Chapter Text
“We are all broken; that’s how the light gets in.” -Ernest Hemingway
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward some are strong at the broken places.” -Ernest Hemingway
***
Part 1:
“Why do people keep shooting at us?” was Toby Zeigler’s first and surprisingly coherent thought when he heard the now familiar sound of a shot ringing out across the crowded plaza outside the Torrington Hotel.
He reflexively ducked his head, even though he was already inside the limo and behind the safety of its bulletproof glass. He’d barely had time to process what was happening before Mike Sanders, one of the Secret Service agents on CJ’s detail, shoved CJ into the backseat of the limo and then piled in behind her, yelling “go, go!” to the limo driver.
The limo peeled out. Tires screamed as they bit into the pavement. Sanders was shouting into his earpiece. “This is Sanders, I’ve got Flamingo in the car, repeat, I have Flamingo in the car. Can I get a status report?”
Toby raised his head from his ducked position and sought out CJ; she was crumpled on the floor at his feet. He laid a hand on her back.
“Are you okay?”
She shifted position and sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “I think so.”
He gave her a hand up onto the seat.
“What the hell happened back there?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine; I was already inside.” He brushed off the shoulders of her jacket, then jerked back when his hand came away red and sticky with blood. “Jesus.”
“What?”
“CJ, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m what?”
“You’re BLEEDING.”
She looked at his hand and did a double take that would have been funny if it didn’t so clearly indicate that she was disoriented. She patted herself down quickly, then recoiled when her own hand came away dark with blood. “Oh my god.”
Toby pushed her jacket off her shoulders. There was a blossoming stain on the right shoulder of her blouse. “Shit! Mike!”
Sanders turned to them from a conversation with Coop, their driver, took quick stock of the situation, and turned back around.
“Head for GW, Coop, or Memorial, whichever is closest!”
The limo sped up.
Sanders grabbed the first aid kit from the compartment hidden inside the limo’s cushioned seat and began pulling gauze from it.
“Where were you hit, Ms. Cregg?”
“My shoulder.” Panic was sweeping across her features.
“Anywhere else?”
CJ gave herself a second cursory pat-down and finally shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I need you to be sure.”
CJ’s laugh was wild. “I didn’t even know I was hit the first time!”
Sanders passed gauze and a roll of bandages to Toby. “Wind that around her shoulder. Apply pressure. I need to call this in.”
Toby nodded and quickly shifted position so that he was on CJ’s right side. “I need you to--” He couldn’t quite get the words out that he needed her to unbutton her shirt so he could get at her skin. “CJ, you’re going to have to--”
She got it on her own and used her left hand to undo the small buttons on the iridescent grey silk blouse. She slipped it off her shoulder, wincing, and then pulled it all the way off, leaving her in a camisole.
The wound was larger than he expected a bullet hole to be, a ragged hole with blood pouring out of it; he didn’t know how much blood from a gunshot was too much, but it seemed like way too much to him. He felt a little sick but pushed the sensation aside. He pressed the thick pad of gauze onto CJ’s shoulder and applied pressure with his right hand, slipping his other hand behind her shoulder blade for support. CJ groaned and squeezed her eyes shut.
Sanders was still on the phone to the hospital. “Entry wound above the right clavicle … no … no … that’s unknown at this time … let me check.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Toby, is there an exit wound?”
He had to shift CJ forward to check and was glad to see there was nothing there but the pale expanse of her skin. “No.”
“No exit wound. I’m going to need that bullet as soon as we can get it out of her … Yes … Okay, we’re—Coop, how many minutes out?”
“Ten,” came Coop’s voice from up front. “There’s traffic on the bridge. I’m going to take another route.”
“We’re ten minutes out. Have a crash cart on standby.” Sanders ended the call. “Ms. Cregg, how are you doing?”
“Peachy,” she said through gritted teeth. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, ma’am.”
“Are you sure? Cause I don’t have a lot of luck with Secret Service agents and guns,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sanders said, clearly catching the reference to Simon Donovan.
“Is this going to kill me?”
“No, ma’am,” Sanders said firmly. “It’s going to put you in a sling for a while but that’s all it will do.”
“Is the President okay?”
“He’s on his way back to the residence.”
“You’re positive on that?”
“I am one hundred percent positive. I spoke to Special Agent Butterfield myself.”
“How did they hit CJ if they were aiming for him?” Toby asked.
“It’s too early to speculate, Mr. Ziegler.”
“I just want to know why people keep shooting at us,” CJ said, echoing Toby’s earlier thought with eerie uncanniness. She gritted her teeth. “Toby, ease up, okay, my arm’s going numb.”
“We need to keep pressure on that wound, Ms. Cregg,” Sanders replied. He motioned for Toby to change positions with him so he could take up triaging. He lifted the gauze, frowned, and applied renewed pressure to her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” CJ asked. She groped for Toby’s hand.
“You’re losing blood pretty fast; the bullet might have nicked an artery.”
“Oh, swell. You want to reassess the part about this not killing me?” She turned her head toward Toby so she wouldn’t have to look at the increasingly reddening gauze on her shoulder. There was stark terror on her face.
“You’re going to be FINE,” Sanders assured her. “No one has died on my watch and we’re not starting with you. Coop, how far out?”
“Five minutes, maybe less.”
“They’re going to get you immediately into surgery,” Sanders said. “Just be prepared for that, okay?”
“I can’t--” CJ looked as though she was having a hard time concentrating. “Toby, get someone who’s not Josh in the press room. There needs to be a release …”
“Let’s concentrate on you being shot before worrying about work, okay?” Toby met her eyes. “Do you want me to call your dad?”
“Call my stepmother but tell her not to tell him. Not yet. Not until …are you sure I’m going to have surgery?” she asked Sanders.
“Yes, ma’am, we need the bullet.”
“You can’t just leave it there?” she asked hopefully.
“No, ma’am, it is evidence.”
CJ turned back to Toby. “Tell my stepmother not to tell my dad what’s happened until I’m out of surgery.”
“Okay. Anyone else you want me to call?”
“I don’t have anyone else.” Her breathing was ragged. “Will you stay with me?”
He met and held her gaze. “Where else would I go?”
*
The limo screeched to a stop in front of GW’s emergency room. Sanders got out first and CJ followed under her own power. The crash team helped her onto a gurney and Toby had to scramble to keep up.
They took the walk down the ER hallway at a fast clip. Medical jargon flowed thick and fast. Toby understood maybe every third phrase, but he got the gist of it: as Sanders had posited, the bullet had nicked an artery.
“Gentlemen, it is family only past this point,” a nurse said, stopping him and Sanders from going any further.
Sanders pulled out his badge. “Secret Service, ma’am, I need to collect evidence.”
“You’ll have to wait until they’ve finished their work,” she said, blocking him from entering through the swinging doors. She looked at Toby, ready to dismiss him. Desperate to get back into the ER with CJ, he said the first thing that came into his mind, which happened to be, “I’m her husband.”
He caught Sanders’ amused glance and was thankful the agent didn’t blow his cover. The nurse nodded and ushered him back into the room where a doctor and two nurses were hovering over CJ, one affixing an IV drip to her arm, the other draping her from her collarbone down.
“—going to go in there and take that bullet out, Ms. Cregg,” the doctor was saying as he came in. “We’ll get you as good as new.”
“Will I be able to use it?” CJ asked.
“Not right away, I’m afraid.” He glanced at Toby as he moved to CJ’s side. “Are you her husband?”
“Yes,” Toby replied, pressing a hand to CJ’s good shoulder to keep her from negating the statement. “You’re going to get the bullet out? Then what happens?”
“Repair any arterial and muscle damage, then give her a transfusion to replace fluids lost through bleeding. She’s going to be fine. I’ll have her up in a room within an hour or two.”
“Are you aware that Secret Service needs the bullet?”
“I’ll make sure they get it.” He made a quick notation on the dry erase board near the door. “Ms. Cregg, we’re going to give you something to help you relax so we can get you under anesthesia, okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice was small. “Toby?”
“I’m right here.” Remembering that he was supposed to be her husband, he appended, “—sweetheart” to his statement.
“I’ll see you when it’s over?” There was anxiety in her voice now, and fear, so much that her voice wavered.
“Of course.” He laid a hand on her cheek, experiencing a wave of such sudden and intense anxiety for her that it nearly toppled him. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Call my stepmother.”
“I will.”
“Call Josh.”
“I’ll do that, too.”
“Mr. Cregg--” The doctor came over. “I need to get her prepped.
“Ziegler,” Toby corrected. “She, uh, kept her name.”
The doctor gave him an amused, “yeah, sure” look but nodded. “I’ll let you know when she’s out of surgery.”
“Okay.” He turned back to CJ. “They want me to go. I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Toby--” Her voice was so tight with fear that it nearly broke him.
“It’s going to be fine.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently. “I’ll see you soon.”