Rating: Not sure - either a very light R or a very strong PG-13!
Pairing: Toby/Ginger
Spoilers: None.
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) Anywhere else please ask first.
Summary: On Election Night, Ginger does some thinking
Author's Note: Still not sure about this one, but I'm working on the Christmas one, and this needs to be read before it! All other instalments of the Novembers Past series can be found on my site, The Band Gazebo.

The early morning sunlight streams through the window of the living room as I snap open the blinds, before going to the couch and curling up on it with my cup of coffee. The first sip goes down smoothly and I close my eyes, savouring the taste, feeling the caffeine work its magic the moment it hits my system. Not that I need a cup of coffee to jump-start me in the morning, but sometimes it does a good job. That being said, I don't need it nearly as much as others that I work with will this morning; at least if the party that we had in the West Wing last night is anything to go by. I smile to myself as I remember the jubilation that went around the bullpen as the results began to stream in, and can still see Sam lifting Mallory off the ground and spinning her around when it became clear that once again, the Bartlet Administration had defied the odds, done the impossible and managed to take back the House at the Midterm Elections.

We had a party last night the like of which we haven't had in two years, the last time we defied the odds of electoral success, and the champagne was flowing freely in the West Wing. People were dancing and laughing and joking, and everyone was in a good mood. A speech from the President had us tearing up and breaking up with laughter in turn, and it didn't take long before CJ was called up to do "The Jackal," not that we had to try too hard to convince her. She was more than willing to pull it out on such an occasion as this.

It was when the music started that something hit me, in particular with the first line. I've heard that song on the radio, seen CJ lip-synch to it maybe half a dozen times, but I'd never really listened to the lyrics before. For some reason last night, the opening one leaped out and grabbed me, made me think.

For the longest time, there was only one man who changed my life. His name was Alan O'Neill and when I met him, I was a shy eighteen year old freshman at WVU, who had grown up with four older brothers, and who was literally scared of her own shadow. I'd noticed Alan around here and there, and never dreamed that a tall dark and handsome guy like him would ever be interested in someone like me. Alan however, had his own thoughts on that matter, and made it clear that he was very interested. He asked me out, I accepted, and from the very first night we met, we both knew that we had something special. There was a period when I let my doubts and insecurities get the better of me, but Alan never wavered, never lost his faith in me. When I came to my senses and begged him to take me back, he did so without a second thought and never mentioned it again. He brought me out of myself, brought out the best in me, and I adored him.

One of the happiest days in my life was when I walked down the aisle on my father's arm and became Mrs Alan O'Neill, promising to love and honour him for as long as we both should live.

I had no idea at the time that three years to the day later, he'd be taken from me, killed by a drunk driver as he pushed me out of the way.

I shut down for a long time after he died. Alan had been more than the centre of my world; he'd been my whole world, and I couldn't imagine going on without him. He'd given me strength, confidence; he'd taught me that I could do anything that I wanted to do. He'd believed in me, even when I hadn't believed in myself, and I hadn't realised how much I relied on him until he wasn't there anymore.

Then late one night, I saw a program which featured a certain Democratic candidate for President, and the next day I told my family that I was packing up my life and driving to New Hampshire. They thought I'd gone crazy, but I convinced them, with my mother's help, that this was something that I had to do.

And look at what I found there.

A new life. Friends that I care about, who care about me, some of whom are like the sisters that I never had. A job that I love, that I'm good at. I learned once more that I could stand on my own two feet, that I could do anything I wanted to do. I learned that the things that Alan had taught me were still there, and I learned to live without him. Learned how to sleep without nightmares, live without crying, even learning to smile again and mean it.

But as important as all that is that I found another man who changed my life.

That realisation, as well as the fact that it was Election Night made me go to my desk, get my coat and slip it on, heading out to the Sculpture Garden. The night was cool and dry, and my skin tingled with the cold air as I leaned back in my preferred bench and waited. It didn't take long before I heard footsteps approaching, smelled cigar smoke, and smiled to myself. I turned to see him coming towards me, and readily accepted the glass of scotch from him, scooting closer to him when he sat down beside me and snuggling up against him. "I wasn't sure if you'd come out here," I told him, and he chuckled.

"It's Election Night," he reminded me, as if I needed reminding. "Where else would I be?"

Where indeed? Because on Election Night six years ago, he wandered outside in Manchester, to find a sad, scared little girl crying because it was supposed to be her fourth wedding anniversary, but was also the first anniversary of her husband's death. He gave me a drink of the scotch that he carried in his hand, and convinced me to follow him back inside, where I saw CJ do "The Jackal" for the first time.

Four years ago, we met here on this bench. I'd just dispensed some sage dating advice to Zoey; he was still reeling over the shooting, and I tried to tell him that even when you feel that your life is falling apart around you, even when it is, that you just keep going on, and that every day, it gets a little better. I knew he didn't believe me, but he let me walk beside him to the Residence where he had a meeting with the President.

Two years ago was probably the time when everything changed between us. The night that the President was re-elected, he met me out here, and brought with him two glasses of Scotch, because the last time we did this, I drank most of his. We drank a toast to Novembers past and future, and there was something in his eyes that I hadn't seen in too long a time. Something that excited and thrilled me, but something that scared me too, because I knew that it wasn't something I was ready for.

But he knew that. He knew that and he stepped back and waited for a sign that I could move on. It came in July, when I gave Josh and Donna the rings that I'd been wearing around my neck for so long. He met me out here that night, two glasses of scotch again, and we drank a toast to moving on. That look that I'd seen on the last Election Night was back again, but I was still scared, still unsure of where we went from there. He just held me, bringing my hands to his lips, suggesting that we started with a dance, and see where that took us. I smiled, because that, at least, I could do.

He took me home that night. I know that the girls all thought that something would happen between us, but they couldn't have been more wrong. He walked me to my door, kissed me on the cheek, and left. It took another week before he kissed me properly, and when he did, it was well worth the wait.

Every now and then, when a session of girl talk comes around, the other assistants will ask about me and Toby, torn between wanting the details of what's happening, the lure of gossip inescapable, yet tempered by knowing that this is Toby we're talking about. I told them that story, and they all but swooned in their seats, but they also wanted to know what happened next. When I told them that nothing happened next, that he went home that night and that I slept alone, they looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.

I'm not quite sure that I know how to explain it, except to say that Toby is a complete gentleman. He's let me set the pace of our entire relationship, to the extent that he was perfectly content to wait almost two years for me to know that I was ready for it. I am however sure that he never expected what I told him a couple of weeks later, because his surprise was clear on his face.

It was a couple of weeks after our first kiss, and he'd taken me out to dinner, taking me home afterwards and coming up for coffee. We were lying on the couch, making out like teenagers, when his hand found its way underneath my skirt and began inching up my thigh. It didn't feel bad, or wrong, just strange, and I didn't mean to, but I flinched. He pulled away from me instantly, one hand braced on the back of the couch, holding him up, the other brushing my hair back behind my ears. I was embarrassed, but there was no impatience on his face, just a worried frown, and I closed my eyes, because it actually hurt me, made my stomach twist, to see him look like that. "Are you ok?" he asked me quietly, gently. I nodded, feeling myself turning red, keeping my eyes closed with embarrassment. I felt him shift, felt him sit up properly on the couch, missing his warmth the instant it was gone. "Come on, sit up," he murmured, coaxing me into a sitting position and taking one of my hands in both of his. "Talk to me?" were his next words, a simple plea uttered in that same gentle tone of voice which brought tears to my eyes.

I battled them back, taking a deep breath before I spoke. "Toby…I told you about Alan. About how he was my first serious boyfriend."

He nods. "Yeah." But there was a questioning tone to his voice, and I knew he didn't understand. Not really.

"Toby, when I told you he was my first serious boyfriend, I meant it. I didn't date much in high school, and I met Alan my freshman year in college. He was my first boyfriend… my first everything. I never cheated on him…there was never anyone else. And after he died…I was so upset that I didn’t… I mean, I couldn’t…"

Somewhere in my halting narrative, there was an explanation, and Toby didn't have to try too hard to figure it out. "So…" he began, interrupting me. "What you're telling me is that Alan is the only…"

I nodded quickly, not wanting him to spell it out. I knew this was a surprise to him, I could see the effort it was costing him to keep his jaw from dropping open, but he couldn't do a thing about his wide eyes, nor about his nervous habit of rubbing his hand across his forehead. "I know it sounds ridiculous…" I began, because I'm well aware, from talking with the other assistants, of just how inexperienced I am, and it's always something that I've felt awkward about discussing.

He interrupted me though, shaking his head quickly. "It's not ridiculous Ginger… I think it's wonderful. That you cared that much about him…that you would share something like that with me…" One of his hands found one of mine again, and I looked down as he intertwined our fingers together, the sight giving me hope that maybe things would work out all right after all.

"Toby…" I whispered. "I want this. I want us. I'm just…" My voice trailed off and my free hand went up to cup his cheek. "It's been so long…"

He smiled at me then, leaning forward to press a kiss to my forehead. "Then we'll take it slow," he promised, before he wrapped me in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder, and we sat there like that for a long time, until I was almost falling asleep and he told me that he should go.

He promised me that we'd take it slow, and we did. All through the summer and fall, that scene was repeated. We kissed and touched, grew more comfortable with one another but he never made me do anything that I felt uncomfortable with. He was so patient, so understanding, never once uttering an unkind word. Just like he let me set the pace for starting our relationship, he let me do the same with the progression of our relationship, and I loved him all the more for it.

Last night, sitting out on that bench in the Sculpture Garden, I realised just how far I'd come in the last six years. How much Toby has had to do with that. While I still miss Alan, while there'll always be a place in my heart that misses him, that wishes he were still here, I'm not the grieving widow who was trying to find her way in the world anymore. Toby's been there to see me grow and change, and for a long time he was the only one who knew about Alan. I could see him looking out for me, making sure that I was all right long before we became anything more than friends, and I've always known that I could go to him if I had a problem. And in the last couple of years, he's shown me that I can move on, that I can love again. I didn't know that for a long time after I lost Alan, not until Toby came along, with his huge heart hidden inside his prickly reserve and showed me.

I've been blessed to, in my life, know and be loved by two incredible men.

Two men who changed my life, each in their own way.

Suddenly, sitting out there in the Sculpture Garden, talking about our friends and our colleagues and Congressional seats, I knew what I wanted. Knew how I wanted the night to end.

So I leaned over, pressing my lips to his. I think he was in mid-sentence, but I didn't care, and judging by his response, he didn't either. The kiss was quick but passionate, and when he pulled away, we were both breathing hard. There was a question in his eyes when he tilted his head to look at me, and I just smiled at him. "Take me home?" I asked him, and he looked into my eyes again, checking to make sure I really meant it. I nodded slowly, and the biggest smile I've ever seen crossed his face.

"Sure," was all he said, but he drew me to him once again, kissing me, and this time there was nothing quick about it. It was slow, thorough, and when he pulled back, I was shaking, and not from the cold. I remember hoping that my legs would hold me up, and he might have known that because he slipped his arm around my waist and brought me back to the bullpen where we made our excuses and went back to his place.

Not for the first time in our relationship, I was brave and strong until we actually got to where we were going. Then, as the realisation of what was about to happen began to hit me, I got nervous again. He helped me off with my coat, hanging it up beside his, before turning to me, standing close to me, resting his hands on my hips, not saying anything, just looking down at me. "You ok?" he asked, because it must have been obvious that I wasn't.

I gave him what I hoped was a brave grin, but what I suspect was more trembling and scared. "It's been a long time Toby," I whispered, and he smiled at me, cupping my face in his hands and leaning down to kiss me quickly.

"Then we'll take it slow," he told me, and I smiled at the words that he'd deliberately chosen. He took both my hands in his, squeezing them for reassurance and with a nod from me, we walked side by side into the bedroom. Once there, he kissed me slowly, just as he had before we left the Sculpture Garden. His words had put me at ease, and there was no flinching this time when he touched me, when he laid me down on the bed. Just as he promised, we took it slow; too slow almost, and I have a distinct memory of him chuckling lightly, fully enjoying the effect that he was having on me. He was as gentle with me as he'd been in the weeks before this, as tender as I could have hoped for, and when my world flew apart into a thousand pieces, he was there to catch them all.

When we both came back to ourselves, hours, days, weeks later, he gathered me to him, my head resting on his shoulder, one of his hands tracing patterns on my back. His other hand was intertwined with one of mine, and he kissed the top of my head. "You ok?" he murmured, and I wanted to tell him that I was better than I'd been in a long time. I wanted to tell him how much that meant to me, how much he meant to be, but I was having some trouble getting the words out. There was a lump in my throat that I couldn't explain, and the words couldn't get past it. I must have made some noise, because the next thing I knew, he was pulling away so that he could look at my face, and he was frowning. "Ginger?" he asked, and that's when the first tear made its way down my cheek. "Ginger?" His voice was as gentle and concerned as ever I'd heard it, and his hands held my shoulders as he sat up slightly. "Talk to me Ginger…did I hurt you? Are you ok?"

I shook my head. "You didn't hurt me," I choked out, pulling myself upright, wrapping the sheet around me protectively. His face didn't show much belief in what I was saying, and I reached out a hand to him, the feel of his beard against my palm strangely comforting. "I'm happy Toby," I told him, although I know I didn't look it, what with the sobbing and all. "I don't know why I'm crying…"

"Oh Ginger…" His voice was a sigh, and he just reached out and pulled me into his arms again. "It's ok Ginger…let it out, it's ok…"

It was only when I calmed down that I realised why it was I was crying. What happened last night didn't happen on the spur of the moment; it wasn't some drunken stumble on Election Night. Rather, it was a night that was two years in the making, and it was perfect. I meant what I'd said to him, I was happy; happy that I was with him, happy about where we were going. But I was also a little bit sad, because being with him like that meant that I really was saying goodbye to Alan. And I was scared, because I'd been happy before, and I'd had perfect before, and both had been taken away from me, suddenly, without warning.

I wanted to tell him all that, and I looked up at him, even opened my mouth to begin. He silenced me with a shake of his head, tucking a strand of hair back behind my ear, before fitting his lips to mine. When he pulled away from me, he whispered two words that meant the world to me.

"I understand."

I fell asleep in his arms with those words running through my mind.

I woke up before him this morning, and took a few minutes to just watch him sleeping. He's been running hither and yon these past few weeks, trying to get a Democratic Congress elected, and I let him have his sleep. He's earned it, in more ways than one. I, on the other hand, had more energy than I could stand, and I couldn't just stay there watching him sleep. Not if I wanted him to get any sleep, that is. Which is why I slipped out of bed carefully, so as not to wake him, and came out here to get some coffee and think about the past few weeks in my life.

"Ginger?" His voice brings me back to reality, and I hear not only that, but footsteps.

"Out here," I call, and he comes into his living room, still tying his robe as he walks, and he visibly sags against the doorframe when he sees me there, curled up on his couch.

"I thought you'd left," he admitted, smiling over at me, and I shook my head, holding up my now empty coffee mug.

"I couldn't go back to sleep," I explained. "So I got some coffee." I put the mug back down on the table, standing up to go over to him, and I don't miss the expression on his face when he sees what I'm wearing. "I helped myself to a shirt from your closet." My eyes lock on his as I walk, and I can see the desire there. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Oh, I don't mind in the least." That chuckle is music to my ears and his arms slip around my waist when I reach him, pressing me to him, and our lips meet with just as much passion as was there last night. When we pull away from one another, he looks up at the ceiling, an exaggeratedly thoughtful look on his face. "Tell me…what time do we have to be at work?"

I grin. "Well, I don't know about you…but my boss said that I could come in late this morning. Seems he's going to be running late himself."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"Well," he says. Even as he speaks, he's backing up towards the bedroom, and I'm not doing anything to stop him. In fact I'm doing all I can to speed his progress. His next words however, make me pause in my tracks. "Aren't we lucky then?"

He meant it in jest, I know that. But it doesn't make it any less true, and I stop, reaching up to caress his cheek. "Yes," I say seriously. "We are."

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