Author: Regency

Title: A Scandal In The Making

Season/Spoiler (s): I don't know. I guess you'll only know if you've seen the ep, right?

Pairing: Can't think of anything

Warning: If you can't stand a mother's love then…be gone.

Disclaimer: So not mine. CJ belongs to Aaron Sorkin as do just about everyone (excluding Joshua Cregg) in this story.

Summary: Her country needs her, her son needs her, and now there's a scandal coming that's bigger than the MS, because if it's true, he not only lied to his country, he lied to his wife.

Author's Notes: This has no basis on anything. I just had this thought and it stayed with me. Oh, and I can spell, but when you have a cold it doesn't matter, because nothing comes out right. And there's no Toby hate here. She loves him…maybe.

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CJ's POV

I shake my head. This is just...this is just no way. Our President...Josiah Bartlet, a cheater, an infidel? No, we vetted the man. There are no other children...I mean, I don't think there are. Four daughters...three daughters? Could we have read four, but only seen three and not been the wiser. I mean, could we? It's a one daughter difference. One more daughter than Abbey has.

I look at them with a stunned expression. Toby looks all, you know, gloomy and irritable. So basically, normal.

"Hey, CJ, you know, get with it."

"Give her a minute. She's down today. I needed a minute, too." Thanks, Sam. I think I need an hour.

"How could we have missed this? " I hold my hands up like the Scale of Justice. " Three daughters...four daughters? That's…not the same."

"No crap, CJ. Yeah, three and four are a little different. Three means he's faithful and four, you know, doesn't." Why is he a pain in my ass? I really don't need this.

"What does the President have to say about this?"

" Basically, he says, "Fix this." That's about it."

"Who's making the accusation?"

"Mary Marsh." I drop my head back onto the couch. Who the hell else?

"What's she saying? Dear God, what's she not saying?"

"She's basically saying, you know, how can we stand behind this...infidel. Who, you know, preaches this and that, but does not practice what he preaches and some other biblical whatever such as that."

"Thank you, Toby, I understand the situation so much better now." I turn back to Leo. "Leo, is she saying something like that? Because if she is, we're okay, 'cause no one understands her, anyway."

"No, unfortunately, she was a bit clearer than that, but, you know, whatever." We just look at him. "Okay, guys, we need to fix this. If there's another girl, we need to find her and vet her and get her ready. But first, we need to find out the whole story. Is there even another daughter?" Oh, God, does Abbey know?

"Does the First Lady know yet?" Leo looks at all of us.

"I'm guessing she's found out about it since last night. It was on CNN and all. If it was the President that told her, that I don't know." Okay, I'm going to assume we don't have the First Lady on our side here.

"So, we're going to assume we don’t have the First Lady with us, for the moment. I'm thinking she's going to need some time. Even if it all turns out to be false. She's going to do her Manchester thing and we need to get ready to spin why she isn't at his side."

"We don't know that."

"From past experience, Leo. Yeah, we do." I'll never call her a coward, but she has a tendency to be late to the party.

"Okay, okay. Yeah, we're going to go with that. She's probably gonna--yah. Okay, we have a problem. It really didn't look this bad before you got here, CJ."

"Sorry, Leo. "

"Don't worry about it. Just, you know, fix this."

"Guys, what proof did she give? You can't just come out calling the President a cheater willy-nilly with no proof. She's got to have something on him." God, please let her have nothing.

" She's got pictures, CJ." I sit forward on the couch.

"Pictures of what? Pictures of the President and another woman? A child? Who, what?"

" A child, no children. Zoey and this girl, and her mother. She produced a picture and it just so happened that the President had a matching one in his wallet, exactly where she said he would." I press my fingers to my forehead. Her mother--Oh, God, another family.

"She isn't accusing him of bigamy, too, is she?" Not like that's somehow worse or better.

"Not so far, but don't put it past her." I shake my head. This is surreal.

"Okay, um, is he denying this? What's he saying?"

Sam uncrosses his arms and shakes his head. " That's just it, he's not saying anything. He's not confirming or denying. He's just telling us to fix it. We don't even know what 'it' is. Just that we're somehow supposed to fix 'it'."

"Okay, then we need to fix it. " They all give me varying shades of grey looks. "It's our job, good or bad. We fix it. He doesn't have to tell us anything he doesn't want to."

"Actually, I think I do." The voice comes from behind me and I jump up to face him. He's standing there with his hands stuffed in his pocket. The pinched look on his face gives evidence of a hard night and little sleep. I'm guessing he's gone quite a few rounds with the First Lady, already. "You've all been there for me and I can't do to you what I've done in the past, not this time. You have questions, ask 'em." We all look at each other and hesitate to ask the question on all our minds.

Donna steps forward from her sentry position by the door and raises her hand.

"Excuse me, Mr. President."

"Go ahead, Donna."

"Mr. President, do you have another daughter? I mean, I think you do, but you don’t. Am I right?" He nods after a moment.

"Yeah, you got it right." It's good that she's got it, 'cause I've got nothing.

"Um, sir, what does she have, because I have, well, nothing?"

"I've got a daughter, who isn't, but you're going to have to convince people of that."

"What?" He nods to Donna to explain.

"His other daughter isn't. She's his daughter in every way he cares about, but not biologically. He's probably raised her her whole life and loved her just as long. She's probably in his will, but she isn't his daughter. They probably aren't even related--" He stops her there.

"She is related to me. She's my second cousin, my cousin, Andrew's daughter. "

"What does he think of you taking care of his daughter in his place?"

"He doesn't think anything, because he honestly doesn't care. He didn't care when her mother was pregnant and he didn't care when his daughter graduated from high school. He didn't take her to her junior and senior prom and he didn't go on the fourth-grade father/daughter trip with her. I did that. I did his job and I did it gladly." Okay, I can spin this. This I can spin. And I heave an internal sigh of relief. Thank God.

"Mr. President, Mary Marsh has produced several pictures of you, the girl--"

"Gillian." I nod.

"Gillian, her mother, and Zoey. Why is Zoey in the picture?"

"I introduced them to each other. They hit it off."

"Does Zoey know they're...sisters?"

"Yeah, I told her. She adored her."

"Do they still speak?"

"Now that, I don't know. There's about four years between them so eventually I'm sure they drifted apart and I stopped bringing them together when Zoey started middle school. I don't know why I did that." He sounds introspective, so we all sit there and wait for him to come back to us.

"You mean, they met when they were young?" God, now it looks like this has been going on for years. Hell, it has been going on for years.

"Yeah, I had a thing in Louisiana, where they live, when Zoey was six and Gilli was two. That's when I introduced them. They stayed close until Zoey was eleven and Gilli was seven. Like I said, I stopped taking her over there."

"Is there anyone who can corroborate that?" He shrugs.

"Lindy, Gilli's mother, can, but I don't think you want to take her word for it." No, I'm thinking not.

"Anyone...with less of a stake in…this thing?"

"Zoey's third grade teacher, maybe. I brought Gilli there a few times. It's funny. No one ever mentioned Gilli to Abbey. That's just ironic to me." I'm sure it is. Ironic, ha.

We all sit in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts, not sure what to say next. There's a knock on the door and Carol sticks her head in. Hey, Carol. Save me. She looks around the office for a second before finding me.

" C. J. , could you come back to your office? Josh is getting sick and I think he's got a fever. I tried to get him to eat the crackers, but they won't stay down. I don't know what to do." I'm already halfway out of the door, before she finishes her uneasy tirade.

"Did you take his temperature?"

"I didn't find a thermometer in his bag. I felt his head and he felt hot to me. Then, I tried to get him to eat the crackers and after a little battling, he did. But then, he just started getting sick. C. J. , did I do something to make him sick?" I shake my head as we power-walk through the bullpen.

"It probably wasn't you; he's been sick since last night, we both have. I'm sure he'll be fine." We arrive in my office to see my son shivering on the couch, on top of the afghan. His skin is even further off-color and his green eyes seem to glow against his pallid skin. I feel my heart breaking all over again.

I sit down beside him on the couch and press a palm against his forehead. He's literally burning up. " Wow, sweetheart, you could fry an egg on your head. You're burning up. How do you feel?" He writhes around uncomfortably, but doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. "Are you cold?" He shakes his head, adamantly.

"I's hot." I nod even though I'd be shivering if it weren't for my coat. He's shivering, but he's hot. Wonderful. I *sigh* I wish there was something I could do for him. I can't give him anymore medicine yet, and he's so miserable. I gently stroke his hair and cheek, giving him what little comfort I can until the medicine either kicks in or wears off. He leans into my cool hands with his eyes closed. I press a soft kiss to his forehead and kneel down at his side for easier access to him.

I'm so completely focused on my son that I don't even notice the rest of the senior staff standing at my office door watching me tend to my boy. Even, if I did; I don't care. Let them watch.

I don't see them push Toby forth to ask me the question I've been waiting for. I don't see them at all.

"So, C. J. , who's the, uh, little guy?" I take a breath and turn to Toby, who just stands there with his hands stuck in his pockets.

"This is Josh--" He begins to cough violently and suddenly, Toby is the last thing on my mind. I help him sit up and rub his back. With my free arm, I pick up his backpack and rifle through it. I find the bottle of water that I stuck in there on impulse and try to engineer a way to get it open with just one hand. "Toby, feel free to, you know, offer assistance." He kneels down next to me on the floor.

"What can I help with?" I hand him the bottle.

"Get this open." Seems simple enough. He doesn't realize it, but this little thing is a big help to me. I'll have to properly thank him later. He hands the uncapped bottle back and I press it to Josh's lips and hope that he doesn't choke while I have my hands full. Thankfully, he drinks carefully and the coughing fit eases. I can finally breathe again. I hold him close. "A little better, munchkin?" He nods, still too weak to speak. I know he's still not himself, because he normally morally opposes being referred to as munchkin. Well, tough cookies. "Okay, well, do you think you can manage to get back to sleep without me or do you want me to stay for awhile?" He looks up at me indecisively. I need to go, but if he needs me, I'm not going anywhere.

"I t'ink I can 'o back to thleep, but you gosta visit me." I smile, of course I'll visit.

"Okay, babe. Carol will be watching you, at least, until after the press briefing. Then, I'll be back and we'll see about the rest of the day." I adjust him so that he's back to lying solely on the couch, with the afghan around his waist. I muss his hair, affectionately. I love him so much.

"Otay." He sneezes and flops back miserably. It would be funny, if it wasn't so damned pathetic.

"Bless you, there Sneezy. Be careful before you sneeze your little nose off." He sticks his tongue out at me. I stick mine right back. I almost forgot that there was anyone else in the room. Josh and I must be a sight to see. I look up and there's the President and the rest of the senior staff along with just about everyone else, hanging around outside my door. I raise an eyebrow and several are raised in return. It's safe to say I'm outnumbered.

"So, C. J. , about my question from earlier..." There, Toby kind of trails off obscurely.

"Why don't you ask the little person on the couch who, though you may have your doubts, is not a string-puppet?" Toby's dark eyes flit from me to Josh with extreme suspicion. He stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets and rocks on his heels slightly.

"So, you are...who?" Josh looks at him with extreme caution. He looks to me. He knows not to talk to strangers. I've taught him well. I'll be damned if my son will become a statistic. I nod, go ahead.

"I'm Thosh." There goes that lisp again. I hope they don 't think I've named my son Thosh. "Who 're 'ou?" I think I hear a silent and why do I care tacked on to the end of that. Toby looks confounded. Yes, confounded. Does he not understand? The Communicator cannot communicate. I wanna laugh, but I fear the harbingers might come after me, so I remain quiet.

"I'm Toby...I work at the White House." Well, that must have been hard to figure, Tobus. I mean, I bet he assumed that you were just visiting in your work suit.

"Otay." He doesn't care anymore and looks at everyone else hanging by the door. His eyes widen at the sight of the President. He's heard a lot about him, but he's never seen him in person. It's never bothered me before, but now I feel like I've deprived him of something, of some experience, a milestone. I think I have.

"Josh, I'd like you to meet my boss, Leo McGarry." He nods at the man, respectfully. I think Leo scares him. "That's Sam Seaborn, the Deputy Communications Director. So, basically, he just writes stuff."

"Hey!" I grin and ignore him.

"That's Joshua Lyman, the Deputy White House Chief of Staff. He's the one that struts." Josh grins. The other Josh looks indignant, but doesn't deny it. I knew he wouldn't. "And last, but not at least is..." I trail off, trying to figure out a duly respectful way to introduce him. I look at the President and he nods, giving me the okay to do what I was going to do anyway. "This is Josiah Bartlet, my big boss, the President of the United States." The President fairly beams, because he's just that way and Josh looks less nervous, even a little brighter. "Mr. President, everybody, this is my son, Joshua Cregg. Sorry, he's a little under the weather right now." They all stand there with gaping faces, looking between me and Josh at varying intervals of incredulity. The President is the first to snap out of it.

"Well, C. J. , seems like I'm not the only one suffering from Sins of Omission Syndrome. These extra children...just keep on popping up out of nowhere." He stands there and for a moment I think he might yell at me, but it passes as quickly as it came and the sunny man I know is back. "But that doesn’t mean we love them any less. " He comes over and kneels beside me to talk directly to Josh. "Welcome to the family, Josh. You're going to love it here." He gently musses his hair and gives a grandfatherly kiss on the forehead, no doubt checking his temperature clandestinely. I know the routine. I'm a parent too. "Yeah, you've got a bit of a fever there." To my surprise, he reaches up and presses the back of his hand to my cheek. "You're not too well either, Claudia Jean. What in the world are you doing here, either of you? You should be at home, in bed, reading a book. And you..." He points to Josh. "should be watching cartoons or whatever people your age do when they don't go to school." I blush self-consciously.

"I know, sir, and we were going to stay home, but I got several urgent messages that said that I was needed here. So, we came here." I can feel his gaze change from concerned to guilty and I wish I'd never said anything. He has enough to feel guilty about right now.

"Oh, C. J. , you need to be at home. Thanks to you, we've got this in the bag. You don't need to worry about this." I see Toby and Josh start to make tentative objections.

"Actually, Mr. President, we kind of do need her to worry..." Josh realizes quickly that he's being ignored and stops talking.

"She can't go home yet; we've still got this thing waiting for us in the Press Room." The President determinedly ignores him too, but Toby will not be silenced...unfortunately for the rest of us.

"I know that, Toby, but if C. J. 's not at her best, then she can't be expected to defend herself or anyone else from whatever might come her way in there. I'm not going to send her into a sandstorm without her being prepared to face it. All she needs to be concerned about right now is getting well and getting her son well. If anyone has any objections to this, speak now or forever shut the he--ck up." I admittedly snicker as he sneaks a glance at my son, who looks at him with a knowing glance. He's heard me curse enough to know what the President meant to say. The President reddens a little before clearing his throat and trying to regain his dignity at being caught out by a seven year-old. "Are there any objections?" No one says anything. They do share a lot of looks though. I think I'm going to be getting a lot of calls tonight. "I didn't think there were, so if we could get back to me for a moment, it would be appreciated. Yeah, okay, fine. C. J. , would you mind too much if we needed you to stay just for the briefing? I swear, as soon as it was over you could go home. You wouldn't even have to come in tomorrow." There are more protests from the peanut gallery. "You would not!" He says overtaking them in volume and authority. They get the message and shut up. I smile at their shunted faces.

"You'd have to ask Josh, sir. He's the one who's really sick here." The President looks back to the little guy who's watching us with groggy, but rapt attention.

"Josh, I know you must feel pretty bad, but I really need your mommy with me today. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, do you think I could have her today if I promised that you could have her all to yourself tomorrow?" It's an unbelievable sight to watch the President ask this little boy if he could borrow his mother for a little while. I'm gonna remember this for years, I know I will. Josh takes a moment to think about it. He's nothing, but a ham.

"It wou' be fhine, Mr. President. As wong as 'ou gib her back." His eyes are steely, almost like that's a deal breaker. The President puts on an appropriately solemn face.

"Of course, I'll give her back. I would hate it if I was sick and somebody stole my mommy. I would never dream of keeping her away from you." Josh still looks suspicious, but I see that look that says, I'm trusting you to take good care of her, don't let me down. I grin. He's so overprotective. The President puts a hand out. "Do we have a deal?" Josh looks at the hand and then at the President. He takes the hand and gives it a firm shake.

"Deal." There we go. Two of my favorite guys are bonding, over me, yes, but that's not the point. They're bonding. Now, to get everyone else involved.

"Well, now that there's a price on C. J.'s head, could we possibly get back to the business of running the nation?" I glare at him. It's just like him to kill a sweet moment. He's so damned Toby.

"Yes, Toby, we can get back to work. Not that there's much left to do anyway. C. J. will do the briefing and go home. Hopefully, this whole mess will be back page news by the end of next week." He sounds weary and it breaks my heart, because I don't think it's going to be that simple.

Josh sniffles a little and starts to nod off. He's still off-color. I know it's probably just a childhood cold, but a mother with one child can never be too sure. The President turns back to me to say something.

"C. J. , since I wasn't there for the real thing; this will have to do: Congratulations! It's a boy!" He leans up slightly and gently kisses me on the cheek. I blush a little more. He can be so adorable, and I'm not talking about Josh.

I hope and pray and this turns out well, because we can't survive another censure and without Abbey, this'll be hell. I smile at my son, who doesn't understand that the people he is talking to, the things that he's in the middle of...This whole is a scandal in the making. And when it blows up, none of us may get out alive...May God have mercy on us all.

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