Rating/Pairing: PG, Toby/Ginger
Disclaimer: Neither characters nor song are mine, nor ever will be mine.
Spoilers: Post ep to Six Meetings Before Lunch
Summary: The end to Toby's Day of Jubilee
Archive: At my site, The Band Gazebo
Feedback: Yes please!
Author's Notes: This one is for Jenni...I was supposed to be writing a post-ep for Lies, Damn Lies and Statistics before I read her latest Leo/Margaret offering, and Margaret began whispering in my ear about a conversation that she had with Ginger - what's a girl to do? This one takes place chronologically before If I Ever Lose My Faith but it doesn't much matter which one is read first.

I'm not nervous when Margaret calls me and asks me to come over to her office. After all, it's not unusual that the Chief of Staff's assistant would have business to discuss with the Director of Communications' assistant. It's nothing unusual, no matter the lateness of the hour, no matter that it's almost time to head out for the night.

But then I get to her office, and she stops typing straight away, looking around nervously to make sure that no-one is around, that no-one is looking, pulling a chair up beside her own and motioning to me to sit down.

"What is it Margaret?" I ask her. Margaret and I have been friends since my first day on the Bartlet for America campaign, and that's why I can read the look on her face so easily. The way that she's looking right now, I know she's worried, but that's not enough to concern me in and of itself. Margaret worries over everything and anything. It could be over anything as important as the passing of an important bill or the confirmation of a Supreme Court Justice, or it could be whether or not the cheese in the mess lasagne is low in fat.

She leans forward in her chair and takes a look around, as if she wants to make sure that no-one can hear us. "Ginger, I don't want to worry you." She pauses at that, leaning forward even further, looking around furtively once more. "But I think that there may be something wrong with Toby."

Now, while I know that Margaret's probably making something out of nothing, my heart nonetheless skips a beat at those few words. "Wrong with Toby?" I repeat. "What's wrong with Toby?"

OK, I haven't seen much of him today; it's been one of those days where we seem to miss each other all the time, and the only way that we know we're both in the same building is by the moving of papers from one desk to another. But he was fine when I left the house this morning. I'd go so far as to say he was in an extremely good mood, if the effort he put in to get me to stay in bed with him was anything to go by.

"Well, I was walking down the hall this morning, and I was coming through by the North entrance, and I saw Toby coming in late."

I nod, knowing this already; the coming in late part anyway. "Yeah, Leo gave him the morning off." Him, but not me, hence the trying to get me to stay in bed with him part of the morning. "He said that he deserved it after working so hard on the Mendoza confirmation." Which he did, even if I do say so myself. Toby nearly put himself in an early grave over the past few months, and I've been trying to get him not to take it so personally, but I might as well have been talking to the walls.

Margaret is nodding. "I know how hard he's been working. So I didn't really think that anything was amiss when I saw him coming in late. Then he spoke to me."

Her voice is amazed, and I find myself frowning, curious now. "What did he say to you?"

"He said, 'Good morning Margaret'."

I wait, until it becomes clear that she's not actually going to say anything else. "That's it?"

She shakes her head then. "Which gave me pause for thought, because you know, he never normally says good morning to me."

"No?"

"No. He normally growls something inaudible. And so I asked him if he was ok and he told me that he was fine. And Ginger, he was smiling." She sounds as if someone told her that the ceiling in the Oval Office was about to fall down. "And he laughed, and told me that there was nothing wrong with him, but that I, on the other hand, should turn that frown upside down."

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face. "He said that?"

"And that I should let my smile be my umbrella. And then he walked off down the hall. Ginger, he was saying hello to people. I think I even heard him singing." Her voice is worried again now, and she's leaning towards me, her face a mask of fear and worry. "Do you think he's…you know…cracking up?"

A slight guffaw escapes me. Only slight, mind you. Margaret's just trying to be my friend here. "He was in a good mood Margaret."

"Toby's never in a good mood."

Those kind of comments always surprise me somewhat, and I realise once again how lucky I am to see the side of Toby that so few other people see. The Toby that I know, the Toby that I fell in love with is gentle and caring, sweet, sensitive even. Coming to work on the Bartlet for America campaign, and finding out that people were terrified of him, that he had a reputation as a mean, grouchy crank, and that's one of the nicer sobriquets that they had for him, stunned me.

Working with him the past few years, I've come to see what they mean. But when he's with me, when we're at home together, he's never like that. Ever.

Trying to convince some people of that is a lost cause though, and frankly, Toby prefers that I don't try to rehabilitate him. He says that he's spent years building that reputation and he's not going to have me destroying it. And even on the rare occasions that I have told people about the sweet things that he's done for me, their responses have been frankly sceptical. And Margaret's the most sceptical of all. So I don't even try to convince her of Toby's good qualities. I just reason with her about this morning.

"Margaret, last night, he and Sam put a man on the Supreme Court of the United States of America. You have no idea how hard this has been on him. He's in a good mood, he deserves it."

"I heard he complimented Mandy."

I have to give her that one. It surprised the hell out of me too. "And then he had a meeting with her." My voice is flat, and Margaret correctly surmises what happened next.

"That was the end of that, huh?"

I nod. "Something about panda bears and the zoo? That was as much as I got after Toby slung her ass out of his office."

"Did she bounce?"

"We wish." I shake my head, realising that we're getting off the subject here. "Trust me, Toby's going to be fine."

Margaret nods, and she seems to be slightly mollified at that. "You sure? Because you know, if you need to talk…"

"Thanks Margaret," I smile. "But I think what I really need now is dinner."

"Take-out?"

I stand, shaking my head. "Oh no. My husband promised that he was going to take me out for dinner to celebrate the Mendoza confirmation. And panda bears or not, he's going to."

Margaret quirks an eyebrow at me. "He agreed to that?" Most of the assistants are familiar with my gripe of how much it takes to get Toby out of the office at a decent hour, and that most of our dinners together consist of take-out of one sort or another in his office, with the blinds down so that people know not to bother us. Not that that always works.

I shrug. "Hey, he was in a good mood. You don't expect me to use that to my advantage?"

"Have a good time," is all that she says to me, and I go back in the direction I came, scanning the bullpen briefly as I walk through before going into Toby's office, closing the door behind me, just standing there, my hands behind my back, resting on the doorknob, looking at him. He's sitting in his chair, turned slightly away from his desk, reading from a file, one of the many that's on his desk. His left hand is rubbing his beard, his right is tapping on the desk, and all in all, he looks as if he's lost in thought. He's so lost in thought that he doesn't even notice when I come in at first, and I take the opportunity to just stand and look at him.

I like to do that.

I'm not sure how long I've been standing there when he looks over at me, blinking in surprise to see me there. The file gets thrown down on the desk, one hand moving to rub the bridge of his nose. "Have you been there long?" he asks me.

"Long enough," I tell him, not moving from my spot. "Are you nearly ready to go?"

He raises an eyebrow, looking from me to the piles on his desk and spreading his hands in wonderment that I could even deign to ask such a question. "Go? With all this?"

I'm shaking my head at his actions, before he even speaks the words. "Oh no you don't Toby Ziegler," I say, walking over to his desk and coming around beside him. "You promised me an evening of dinner and dancing, and I mean to make sure you keep your promise."

I'm leaning back against the desk, my hands braced shoulder width apart behind me, and he looks up at me, the slightest smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. "I made no promises of dancing," he points out.

"I extrapolated," I shrug.

"Based on what?" His tone is light as he leans back in the chair, still not taking his eyes off me.

"Based on the fact that you were in a good mood this morning, as evidenced by the amount of effort you put into trying not to let me out of the house."

"Ah." He nods sagely. "I'm still not dancing."

I looked down and smiled to myself, knowing that that was going to be his reaction. "But you are taking me out for dinner."

"I did promise you that, didn't I?"

"Among other things." I grin at him and he grins back.

"Yes indeed." He stares up at me for a second, not talking, and I check that there's nothing important on his desk before I abandon leaning back against it, and instead sit myself down on it. He reaches out and takes my hand, twining our fingers together. Then he shrugs slightly, that little smile still playing around the corners of his mouth. "I was in a good mood."

"I noticed." A giggle bubbles up in my throat as I recall just how good a mood he was in the night before. We were both in the pressroom, and I could see him clearly, not able to tear his eyes of CJ doing "The Jackal". And for a few seconds, just a few mind you, I felt a small tingle of jealousy in the back of my spine. But I quickly pushed it away, because I knew that there's nothing like that between the two of them. And then later, before we went home, when everyone was dancing in the press room, he didn't dance with me, but he did stand beside me, with his arm around me, talking to me quietly, as if we were the only two people in the room. He never does that; we never make our marriage that public. But we did last night.

I know that people were surprised to see Toby that affectionate towards me last night, just as they were surprised to see him in a good mood this morning. And once more I'm struck by the difference between Toby's public persona and how he is with me.

That reminds me of Margaret's worried face, staring at me, and I giggle again. "You really scared Margaret, you know that?"

He blinks in confusion, then his face clears with memory, and he laughs too. "How I was supposed to know that that would concern her so much?"

"Because she's Margaret," I remind him. "She called me down there a few minutes ago, to warn me that she thought you might be cracking up."

He nods, and I think he's secretly pleased with that.

"She was scared when she talked to you," I tell him. "But I think it was hearing that you complimented Mandy that pushed her over the edge."

"I can't believe I did that either," he tells me. "What did I tell her again?"

"Something along the lines that she was charming and brilliant, and that you had all the time in the world for her." He makes a face that looks as if the memory is causing him serious pain, and I bet it is. "And you told Bonnie that she was dedicated and beautiful. You told me…" Here I take a significant pause, tilting my head to look at him disapprovingly. "That I was other nice things."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "You didn't like that?"

He already knows the answer, just as he knows that I'm only teasing him. A little. Not that much. Really.

"I just think it's interesting that you compliment a woman that you can't stand, and your other assistant, but that I, your wife, only get that I'm other nice things."

Our hands are still joined, and now his other hand closes on top of them, one thumb rubbing over my flesh gently. "You know it's not like that."

"Just that you don't want to spoil your curmudgeonly image by fawning all over your wife in public," I point out.

"Not that either," he tells me, and I realise that he's not looking at me anymore. Rather, he's staring at our joined hands, at his thumb moving across them, and the look on his face makes me catch my breath. "I'm a speechwriter Ginger. I work with words; it's what I do. And I was here today, and I was looking at Bonnie, and Mandy, and I could find nice words to describe them. And then I looked at you…and tried to come up with something."

If he tries to tell me that he couldn't come up with a single one, I'm asking for a divorce. Sam's a lawyer; he'd give me a reasonable rate.

"And it's not that I couldn't come up with something, if that's what you're thinking. The opposite in fact. Everything that I came up with seemed wrong…insignificant. Not enough somehow. Because just one word, or three or four, couldn't possibly tell you what I think of you."

My eyes are now suspiciously damp, and there's a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball. "Toby…" I manage to whisper, bringing my free hand up to cup his cheek.

He turns his head into my palm, placing a kiss there, flashing me a quick grin. "I was driving into work this morning," he begins. "And imagine my surprise when, instead of my usual NPR, I found a different channel tuned in."

"Ah." I duck my head sheepishly. Toby is an NPR junkie, for obvious reasons, and nothing else is allowed on his car radio. However, knowing that he was going to be drinking at the party here last night, we came in together yesterday morning, and I was the one who drove home. Then this morning, having been told by him that we were going to go out for dinner, I came in early with Bonnie picking me up, and he drove in later on. I might however, have changed the setting on the dial to reflect my own choice in radio programming when we were driving home last night.

"I was going to flip it back, but something stopped me. Some of that female rock ballad stuff that you like so much. And this girl, she had the most amazing voice that I've ever heard…and the song that she was singing said everything that I feel about you."

"It did?" My voice is a whisper still, and he nods at me, his voice equally low when he speaks, still not looking at me.

"Ginger…I wouldn't want to be me…if I didn't have you."

There's really only one thing that a woman can do when her husband says something like that to her in that tone of voice. So I slide down on to his lap, wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his.

When we come up for air, what seems like hours later, I rest my head against his, smiling. "That gets you out of dancing," I tell him. "But I expect dessert."

He laughs then, a real laugh, hugging me tightly, briefly, before letting me stand up. I help him with his jacket, making sure that it sits just right on him, and then we walk together out of his office. Bonnie and Sam are standing beside Cathy's desk, talking to Cathy, and from the sounds of things, Bonnie and Cathy are teasing Sam about something, and from the brief snippets of conversation that I can make out before their heads turn towards us, it's something to do with him and Mallory. I know that the two of them had a meeting this morning, and have been meaning to ask Sam all day how things went, and it looks like I'm going to find out. The smile on his face could light up the city of DC, so I'm guessing it went well.

"You guys heading out?" he asks us.

"Yep," I confirm, grabbing my coat and purse. "Dinner and dancing."

"No dancing," Toby tells them, and I grin.

"How did things go with Mallory?" I ask, and I don't miss Bonnie and Cathy rolling their eyes, even as Sam begins to practically bounce up and down.

"Well, after a slight misunderstanding…"

"Leo gave Mallory the opposition prep he wrote on school vouchers," Cathy interjects.

I wince, but Sam continues. "Once we worked that out, we had a very nice lunch together."

"Just lunch?" I ask, recalling all the conversations that Sam has had with me, seeking my advice on how best to pursue Mallory. "You're the only person I know in a stable relationship Ginger," he told me once. "Who else am I going to go to?" When I suggested that he asked Toby, he'd gone rather pale and swallowed hard, telling me that he'd really rather not.

He looks down at the floor, before looking up at me through his lashes, a habit he's got that annoys Toby to no end, but which I find rather adorable. "We're having dinner Friday night," he tells me, and I return the grin that splits his face with one of my own. I know how much Sam's been wanting this for a while now - hell, I think I've spent more energy worrying about his relationship with Mallory than about my relationship with Toby over the past few months.

"Are we going to stand around here all night discussing Sam's love life, or are we going for dinner?" Toby asks, and I cast a grin towards Cathy and Bonnie, before moving over to Sam and kissing his cheek.

"Good going," I whisper in his ear and he gives me a quick hug before Toby and I head out to the car.

Once there, I'm surprised when the radio comes on, and instead of NPR, I hear what is definitely my favourite radio channel still coming through the speakers, and I turn to Toby. "I thought you hated listening to this."

He's looking at where he's going, but I'm not missing the smile on his face. "It's not so bad," he tells me. "I made reservations," he adds. "For dinner." Another twitch of a smile. "And dancing."

"I thought you weren't going to dance," I say suspiciously, and he grins again.

"It's still my Day of Jubilee. I'm still in a fairly good mood, in spite of all. And I might consider dancing with my wife. If she wants to."

I'm about to say something when a new song starts on the radio, one that's begun by a woman whistling the opening chords. And we both smile, because I know what the song is, and thanks to this morning, so does he. That's why I stay quiet, just leaning back in my seat and closing my eyes, allowing the words and music to wash over me, humming along with the melody, because this is one of my favourite songs. It's why I was so touched when he told me about it in the office, because I recognised the lyric that he used, and I could fill in the rest of the blanks myself.

It's funny, because I know that there was a time in my life when Toby and I weren't together. Times when there were other men, times when there were no men, times when the girls and I used to hit the clubs on Saturday nights and dance until morning. Living in New York City, working on my Master's was hard work sure, but I had great friends, a great life, and I was happy with where I was.

I know all that.

I don't know what I was expecting when I walked into the lecture hall that day, when we were assigned a guest speaker. And on first glance, I wasn't expecting much. After all, here was this older, balding, forty-something man, who even to my inexperienced eyes seemed to be someone who didn't suffer fools gladly, someone who knew his stuff and expected all of us to know it too. But the more he talked, something strange happened. The way he spoke, the things he said, the conviction in his voice, they all drew me in, made me want to listen to him for as long as I could. I was in the front row of the hall - not my usual perch to be sure, but we'd got caught up over coffee and were running late, and our usual seats at the back of the hall were gone - and I found myself asking him questions, eager to hear him expound on his theories some more.

And then I waited for him after the lecture, and asked him if I could buy him a drink. And he looked taken back slightly, but he smiled and he said yes, and my friends thought that I was crazy, but I didn't care.

The chorus growing louder makes me open my eyes slightly, and I see him with his hand on the dial, a slight smile on his face as he stares out at the road, and I wonder if he's remembering the same things that I am.

I could have stayed in New York when I finished my Master's. After all, it would have been the logical thing to do. All my friends were there, I'd been living there since I started college, and my family were close by in Jersey. I have a pretty impressive resumé if I do say so myself, I wouldn't have had a problem getting a job. Everyone told me that there was no earthly reason why I should go to New Hampshire, to work on the campaign of a man who almost everyone was saying had no chance of winning the Democratic nomination.

Except to me there was. There was Toby. And he never put any pressure on me, never told me that I should come and join him. But it's what I wanted to do. I was tired of only seeing him once a month at weekends, I was tired of our relationship being conducted over email and phone lines. I was tired of not being able to touch him, be touched by him, tired of not being able to see him whenever I felt like it.

So I followed him to New Hampshire, and it was the best thing I ever did. Well, aside from asking him for a drink in the first place.

They say that there are times in your life when you're going about something everyday, something ordinary, and then you meet someone, or something happens to you, and you know without a doubt that things were meant to be that way. That destiny has taken a hand and something extraordinary has taken place in amongst the ordinary.

That's how I felt that day. As if my life had begun again.

It's scary to me sometimes, that I can remember my life without him in it, can remember being happy in a world without any Toby in it. Because I know, know deep down in my bones, that if anything were to happen now, if something were to happen to him, I don't know if I'd be strong enough to survive it. I don't know how I'd live my life without him in it.

But the most wonderful thing of all is that whenever I feel that way, all I have to do is look at him. And he doesn't have to be talking to me, or touching me, or holding me, or even looking at me. I can see him across the bullpen, reaming out some poor unfortunate staffer, or sitting in his office reading briefing books, or sitting in a staff meeting, arguing with Josh and Sam, or trying to write a speech with Sam. It doesn't matter where he is. All I have to do is look at him and I feel better. Safer. More secure. Because I know that no matter what it is I feel for him, he feels the exact same about me.

Listening to the song, I come to the conclusion that everything in it is as true for me as Toby says it is for him. Where else in the world would I rather be than right here? OK, so things might not be perfect administration wise. Our polling numbers are going down, and we've got Republicans waiting to trip us up, waiting for us to make a mistake.

But last night, my husband put a man on the United States Supreme Court.

I'm doing a job that I love.

I have good friends.

I have a husband that I love, who loves me.

And that alone is enough to part any clouds in my life.

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