TWW FIC: Don't ask, don't tell (1/1)

[kangeiko]

Title: Don't ask, don't tell
Fandom: TWW
Summary: Ginger has a request. Toby&Ginger (or Toby/Ginger, depending on how you read it, I suppose.) Written for scrollgirl for the tww_minis Toby month.

Specifics of the prompt: Toby-fic, with Ginger, Sam or Will, California, sexual tension, boss/employee relationship.

A/N: I'm really not happy with this fic. I've rewritten it about a million times since I started on it back in, oooh, was it February? Good grief. And it's still not saying what I wanted it to say. But, honestly, I don't know what else I can do with it. scrollgirl, I hope that you enjoy it regardless.

*


The first that Toby heard of it was on an incredibly slow day, when CJ shoved a bit of scrap paper in his hands on the way down from the podium. He glanced down, surprised. Carol had slipped it to CJ during the briefing, but she had not reacted in the least, and he'd assumed that it was simply an amendment to the social calendar release. It was nothing of the sort, of course: plain canary yellow Post-It, and it said, simply, "Mrs X v. France", in Carol's loopy handwriting. He raised an eyebrow at her; what was this, Jeopardy? Things Toby had not heard of and would probably be asked about for $100.

"CJ, do you have a moment?"

She didn't even blink, gathering up Toby and the files that Carol held out to her and marching ahead as if there was no reporter at her heels. "Yes, Chris, because when I said 'that's a full lid,' what I really meant was, I'm holding back on every single thing you asked me and you should feel free to stalk me until I capitulate. You'll get the rest of it tomorrow, now do not bother Toby because he has had about three seconds of sleep and may, in fact, use you as a scratching post." They reached the French doors beyond which Chris did not venture. Sam had once told Toby that he liked to think that it was because there was some sort of banishment spell woven into the building that would keep vultures and reporters and Republicans away unless expressly invited.

Chris made a small moue of annoyance and CJ paused, her hand on the door. "Tomorrow, Chris, and you get the first question, okay?"

"I'll hold you to that -" and the rest cut off as the heavy doors swung shut.

Toby said the first thing that came to mind. "Scratching post?"

"Bears have scratching posts," CJ said, almost defensively.

"I think you'll find they're called 'trees'." He held up the post it. "Mrs X?"

"Later - I have a thing with -" she consulted another scrap of paper, "something to do with zoos."

"New York zoo," Carol said helpfully.

"Right."

"No, that's fine, I'm at your beck and call."

"I think Ginger was looking for you -" The door swung shut behind her.

All right, then. Toby consulted his watch. He consulted the clocks on the walls. He consulted his watch again. 'Later' meant in precisely half an hour's time, he decided, retreating to his office. It would be enough time to finish going through the last paragraph on the trade tariffs speech, and he could also find his French legislation notes. And where were they, anyway? It took a while for it to dawn that he had no notes on French legislation. Why would he? Sam was the one who kept in touch with the right people on this, and filtered any pertinent events through to him with a short scribbled Post-It explaining what the fall-out would be. OK, so, Sam's notes.

If he were Sam's notes, where would he be? Other than, obviously, Sam's office? (He was rather assuming here that Will Bailey had actually gone through the boxes of paper left behind for him, rather than taking calls from his father's friends the entire time.

Not that he was bitter.)

Maybe he should reorganise his pencils.

"Ginger," he stuck his head around the door. "Can you get someone to find out where Sam archived his files?"

Ginger was juggling four thick folders and a mug of hot coffee, for no discernable reason. "Sure, I'll get on it. Oh - Toby? Can I have a moment?" At his resigned nod she hurriedly handed the files out to various staffers and stepped into his office and closing the door behind her. She handed him the mug. "I bring coffee."

Toby fought the urge to send her away again. "What did you do?"

She glared. "Do I have to have done something to bring you coffee?"

"You're worse than Donna, so, yes."

"Fine, I'll take it away if it's not welcome."

He stared heavenwards. "Ginger, give me the damn caffeine and tell me what you did!"

Smiling a little tentatively at this and tucking her hair behind her ear, "nothing! I want to take a few days off next week, that's all. Normally I'd send it through to Personnel, but because it's so short notice they want you to approve it." She held out the slip of paper.

He grimaced. "Ginger, next week's the California trip." Next week: where all the work goes to lurk. And wait. And mock.

"I know! I mean - I know - Bonnie will cover for me, the phones will be attended and all my work has been farmed out, I just need -" she gestured towards the dotted line, "you know."

He rocked back in his chair. Ginger stared at the doubtlessly fascinating spot three inches above his left eyebrow.

Toby stared.

Ginger stared.

"All right," he said slowly. "As long as it is urgent."

She said nothing.

"Ginger? Is this something I should know about?"

She folded her arms. Unfolded them. Stared at the ceiling. "OK, you know how you say that if we did something stupid we're supposed to come to you immediately -"

"Um," Toby said, and reached for his coffee.

"I'll be right back after I fix it." She smiled far too brightly and reached out a hand expectantly. Her smile - wide and brittle - faltered a little under his gaze. "Toby?"

Slowly, he signed the approval form. "You have my number," he said finally, helplessly. He stomped all over the urge to inquire further. Not. My. Business. "Call me and let me know you're all right."

"That would be the worst phone call to make, I think. You taught me better." She tucked the form away amidst some random files she selected from his desk. "I'll be careful, I promise. If anyone asks, I'm going out to visit my sister in New York." She smiled again; just as bright and wide and brittle. "I'm not going to make a mess because of one -" An ugly flush spread across her cheeks and she coughed. "Well, whatever, it's fixable, right?"

Yes, I'm thrilled to be working at the White House; no, I'm perky and happy and all-American, I have never participated in any of the following: flag-burning, protesting, contraception-distribution. I do not have any friends with anti-American sentiments. I have never had extra-marital sex. I have not had a child out of wedlock. I have not had an abortion.

I am not -

I have not -

She smoothed her skirt down and Toby jerked his gaze away. He had an inkling that his own face was just as red. Goddamnit. "All right," he said again, gruff. "All right." He was at a complete loss for what to say.

Ginger smiled again, this time genuinely. "I'll be fine, Toby. I'm staying with my sister, remember?" She pursed her lips a little. "Anyway, I'm leaving my cell behind so don't bother tracking me down, for anything less than a full-fledged apocalypse."

So easy to fall back into old patterns… And she was practically out of the door already, eager to be gone before anyone noticed anything odd.

"Right," he said, almost smiling back. "Why is it that all my assistants labour under such delusions of grandeur?"

"We take our cue from you," she retorted smartly on her way out, her heels clicking one - two - three.

The door swung open in her wake.

*

fin