one of the best political
minds in your corner, the opposition is going to assume your
revelation was why he did it."

"I know."

"Was it?"

"His ex doesn't think so."

"Do you?"

"Oliver..."

"Do you?" Babish repeated. "If you are asked in front of a
grand jury, what will you say?"

"I'll say I don't know," Bartlet replied. "I was stunned by the
news. He seemed fine on Tuesday afternoon."

"Was that the last time you saw him?"

"Yes."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yes."

"What did you talk about?"

"We discussed the progress of a speech I was supposed to give in
Chicago to the steelworkers yesterday."

"Did you discuss anything about your illness?"

"No."

"Did you discuss anything personal?"

"No." Bartlett shook his head, then paused. "Yes. He made a
comment about how the Yankees had beat the pants off the Orioles
on Sunday. He seemed pleased by that."

"You're overanswering again."

--------------------

CJ ushered Andy into her office and closed the door. For the
first time in all the years CJ had known her, Andy looked her age
and more. CJ had always envied Andy her ability to look mid-
thirty-ish no matter how tired she was. CJ knew she looked
anywhere between twenty and fifty, depending on the day.

"I'm sorry to have called you here, but I need some information,"
CJ said, motioning Congresswoman Wyatt to a seat.

"I assume you're referring to Toby." Andy tried to smile. "I've
had some questions already."

"New York in '91?" CJ said simply. Andy looked away.

"Attempt number three," Andy replied. "He had a knife. When I
tried to take it away from him, I got slashed a little. He
called an ambulance."

"Were you badly hurt?"

"I've had more serious paper cuts. Toby, on the other hand, was
bleeding pretty badly."

"Did they try to keep him there at the hospital?"

"No. Toby lied and said the knife slipped and we both tried to
grab for it. The doctors didn't believe it, but the staff
psychiatrist agreed that he was capable of making decisions and
let us go home."

"A hospital stay in '94?"

"That was the adventure of the search for anti-depressive
medication." Andy shook her head. "For some weird reason, he
was given phenobarbital."

"For depression?"

"It's for epilepsy. They assumed his explosions of temper were a
form of grand-mal seizures, despite the diagnosis of the unipolar
depression," Andy explained.

"That's... peculiar."

"Yeah, well, the whole mental health industry is peculiar," Andy
said, with a twist of her mouth.

"What happened?"

"They gave him convulsions," Andy shrugged. "The convulsions
were so bad he would black out. It seems Toby was allergic to
phenobarb. He was in hospital for three weeks while they tried
to find a medication that would work without killing him."

"And he got on the Zoloft." CJ nodded.

"No. The search for an effective treatment went on for several
years," Andy corrected. "He went on Zoloft just after he joined
the Bartlet campaign. Between the new meds and the distraction
of work, I don't think he had a major episode since then. At
least not until..."

CJ let the silence grow, then cleared her throat.

"Andy, the press have those two incidents. Not the details, but
they know something happened," she said earnestly. "I don't
know if I can keep the story from getting out."

"I see." Andy went still. "I don't want it confirmed, CJ. Let
them speculate. All the people who he cared about know. nothing
else matters."

"It might matter to the President."

"You didn't know about it. Leave it at that."

"You want me to lie?"

"Yes."

-------------------

"CJ, the President would like to see you," Leo said, as CJ
walked Andrea out. "Andrea, if I could have a word with you?"

"Of course," both women said at the same time. CJ went towards
the Oval Office, finding Josh and Sam arriving a step or two
before her. Andrea followed Leo into his office and, at his
invitation, sat down.

"There is something that I think you should know..."

------------------

"Sam, Josh, CJ, there's something that you must know," President
Bartlet said, motioning them to a seat. "This isn't easy for me
to say, so I'll just say it. Eight years ago I was diagnosed
with Multiple Sclerosis."

------------------

"The President has Multiple Sclerosis," Leo said bluntly.
Andrea did not even blink.

"I know."

-----------------

"What?" Sam exclaimed as Josh leapt to his feet and CJ's jaw
dropped.

"I have relapsing-remitting Multiple Sclerosis. It cause plaque
to form on the spine and brain," Bartlet said quietly. "It
isn't fatal."

-----------------

"How?" Leo demanded.

"Toby told me in his letter."

"He told you?"

"Among a great many other things, yes."

------------------

The questions came fast and furious, all of them talking at once,
but the one that came out clearest was from CJ.

"Did Toby know?"

"Yes, he did. Leo and I told him last Friday night."

"Is that why...?"

-----------------

"Andrea, I have to ask." Leo's face was drawn and old. "Is that
why...?"

------------------

"I don't know," the President replied painfully. "I would give
a great deal to know that."

-------------------

"No, of course not," Andrea replied immediately.

"Are you sure? That meeting didn't trigger some kind of
episode?"

"It may have contributed a little bit." Andrea sighed. "No,
Leo. He did not go out and kill himself because of that. That's
not how his illness went. Yes, it may have been a factor, but I
doubt it."

"So why...?"

"He stopped taking his medication. That's the biggest factor.
I'm not sure why he stopped. Maybe he just wanted to sleep. One
of the side effects of the medication is insomnia. Considering
he had already taken the diazepam and a couple of drinks, I think
the episode hit before he could fall asleep."

"What would have triggered the episode?"

"It can be anything, Leo. Anything at all. Or nothing in
particular," Andrea explained. "Once he went into a rather bad
episode when his computer crashed. He told me that this was not
about the President and his MS."

"Why didn't you say anything? The President has been castigating
himself all week."

"It never occurred to me. I guess I know too much about the
illness to even think about it," Andrea said, covering her mouth
with her hand. "I wasn't supposed to know about the MS, so I
kept my mouth shut."

"Andrea, why did Toby kill himself?" Leo asked harshly.

"He was afraid." Andrea looked down and picked an invisible bit
of lint off her skirt. "He was afraid that his illness would
come out and he'd become a detriment to the President. He was
afraid that he'd go into an episode and do something stupid and
cost the President his job. He was tired, Leo. He was so tired
of fighting off depression and he was afraid that this time, he
wouldn't win." Andrea covered her face with her hands and
started to cry. Leo got up and left the room, feeling like he
had been torturing her.

Margaret saw him come out and rose, with a box of tissues in her
hand. Bless Margaret.

------------------------------------

Somehow, the three senior staff members found themselves
congregating in Toby's office. It was time to go home, but they
needed to talk.

"Wow." Josh blew out a breath.

"Amen." Sam nodded. He had one of Toby's rubber balls in his
hand and he threw it idly at the wall. It bounced back and he
had to scramble to catch it. He bounced it a second time.

"I see why Toby used to do this. It's really very soothing," he
said, bouncing a third time and, again, scrambling to catch it.

"Except that Toby was about a thousand times better at it," Josh
said.

"That's true on so many levels," Sam replied evenly, although
there was something in his voice that made Josh wince.

"I don't know what to feel," CJ said suddenly. "I don't think I
have any more emotions left."

"We need to plan," Josh began.

"We need to strategize," CJ added.

"We need Toby." Sam threw the ball with all his strength at the
wall and the other two watched it bounce across the room.

"I know." CJ's voice made both men stop and look at her.

"Oh, God, CJ. I didn't know," Sam said softly, getting up and
putting his arm around her.

"Know what?" Josh whispered to Sam.

"I don't know how to deal with this, Sam," CJ said, her head
bowed. "I really don't. It's like my whole world fell apart.
How could he do this to me?"

"You loved him." Josh looked at her in amazement.

"Yeah. I did." CJ nodded. "And he left me. How in hell could
he do this to me?"

"He didn't," Josh countered. His voice was very quiet, very
unlike his usual tone. "He didn't do anything to anybody but
himself. At that moment, there wasn't anyone in his world but
himself."

"Josh?" Sam turned to look at Josh. Josh was sitting on the
couch, looking at CJ with serious, trouble eyes.

"I've been there, CJ. I've been in that state where there is
nothing real outside the pain. It hurts too damn much to even
know that there is anything or anyone else outside it," Josh
said. "Toby wrote you a letter. He wrote Andrea a letter. He
made sure neither you nor Ginger would be the ones to find him.
He tried to reach outside as best he could. He didn't do this to
hurt you. It happened anyway."

"Josh...?" Sam whispered, pale.

"He didn't do this to frighten me," Josh continued, this time to
himself. "That happened, but it wasn't the intent."

"Josh, please tell me that you're not..." Sam couldn't finish
the sentence.

"No. I'm not going there." Josh shook his head. "But I have
been in that space a couple of time since Rosslyn. And I didn't
have some biochemical imbalance urging me on."

Sam got up and paced for a moment, stopping at the diploma on the
wall. It was Toby's law school degree, the Latin phrases
reassuringly familiar. Magna Cum Laude. With Highest Honours.

"Andy said," he began haltingly, "that working was Toby's way of
dealing with his problems. It distracted him. Despite
everything, he did this. A law degree, with highest honours. I
worked my ass off and I didn't get highest honours."

"Yeah, he was a smart man," CJ snapped. "Your point?"

"We have a lot of work ahead of us," Sam said, in the same tone.
"What the President said... We can't let him fight this fight
alone. We can do this."

"He lied to us," CJ said flatly.

"That wasn't his intent." Josh looked up.

"We need to make sure that the public knows that," Sam replied.
"His intent was to change the country for the better."

"And not let Multiple Sclerosis stop him from doing it," Josh
added.

"It's too much," CJ warned.

"Yes."

"It's too big to handle," CJ added. "We can't do this on our
own."

"We can do this together," Josh said fervently.

"What if we can't?"

"Then we fail." Josh shrugged. "That doesn't scare me as much
as it used to."

"I have a quote for all of you, if you'll forgive the
interruption," Leo said, from the doorway. "Toby said to me that
it wasn't the fights we lost that bothered him. It was the ones
we didn't suit up for. Are we prepared to suit up for this one?"

"No, but we'll do it anyway." Josh nodded. "CJ?"

"I'm going to be directly in the line of fire," she said slowly.
"I guess my suit needs to be flame proof."

"Atta girl," Leo encouraged, heartened by the exasperated look
she gave him. "Sam?"

"You asked me to take over this office." Sam rose and faced Leo.
"I'm willing to try, if you'll give me the chance."

"And if I do, what's the first step?"

"Clear off my desk and find someone else to take it. Any
suggestions?"

-------------------

"Well?" The President looked up at Leo.

"They're in. We have good people here."

"Yes, we do."

"Mind you, we're going to have some rough times," Leo added.
"Right now, they're all feeling noble and self sacrificing."
Bartlet winced.

"There's been enough sacrifices."

"Yes, there have. Let's not let it go to waste," Leo nodded.
"Sam is going to be overwhelmed. Toby trained him well, but he's
not the operator Toby was. Josh is pretty shaken by all of this.
CJ's angry and scared. All of them are grieving."

"So the entire senior staff is going to fight the biggest fight
of their political careers and aren't really in any shape to
win."

"Yeah."

"For a President who may be losing his mind as we speak."

"Yeah."

"And we're going to win, aren't we?"

"Yeah. With odds like that, how can we lose?"

---------------------

Saturday...

"Get out." Ginger glared at Sam.

"Pardon?"

"Get out. You don't belong here." She folded her arms. Sam
looked at her in bewilderment. He had just put his briefcase
beside Toby's - his - desk and she had immediately stalked in,
with fire in her eyes.

"I'm taking over Toby's position."

"Get out of his office."

"Ginger, it isn't his anymore," Sam said gently.

"I don't care. I want you out."

"What the hell? Ginger, you're not being reasonable..."

"Look behind you, Sam. What do you see on that wall?"

"Toby's diplomas."

"Right. This office has his diplomas on the wall. This office
has his effects in his desk. This office has his name on the
doorplate. I think all the evidence points to this being his
office, not yours. So get out."

"Um, Ginger... You don't have any right to tell me that."

"So fire me. I'm out of a job anyway."

"No. No, you need to stay here. I mean, you're job is safe."
Sam stuttered, unable to stand up to the stubborn resistance.

"Get out of this office," Ginger repeated. "It's Saturday. You
don't have to be here now."

Sam tried to think of a way out of this situation. He liked
Ginger. He wanted to keep her on as assistant to the new deputy.
Whoever the new Deputy Director of Communications was going to
be, he or she was going to need Ginger to pull everything
together. If she felt it was a demotion, he'd take her as his
own assistant. He respected her. But he could not let her give
him orders, not right at the beginning.

The impasse lasted until CJ came to the door, with her coat still
on.

"Sam? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Excuse me. I'll be right back," he told Ginger.

"Sam, leave her alone," CJ said quietly to him.

"CJ, I can't..."

"Leave it until Monday morning." CJ shook her head.

"Look, I love Ginger all to pieces, but I can't let her give me
orders."

"You can let her say goodbye," CJ said softly. "She's been so
busy helping other people, she hasn't had time to grieve. She
gave him three years of her life, Sam. You can give her this."

Sam looked back into the office. Ginger was taking down Toby's
diplomas, carefully placing them on the sofa. He could see her
shoulders shaking and he knew she was crying.

CJ went past him and into the office. He followed her to the
door.

"Ginger, may I help?" CJ asked softly. Ginger didn't answer,
but CJ took off her coat and started to sort through the books of
the shelf.

Sam watched in wonder as each of the women around the office
slowly joined them, packing up the contents of the office. He
swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling as if he was intruding on
a sacred ritual.

--------------------

"... I decided to keep my illness private. At the time, I felt
that, as an American citizen, I had the right to privacy about my
personal life. I still believe that. However, in the two and a
half years I have been in this office, I realised that I also
have an obligation to the American people to do whatever it takes
to ensure that they can exercise their right to an informed
choice. I have had to balance by firm belief in privacy of the
individual with the firm belief that the people need to have as
much information as possible, no matter how inconsequential it
may be, in order to make intelligent decisions.

"I have fought with myself on this issue for a long time. I do
not believe that a chronic condition is any detriment to my
ability to serve the American people and I trust in our system of
checks and balances to protect the country from chaos should the
state of my health ever affect my performance as President.

"However, recent events have altered the way I've been looking at
the issue. A valued and competent employee and a dear friend
died recently, under circumstances that have been difficult to
accept. As his employer, I was angry that there was no warning
or indication that there were problems in his life. As his
friend, I grieve that I could not reach out a helping hand. I
felt betrayed, on a personal and professional level.

"I know now that I cannot let my friends grieve as I have this
past week because I am too damned stubborn to let them know that
some day, I may need their help.

"And I cannot let my employers, the American people, feel as
angry and betrayed as I felt that day. I know now that I have an
obligation to disclose my illness. Many of you may feel anger,
and betrayal. I understand that, but I do not believe that I was
wrong to uphold my right to privacy, nor in my trust in our
Constitution to resolve any problems, should that ever become
necessary.

"And I do not believe I am wrong to trust in the American people
to educate themselves on this issue and to understand my desire
to protect my privacy and my family's privacy. I trust the
American people to make informed choices. I don't think that
trust is misplaced."

"It's a beautiful speech," Sam said, breaking the silence in the
Oval Office.

"Don't worry, Sam. I'm not going to write all my speeches from
now on." Bartlet shot a look at Sam over his glasses. "But this
one had to come from the heart."

"It, uh, could use a little polish, though," Sam added.

"That's why I'm giving it to you," Bartlet replied. "What about
the rest of you? Any problems?"

The others shook their heads and they filed out. Leo stayed
behind.

"I was up all weekend writing that," Bartlet said quietly, as
the room cleared. "It's the kind of thing Toby could have
written in half an hour."

"I think he would have seen some merit in it," Leo allowed.

"When you told me that I had to tell Toby, all I could think of
was, now it begins." Bartlet said. "I just wish beginnings
weren't preceded by endings."

END