So Much For The Afterglow (Toby's Story In Song)
Title: So Much For The Afterglow (Toby's Story In Song)
WC:
Characters: Andy, Toby/Sam, Huck, Molly
Rating: PG
Summary:
Notes: Written for tww_minis round of album fic.
01.
They never spoke of the babies that were never to be; Toby preferred it that way, though sometimes he could tell the shattered promise of a future tore at Andy. He could tell she was hurting, but he was hurting too, and so selfishly, he did not help her.
They never spoke of what came next, or what they might do. They never spoke of babies that were never to be and late at night, when he pretends to be asleep, Toby can hear her crying over them. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, the marriage. There wasn't supposed to be heartache and hurt and bodies that couldn't make it right. There weren't supposed to be the long fights, and the tired non-fights.
When she presented him with divorce papers, his first response was to laugh. When her eyes did not sparkle back, he sighed.
"There were too many nights, Toby," she said softly, and he understood without understanding.
He played with his wedding band, looked carefully over the papers. There was no custody agreement to be had- there were no children they had managed to have.
"We could still make it work," he tried, the pen hovering above the page. But her smile was soft and sad.
"No, Toby, we really couldn't."
He thought later that she didn't want to try hard enough, that no matter what he reminded her of a grief that would forever be too raw for any time to heal. He thought it was his fault for loving her so fiercely, for wanting to risk everything for her. He would have moved the stars to give her a child. Children weren't high on his radar, but they were on hers. And it was something he couldn't hope to give her.
"We could," he tried again, his voice breaking. "We could adopt, Andy. We could-"
"Children won't make this better," she whispered.
And Toby, hurt, left without signing the forms.
*
"Maybe we give it one more go," Toby tried.
Andy only shook her head. "I can't Toby. I just can't."
"It wasn't any of our faults."
"I know Toby," Andy said softly. "I know. That doesn't mean we can-"
She'd given him the forms again and he was reading them, looking for something that could be construed as loophole out of divorce. He knew also he could do this the hard way, or the less-hard way.
"If I sign this, we'd be saying there's no hope of ever-"
"Oh Toby," was all Andy said, and it was enough.
02.
He didn't want to date again; he didn't want to think about anything other than her. So he still wore his wedding band, and threw himself into his work. Not everything had to be perfect, but most things did. Nothing could make it better- could take away the hole in his heart, but some things loosed it up a bit, made it not-so-severe. And still, he tried to court her.
"Toby." Her voice was delicate, and hurting. "Stop. Run the campaign."
"I could come run yours."
"No, you couldn't."
"Please?"
She kissed his cheek gently, "Go elect a president, Toby. I'll be fine."
He hadn't spoken to her for several months after that, not until after they had both won, until they were both back in Washington. Not until he again tried to court her.
"We could make it work."
"Oh, Toby."
*
It was Sam who said something, unintentionally.
"You're trying too hard."
"You've never been married, Sam."
"I meant on the speech."
"It's fine."
Sam fidgeted. "No, it's not. You're trying too hard on her too."
"She's my ex-wife, Sam."
"She represents the Maryland-"
"Yes, thank you, Sam. I know where Andy was elected from."
"You're trying to hard."
Toby glared at his Deputy, "And?"
"Maybe you should let me take over the speech while you-"
"It's fine." He paused, "Did you say anything to Leo?"
Sam shook his head, "Not directly."
"Sam."
"Yeah."
"You shouldn't have done that."
And Sam at least had the decency to look chagrined by that.
"I'm here if you need me," he said, reaching for Toby's arm, then deciding against it. He bit his thumb and half-winced. Toby smiled.
"It's okay, Sam. Eventually I'll get over her."
"Eventually."
"It's okay, Sam. I'm not going to break if you-"
"You're not exactly the comfort receiving type."
"No, but from you, I might manage."
03.
He had mentioned in-vitro first. After the divorce, Andy was sold on the idea. Toby knew better than to refuse- loved her too much to refuse. And yet there were the times when it wasn't good to have a child. For Andy, there was no wrong time to have a child. And Toby, sorrier than he thought himself capable, took the cup and went into the small room, trying hard not to regret his choice. That was made all the more difficult by the beaming nurse who handed him the cup and directed him the way, but as he sat there and thought of Andy, he thought that if this came to pass- if there indeed was a child- then maybe nothing would have been so bad.
04.
He was already seeing Sam after hours when Andy told him she had tried again and they would know in a few weeks. He thought of calling it off, but knew he had to see if there were children first. He had to see what course he was supposed to take- and damn the one he wanted to. He was already seeing Sam when the news of babies came. And Sam, in his idealism and wonder, understood the dichotomy. Sam, who fucked him while at the same time pressured him to marry Andy, was the best thing Toby could have experienced those nine months.
True, he was there for Andy, in every way that she wanted him to be. And true, he confided to Sam while both were naked on his bed, about the house he planned on buying for her. There was nothing normal about it, nothing that anyone could look at and hope to find some sense of morality in. And Toby was perfectly okay for it to be that way.
He took Sam to the house first.
"What will she say?" Sam asked quietly.
"Yes," Toby said. "She'll say yes."
"And us?"
"And us," Toby repeated, rocking back on his heels in the sunlit room. "And us. I don't know, Sam."
"You really love her." It was a statement, bitter and harsh and Sam stood tall and proud in making it.
Toby flinched from the words. "Oh, Sam," he said, the irony lost on everyone.
*
After. After was a new lifetime, before seemed so ancient. Andy had said no, and on so many different levels, the world crashed.
Huckleberry was an easy name, he let Andy have that one. But his daughter, he wanted to himself. He wanted a name with just as much legacy and meaning and history, but there was nothing. His family line wasn't that long- his family had started over in the States in the forties, and there weren't many names to pick from. So he waited and held Andy's hand as they watched the news.
It was Andy who suggested Molly first, timidly and shyly from her hospital bed.
"Huckleberry and Molly," Toby said, trying the names out. "Both are a bit old-fashioned."
"Both are beautiful."
And Toby, still very much in love with Andy, agreed.
*
Sam was back, beautiful Sam was back.
05.
The twins were seven when his book came out. He took them to Newport Beach with Sam in tow and let them have all the cotton candy they wanted. When they threw up afterwards, he only laughed, kissing the tops of their heads, and promising them the world.
He promised Sam the world too, a different kind of world. Sam had left the Santos administration half-way through, disillusioned and possibly more in love with Toby than he should have been. Josh had been upset, but more upset about the book, coinciding with midterms. C.J. had played her part, pretended to be furious that it was all coming out. But quietly she told him of her adoration, and of her thanks. When the baby was about to be born, she joked that she would name him Zachary, but in the end, Danny had some say.
In the end. If only this were the end of the story. But Toby knew better. Toby knew there were no such things as happy endings, no matter how much of an advance he was getting for his second book. He knew there was another shoe- always, always, always. He knew one wrong thing said on a speaking tour, and the world could crash again. The world was always crashing- it had been for all of time, and would for all of time.
But for now, there was happiness, and some sense of contentment with the world. There was Sam, and there were his children, and there was money. There was promise, and worth, and he wouldn't trade the admiration in his children's eyes for anything.
"They worship you," Sam remarked, but Toby dismissed it.
"No, they love me." There was a difference, there was always a difference. For how long had Toby worshiped at the feet of Josiah Bartlet? For how long had he loved Andy? For how long now had he been loving Sam? For how long now did the yuppies, the college kids who yearned for enlightenment worship him?
Toby didn't ever want his children to worship him.
06.
Andy yelled about the new book deal, about the teaching, about the holidays spent in a room stuffed with crumpled rough drafts. Andy yelled about Toby never seeing his children, about abandoning them for his precious words.
He wrote them letters, mailed them postcards and trinkets. He called them on Hallowe'en, and Thanksgiving, and managed to be there for Chanukah. He let them stay in his apartment, and colour the walls with their art work and crafts. He let them have the world he could give them, and when they saw him, they did not seem the hurt and betrayed that Andy painted them to have.
He kissed them and told them stories of before they were born, of worlds with promises, and broken worlds. He told them that any mountain’s peak could be reached. He told them all of this and hoped that he was not like his father. His father had been incarcerated; Toby was merely on a self-exile. To think that he did not love his children was unthinkable. To think that he was abandoning them sat heavy on his shoulders as he wrote.
"They miss you," Andy pleaded.
"Andy, I'm writing a book- a very important-"
"Come see your children, godddammit."
It would have been easy if that had settled it; a random unannounced visit during the middle of dinner. The kids were ecstatic. Andy was not so pleased.
"You can't just randomly show up in their lives, Toby. Eventually they'll resent you for it."
"So how about letting them come with me every other weekend?"
But there were pictures of rainbows and popsicle stick ash trays (those weren't too convenient) and Toby treasured all of them, kept them close to him as he typed away, writing of betrayal and treason, and being an anti-American hero.
07.
Samuel Norman Seaborn wanted to run for President, and had been looking into an exploratory committee. Toby didn't know how he felt about that, though he did have the decency to end the relationship before Sam would have to make that decision. Heartbreak was good for Sam, as was being America's Most-Eligible-Bachelor. What Toby did know was how he felt about the reporter who very insistently wanted to speak to him- even going so far as to accost his children.
Denying it would be pointless. Controlling the information on his own- information that was already in the rough copy of the book he was working on- was much better. Or so he told himself.
"Someone's got it."
"It was only a matter of time."
"Yeah."
"I've written this-"
"No."
The refusal was swift and harsh; Toby could picture Sam trembling while he held the phone.
"I can control this."
"Can you?"
"Toby."
"Sam. You know just as well as I do, that controlling the informa-"
"What do you think I'm trying to do?"
You're trying to deny it, and hope whomever's got it doesn't have any evidence, Toby thought, looking over pictures of Sam that were sprinkled throughout the small apartment. Sam, Sam and him, Sam and the kids. The kids. He had them to think about too, and Sam being selfish wasn't going to make the fallout any easier on them.
"There's an excerpt of you and the kids during-"
"No."
Sam's voice was panicked. Toby countered with a voice as gentle as he could muster.
"Sam, it's not like you were having an affair. Put it out there now- I've been seeing Toby Ziegler since the end of-"
"You don't know what they have," Sam's voice was small, but still cold. "You don't know what claim they're going to be making. You don't know if they're going to say that we were together while you were still trying to-"
"So put it out there now, and at least be proud of being something like a second father to these children." Toby said, sounding furious. "There is nothing- I repeat, nothing wrong with having loved me."
"The break-up's going to look like-"
"So come back home. The kids miss you."
Samuel Normal Seaborn did not run for president.
08.
When Molly ran away, no-one took it seriously enough. The handwritten note was left with 'her most prized possession,' a book about rock forms. The note went on to explain that it was too heavy to carry, and asked if someone could please look after it for her.
Toby wasn't worried when she didn't come in for supper. When the skies turned from milky blue to sapphire, he worried. When the sapphire faded into black, with a gold waning moon as a backdrop, Toby called the police.
Less than five minutes later, the Amber Alerts were broadcasted. Toby hadn't even had time to call Andy. She called only to say that she was driving down. Toby glanced at CNN to see Molly's face peering out from a photo- black hair, deep brown eyes, skin paler than a New Englander in the middle of winter, and a smile to melt anyone's heart. She had taken off with two peanut butter and banana sandwiches (using up the last banana and Toby suspects she would have packed more if there had been more bananas), three cartons of juice (she left the strawberry ones and Toby was sad to find that, until now he hadn't realised she didn't like them), and her sneakers. Probably an extra pair of socks too. She'd packed whatever else she'd taken that Toby hadn't noticed immediately missing from her room inside a paper grocery bag. So of course she'd left the book- Toby smiled as he thought of 11-year old gangly Molly dragging the paper bag behind her, the book practically weighing more than she did.
But it was nearing ten-thirty and the raven-haired girl did not come home.
*
It was a long night, and Toby did not sleep. The next morning, Secret Service agents covered the apartment, the Amber Alert had been extended up and down the East coast, and several airports were on high-alert. The Bartlet Kidnapping had been 11 years ago, and yet it was still fresh in everyone's mind.
Members of Congress called all day; Sam called, though he did not talk long, saying he was flying on the first flight out; even Bartlet called, asked if Toby and the family needed anything- even offering his place to stay, if they needed the quiet.
"We'll wait for her to come home, sir, thank you," Toby said softly, clicking the phone back in its cradle. He was one of the few people left in the United States with a landline, but since leaving the administration seven years ago, he found that not having a cell phone made his life a lot happier. Now he wished he'd had it, wished his daughter had taken it with her and they could track it. Wished Molly had given something in the way of clues other than fighting with Huck over whether or not this time Sam would be coming home. He couldn't mention that to Sam, that his daughter had gone missing because he'd flown home to see his mother. But a not-so-small part of Toby wished that she would see that Sam was indeed home, and would follow.
*
He didn't have to wait that long. Security at Columbia found her in Toby's office at eleven oh six, the spare office key carefully on a looped string around her neck. When Andy heard the news, she grabbed Toby tightly and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing furiously into his neck.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
09.
After another election win, Andy began to realise that no matter what, the people of Maryland seemed to love her. No matter what Toby did, or what books he wrote, they still loved her. So she thought, rationally, that if she had more of a relationship with Toby, they wouldn't vote her out for that either.
Fox news was quiet, the editorials were quiet, and Sam and Toby visited every so often. It made the kids happy, it made her happy, and it made Toby smile more than she had seen since they'd been married.
They agreed more, she found, the more Toby came over.
It was an odd blend of family, but the neighbours didn't seem to mind, and the kids sure never complained. She dabbled in dating, but whether they saw her connection to Toby, or they just never had a connection themselves, it never lasted long. Toby was still protective of her, and in her own way, she was protective of him as well.
"One of these days, the bubble is going to burst," Toby told her, on a rare day when it was just him visiting.
"Let them come."
He smiled, "You never were afraid to fight the good fight."
She laughed, "Fighting's what I was born for. Marrying you helped."
And he laughed in a way that made her remember why she'd married him in the first place, and it might have hurt, a little bit, a long time ago, but now it was sweet and perfect, and she was glad Sam was his, and the kids were theirs, and they were what they were to each other.
10.
I know, I know, it seems so cliché, me turning into what I did, that emo-kid. I wasn't really emo, I promise. Just confused and hurt, and unsure of a lot of things. I loved my dad fiercely, I really did, just like I loved my mum, but I loved 'em in different sort of ways.
So when my dad took me aside and told me that I reminded him of him, and I told mum, and she got all sad, I wondered if that might be a bad thing.
I mean, I'm not a sad kid, not really. I just like being alone, okay? I like the colour black- it's a nice colour. Mum says she hopes this is just a phase.
I have friends, you know. So it's not like I'm totally isolating from the world. And I don't internalise things like Huck says. I'd say Huck's more like dad, personally, but Dad said it was me.
So I don't know. I just know I like to express myself in doing science experiments, and digging up the back yard. Sometimes I like to paint. I don't think my father's ever done any of those.
He did paint my room while I was at Mum's though. I got back and asked if I could paint it back, and he said as long as he approved the colour. It ended up being bright yellow, which surprised everyone. Not Huck though. He at least understands me a little to know why I'd pick yellow. It's just a cheery colour.
I'm not all bad. I promise.
11.
I knew there was something special about my father after his book came out. It wasn't much of a book, to my eyes, and I soon stopped trying to sneak into my father's office to read it. But there was something interesting about the jacket cover. In the About the Author section it read: Ziegler is perhaps best known for his treasonous acts against-. It left me cold, and slightly breathless. Treason was something terrible. Treason was like sinning, only against your country. And my father had done it.
I confided in no-one except my sister what I had learnt.
"Well of course," was all she said. "If it had been Uncle David up there, you would have wanted someone to go get them."
What struck me was not her cool attitude towards it, but rather that she had known and I hadn't. I got over it quickly enough, and soon we were sprouting our own conspiracy theories about what had happened. We took turns sneaking into the office to read bits and pieces of the book until Molly convinced the older brother of one of her friends to get us a copy.
It was our holy book that summer; we worshipped it in a way we couldn't worship our father.
The shocking this was the number of people we knew in the book- Mrs Cregg and Mr Concannon, Mr Lyman (his wife, as far as we could tell, had no mention), Mr Young, Miss Moss, and of course, Sam. From what we knew from them, and from the book, we pieced together the story of my father's past life.
In the end, at the end of the summer, we never did get all the answers. It's one of those things, I suppose. You'll either learn more in time, or it'll forever be a mystery.
12.
When Toby died in a tragic car accident, there were many editorials about his life, many obituaries, too many flowers sent to the home of Andy and her children. Toby had been loved, and held very highly in the public's eye. He had followers at Columbia- even Eleanor Bartlet sent a hand-written condolence letter.
Those were the bearable parts. There were also the editorials calling him a traitor, arguing that the former President shouldn't attend his funeral- huge debates over whether former Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman should attend.
Some of the editorials were scathing in their hatred of the treason.
Some of the editorials were scathing in their hatred of what they saw as a cover-up.
Andy found it bewildering how ten years after the treason, people were still searching for answers.
"He never wrote a tell-all."
"Mum, did you really want him to?"
"He could have been a millionaire overnight. But he said once that he didn't know how he'd look you guys in the eye doing that."
She loved him more, if that were possible, now that he was dead. She liked that his secret- of why he had told- was dead with him. She couldn't help but love him a little more for that. But it was Sam his heart belonged to, in the end. Sam and the twins.
She still read the editorials, laughing at how angry everyone seemed to be that they didn't have all the answers.
Toby would have preferred it that way.
Bonus.
When Huck refused to speak to him, Sam felt like he was losing his own son.
It was Huck who hated him, and Molly who quietly sorted through Toby's things with him at the house.
It was Molly, who, with dry eyes collected all the things she felt entitled too. Sam didn't know how to stop her. Pictures, letters, books, all slivers of his life with Toby, went into Molly's box; there were things she left- things that Sam figured hurt too much to take.
But it was Huck he wanted to reach out to. Toby had told him about growing up with an absent father, and while Sam couldn't replace Toby, he hoped the teenager would let him in.
Huck stayed away.
Molly stayed away too, in her closed, walled-off way as they sorted Toby's things. She kept most of his shirts (and some of his).
He wanted to ask what he was allowed to keep of Toby, or if everything would be stripped away, but Molly frightened him in the same way that Toby had frightened him when they first met. She took his pillow, but left his Star of David link cuffs.
Sam offered them to Huck, in a letter. Huck never answered. When Sam figured Toby would want Huck to have them, he mailed them off. And heard nothing in reply.
Andy invited him for the holidays, then called, rescinding the offer.
"The kids aren't ready."
And Sam, hurt, stayed away.
WC:
Characters: Andy, Toby/Sam, Huck, Molly
Rating: PG
Summary:
Notes: Written for tww_minis round of album fic.
01.
They never spoke of the babies that were never to be; Toby preferred it that way, though sometimes he could tell the shattered promise of a future tore at Andy. He could tell she was hurting, but he was hurting too, and so selfishly, he did not help her.
They never spoke of what came next, or what they might do. They never spoke of babies that were never to be and late at night, when he pretends to be asleep, Toby can hear her crying over them. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, the marriage. There wasn't supposed to be heartache and hurt and bodies that couldn't make it right. There weren't supposed to be the long fights, and the tired non-fights.
When she presented him with divorce papers, his first response was to laugh. When her eyes did not sparkle back, he sighed.
"There were too many nights, Toby," she said softly, and he understood without understanding.
He played with his wedding band, looked carefully over the papers. There was no custody agreement to be had- there were no children they had managed to have.
"We could still make it work," he tried, the pen hovering above the page. But her smile was soft and sad.
"No, Toby, we really couldn't."
He thought later that she didn't want to try hard enough, that no matter what he reminded her of a grief that would forever be too raw for any time to heal. He thought it was his fault for loving her so fiercely, for wanting to risk everything for her. He would have moved the stars to give her a child. Children weren't high on his radar, but they were on hers. And it was something he couldn't hope to give her.
"We could," he tried again, his voice breaking. "We could adopt, Andy. We could-"
"Children won't make this better," she whispered.
And Toby, hurt, left without signing the forms.
*
"Maybe we give it one more go," Toby tried.
Andy only shook her head. "I can't Toby. I just can't."
"It wasn't any of our faults."
"I know Toby," Andy said softly. "I know. That doesn't mean we can-"
She'd given him the forms again and he was reading them, looking for something that could be construed as loophole out of divorce. He knew also he could do this the hard way, or the less-hard way.
"If I sign this, we'd be saying there's no hope of ever-"
"Oh Toby," was all Andy said, and it was enough.
02.
He didn't want to date again; he didn't want to think about anything other than her. So he still wore his wedding band, and threw himself into his work. Not everything had to be perfect, but most things did. Nothing could make it better- could take away the hole in his heart, but some things loosed it up a bit, made it not-so-severe. And still, he tried to court her.
"Toby." Her voice was delicate, and hurting. "Stop. Run the campaign."
"I could come run yours."
"No, you couldn't."
"Please?"
She kissed his cheek gently, "Go elect a president, Toby. I'll be fine."
He hadn't spoken to her for several months after that, not until after they had both won, until they were both back in Washington. Not until he again tried to court her.
"We could make it work."
"Oh, Toby."
*
It was Sam who said something, unintentionally.
"You're trying too hard."
"You've never been married, Sam."
"I meant on the speech."
"It's fine."
Sam fidgeted. "No, it's not. You're trying too hard on her too."
"She's my ex-wife, Sam."
"She represents the Maryland-"
"Yes, thank you, Sam. I know where Andy was elected from."
"You're trying to hard."
Toby glared at his Deputy, "And?"
"Maybe you should let me take over the speech while you-"
"It's fine." He paused, "Did you say anything to Leo?"
Sam shook his head, "Not directly."
"Sam."
"Yeah."
"You shouldn't have done that."
And Sam at least had the decency to look chagrined by that.
"I'm here if you need me," he said, reaching for Toby's arm, then deciding against it. He bit his thumb and half-winced. Toby smiled.
"It's okay, Sam. Eventually I'll get over her."
"Eventually."
"It's okay, Sam. I'm not going to break if you-"
"You're not exactly the comfort receiving type."
"No, but from you, I might manage."
03.
He had mentioned in-vitro first. After the divorce, Andy was sold on the idea. Toby knew better than to refuse- loved her too much to refuse. And yet there were the times when it wasn't good to have a child. For Andy, there was no wrong time to have a child. And Toby, sorrier than he thought himself capable, took the cup and went into the small room, trying hard not to regret his choice. That was made all the more difficult by the beaming nurse who handed him the cup and directed him the way, but as he sat there and thought of Andy, he thought that if this came to pass- if there indeed was a child- then maybe nothing would have been so bad.
04.
He was already seeing Sam after hours when Andy told him she had tried again and they would know in a few weeks. He thought of calling it off, but knew he had to see if there were children first. He had to see what course he was supposed to take- and damn the one he wanted to. He was already seeing Sam when the news of babies came. And Sam, in his idealism and wonder, understood the dichotomy. Sam, who fucked him while at the same time pressured him to marry Andy, was the best thing Toby could have experienced those nine months.
True, he was there for Andy, in every way that she wanted him to be. And true, he confided to Sam while both were naked on his bed, about the house he planned on buying for her. There was nothing normal about it, nothing that anyone could look at and hope to find some sense of morality in. And Toby was perfectly okay for it to be that way.
He took Sam to the house first.
"What will she say?" Sam asked quietly.
"Yes," Toby said. "She'll say yes."
"And us?"
"And us," Toby repeated, rocking back on his heels in the sunlit room. "And us. I don't know, Sam."
"You really love her." It was a statement, bitter and harsh and Sam stood tall and proud in making it.
Toby flinched from the words. "Oh, Sam," he said, the irony lost on everyone.
*
After. After was a new lifetime, before seemed so ancient. Andy had said no, and on so many different levels, the world crashed.
Huckleberry was an easy name, he let Andy have that one. But his daughter, he wanted to himself. He wanted a name with just as much legacy and meaning and history, but there was nothing. His family line wasn't that long- his family had started over in the States in the forties, and there weren't many names to pick from. So he waited and held Andy's hand as they watched the news.
It was Andy who suggested Molly first, timidly and shyly from her hospital bed.
"Huckleberry and Molly," Toby said, trying the names out. "Both are a bit old-fashioned."
"Both are beautiful."
And Toby, still very much in love with Andy, agreed.
*
Sam was back, beautiful Sam was back.
05.
The twins were seven when his book came out. He took them to Newport Beach with Sam in tow and let them have all the cotton candy they wanted. When they threw up afterwards, he only laughed, kissing the tops of their heads, and promising them the world.
He promised Sam the world too, a different kind of world. Sam had left the Santos administration half-way through, disillusioned and possibly more in love with Toby than he should have been. Josh had been upset, but more upset about the book, coinciding with midterms. C.J. had played her part, pretended to be furious that it was all coming out. But quietly she told him of her adoration, and of her thanks. When the baby was about to be born, she joked that she would name him Zachary, but in the end, Danny had some say.
In the end. If only this were the end of the story. But Toby knew better. Toby knew there were no such things as happy endings, no matter how much of an advance he was getting for his second book. He knew there was another shoe- always, always, always. He knew one wrong thing said on a speaking tour, and the world could crash again. The world was always crashing- it had been for all of time, and would for all of time.
But for now, there was happiness, and some sense of contentment with the world. There was Sam, and there were his children, and there was money. There was promise, and worth, and he wouldn't trade the admiration in his children's eyes for anything.
"They worship you," Sam remarked, but Toby dismissed it.
"No, they love me." There was a difference, there was always a difference. For how long had Toby worshiped at the feet of Josiah Bartlet? For how long had he loved Andy? For how long now had he been loving Sam? For how long now did the yuppies, the college kids who yearned for enlightenment worship him?
Toby didn't ever want his children to worship him.
06.
Andy yelled about the new book deal, about the teaching, about the holidays spent in a room stuffed with crumpled rough drafts. Andy yelled about Toby never seeing his children, about abandoning them for his precious words.
He wrote them letters, mailed them postcards and trinkets. He called them on Hallowe'en, and Thanksgiving, and managed to be there for Chanukah. He let them stay in his apartment, and colour the walls with their art work and crafts. He let them have the world he could give them, and when they saw him, they did not seem the hurt and betrayed that Andy painted them to have.
He kissed them and told them stories of before they were born, of worlds with promises, and broken worlds. He told them that any mountain’s peak could be reached. He told them all of this and hoped that he was not like his father. His father had been incarcerated; Toby was merely on a self-exile. To think that he did not love his children was unthinkable. To think that he was abandoning them sat heavy on his shoulders as he wrote.
"They miss you," Andy pleaded.
"Andy, I'm writing a book- a very important-"
"Come see your children, godddammit."
It would have been easy if that had settled it; a random unannounced visit during the middle of dinner. The kids were ecstatic. Andy was not so pleased.
"You can't just randomly show up in their lives, Toby. Eventually they'll resent you for it."
"So how about letting them come with me every other weekend?"
But there were pictures of rainbows and popsicle stick ash trays (those weren't too convenient) and Toby treasured all of them, kept them close to him as he typed away, writing of betrayal and treason, and being an anti-American hero.
07.
Samuel Norman Seaborn wanted to run for President, and had been looking into an exploratory committee. Toby didn't know how he felt about that, though he did have the decency to end the relationship before Sam would have to make that decision. Heartbreak was good for Sam, as was being America's Most-Eligible-Bachelor. What Toby did know was how he felt about the reporter who very insistently wanted to speak to him- even going so far as to accost his children.
Denying it would be pointless. Controlling the information on his own- information that was already in the rough copy of the book he was working on- was much better. Or so he told himself.
"Someone's got it."
"It was only a matter of time."
"Yeah."
"I've written this-"
"No."
The refusal was swift and harsh; Toby could picture Sam trembling while he held the phone.
"I can control this."
"Can you?"
"Toby."
"Sam. You know just as well as I do, that controlling the informa-"
"What do you think I'm trying to do?"
You're trying to deny it, and hope whomever's got it doesn't have any evidence, Toby thought, looking over pictures of Sam that were sprinkled throughout the small apartment. Sam, Sam and him, Sam and the kids. The kids. He had them to think about too, and Sam being selfish wasn't going to make the fallout any easier on them.
"There's an excerpt of you and the kids during-"
"No."
Sam's voice was panicked. Toby countered with a voice as gentle as he could muster.
"Sam, it's not like you were having an affair. Put it out there now- I've been seeing Toby Ziegler since the end of-"
"You don't know what they have," Sam's voice was small, but still cold. "You don't know what claim they're going to be making. You don't know if they're going to say that we were together while you were still trying to-"
"So put it out there now, and at least be proud of being something like a second father to these children." Toby said, sounding furious. "There is nothing- I repeat, nothing wrong with having loved me."
"The break-up's going to look like-"
"So come back home. The kids miss you."
Samuel Normal Seaborn did not run for president.
08.
When Molly ran away, no-one took it seriously enough. The handwritten note was left with 'her most prized possession,' a book about rock forms. The note went on to explain that it was too heavy to carry, and asked if someone could please look after it for her.
Toby wasn't worried when she didn't come in for supper. When the skies turned from milky blue to sapphire, he worried. When the sapphire faded into black, with a gold waning moon as a backdrop, Toby called the police.
Less than five minutes later, the Amber Alerts were broadcasted. Toby hadn't even had time to call Andy. She called only to say that she was driving down. Toby glanced at CNN to see Molly's face peering out from a photo- black hair, deep brown eyes, skin paler than a New Englander in the middle of winter, and a smile to melt anyone's heart. She had taken off with two peanut butter and banana sandwiches (using up the last banana and Toby suspects she would have packed more if there had been more bananas), three cartons of juice (she left the strawberry ones and Toby was sad to find that, until now he hadn't realised she didn't like them), and her sneakers. Probably an extra pair of socks too. She'd packed whatever else she'd taken that Toby hadn't noticed immediately missing from her room inside a paper grocery bag. So of course she'd left the book- Toby smiled as he thought of 11-year old gangly Molly dragging the paper bag behind her, the book practically weighing more than she did.
But it was nearing ten-thirty and the raven-haired girl did not come home.
*
It was a long night, and Toby did not sleep. The next morning, Secret Service agents covered the apartment, the Amber Alert had been extended up and down the East coast, and several airports were on high-alert. The Bartlet Kidnapping had been 11 years ago, and yet it was still fresh in everyone's mind.
Members of Congress called all day; Sam called, though he did not talk long, saying he was flying on the first flight out; even Bartlet called, asked if Toby and the family needed anything- even offering his place to stay, if they needed the quiet.
"We'll wait for her to come home, sir, thank you," Toby said softly, clicking the phone back in its cradle. He was one of the few people left in the United States with a landline, but since leaving the administration seven years ago, he found that not having a cell phone made his life a lot happier. Now he wished he'd had it, wished his daughter had taken it with her and they could track it. Wished Molly had given something in the way of clues other than fighting with Huck over whether or not this time Sam would be coming home. He couldn't mention that to Sam, that his daughter had gone missing because he'd flown home to see his mother. But a not-so-small part of Toby wished that she would see that Sam was indeed home, and would follow.
*
He didn't have to wait that long. Security at Columbia found her in Toby's office at eleven oh six, the spare office key carefully on a looped string around her neck. When Andy heard the news, she grabbed Toby tightly and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing furiously into his neck.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
09.
After another election win, Andy began to realise that no matter what, the people of Maryland seemed to love her. No matter what Toby did, or what books he wrote, they still loved her. So she thought, rationally, that if she had more of a relationship with Toby, they wouldn't vote her out for that either.
Fox news was quiet, the editorials were quiet, and Sam and Toby visited every so often. It made the kids happy, it made her happy, and it made Toby smile more than she had seen since they'd been married.
They agreed more, she found, the more Toby came over.
It was an odd blend of family, but the neighbours didn't seem to mind, and the kids sure never complained. She dabbled in dating, but whether they saw her connection to Toby, or they just never had a connection themselves, it never lasted long. Toby was still protective of her, and in her own way, she was protective of him as well.
"One of these days, the bubble is going to burst," Toby told her, on a rare day when it was just him visiting.
"Let them come."
He smiled, "You never were afraid to fight the good fight."
She laughed, "Fighting's what I was born for. Marrying you helped."
And he laughed in a way that made her remember why she'd married him in the first place, and it might have hurt, a little bit, a long time ago, but now it was sweet and perfect, and she was glad Sam was his, and the kids were theirs, and they were what they were to each other.
10.
I know, I know, it seems so cliché, me turning into what I did, that emo-kid. I wasn't really emo, I promise. Just confused and hurt, and unsure of a lot of things. I loved my dad fiercely, I really did, just like I loved my mum, but I loved 'em in different sort of ways.
So when my dad took me aside and told me that I reminded him of him, and I told mum, and she got all sad, I wondered if that might be a bad thing.
I mean, I'm not a sad kid, not really. I just like being alone, okay? I like the colour black- it's a nice colour. Mum says she hopes this is just a phase.
I have friends, you know. So it's not like I'm totally isolating from the world. And I don't internalise things like Huck says. I'd say Huck's more like dad, personally, but Dad said it was me.
So I don't know. I just know I like to express myself in doing science experiments, and digging up the back yard. Sometimes I like to paint. I don't think my father's ever done any of those.
He did paint my room while I was at Mum's though. I got back and asked if I could paint it back, and he said as long as he approved the colour. It ended up being bright yellow, which surprised everyone. Not Huck though. He at least understands me a little to know why I'd pick yellow. It's just a cheery colour.
I'm not all bad. I promise.
11.
I knew there was something special about my father after his book came out. It wasn't much of a book, to my eyes, and I soon stopped trying to sneak into my father's office to read it. But there was something interesting about the jacket cover. In the About the Author section it read: Ziegler is perhaps best known for his treasonous acts against-. It left me cold, and slightly breathless. Treason was something terrible. Treason was like sinning, only against your country. And my father had done it.
I confided in no-one except my sister what I had learnt.
"Well of course," was all she said. "If it had been Uncle David up there, you would have wanted someone to go get them."
What struck me was not her cool attitude towards it, but rather that she had known and I hadn't. I got over it quickly enough, and soon we were sprouting our own conspiracy theories about what had happened. We took turns sneaking into the office to read bits and pieces of the book until Molly convinced the older brother of one of her friends to get us a copy.
It was our holy book that summer; we worshipped it in a way we couldn't worship our father.
The shocking this was the number of people we knew in the book- Mrs Cregg and Mr Concannon, Mr Lyman (his wife, as far as we could tell, had no mention), Mr Young, Miss Moss, and of course, Sam. From what we knew from them, and from the book, we pieced together the story of my father's past life.
In the end, at the end of the summer, we never did get all the answers. It's one of those things, I suppose. You'll either learn more in time, or it'll forever be a mystery.
12.
When Toby died in a tragic car accident, there were many editorials about his life, many obituaries, too many flowers sent to the home of Andy and her children. Toby had been loved, and held very highly in the public's eye. He had followers at Columbia- even Eleanor Bartlet sent a hand-written condolence letter.
Those were the bearable parts. There were also the editorials calling him a traitor, arguing that the former President shouldn't attend his funeral- huge debates over whether former Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman should attend.
Some of the editorials were scathing in their hatred of the treason.
Some of the editorials were scathing in their hatred of what they saw as a cover-up.
Andy found it bewildering how ten years after the treason, people were still searching for answers.
"He never wrote a tell-all."
"Mum, did you really want him to?"
"He could have been a millionaire overnight. But he said once that he didn't know how he'd look you guys in the eye doing that."
She loved him more, if that were possible, now that he was dead. She liked that his secret- of why he had told- was dead with him. She couldn't help but love him a little more for that. But it was Sam his heart belonged to, in the end. Sam and the twins.
She still read the editorials, laughing at how angry everyone seemed to be that they didn't have all the answers.
Toby would have preferred it that way.
Bonus.
When Huck refused to speak to him, Sam felt like he was losing his own son.
It was Huck who hated him, and Molly who quietly sorted through Toby's things with him at the house.
It was Molly, who, with dry eyes collected all the things she felt entitled too. Sam didn't know how to stop her. Pictures, letters, books, all slivers of his life with Toby, went into Molly's box; there were things she left- things that Sam figured hurt too much to take.
But it was Huck he wanted to reach out to. Toby had told him about growing up with an absent father, and while Sam couldn't replace Toby, he hoped the teenager would let him in.
Huck stayed away.
Molly stayed away too, in her closed, walled-off way as they sorted Toby's things. She kept most of his shirts (and some of his).
He wanted to ask what he was allowed to keep of Toby, or if everything would be stripped away, but Molly frightened him in the same way that Toby had frightened him when they first met. She took his pillow, but left his Star of David link cuffs.
Sam offered them to Huck, in a letter. Huck never answered. When Sam figured Toby would want Huck to have them, he mailed them off. And heard nothing in reply.
Andy invited him for the holidays, then called, rescinding the offer.
"The kids aren't ready."
And Sam, hurt, stayed away.