DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, EXCEPT KD Brody. She's mine.
:) There's one I'd rather have but oh, well . . . Ah, Toby. ::Smiles:: All
except KD belong to Aaron Sorkin and a bunch of other people, I suppose. :)
I'm just borrowing.

NOTES: This is a sequel of sorts to a small trilogy called "Perspective" that
I wrote a while back in which Toby narrated a few of the important moments in
his relationship with KD. Someone suggested I do the same thing from KD's pov
or something similar, so here it is.

SPOILERS/SUMMARY: KD's Point Of View of the fledgling moments of her
relationship with Toby. In this part #1, ruins a bit for KD #1 "Kaught"


I can't believe the way he talked to me. As I storm out of the Oval
office, I can't help but wonder where he gets off. I mean, he may be the
President of the United States, but he can't tell me what to do with my life
and he can't talk about my father that way. I move quickly down the hallways,
not daring to stop until I'm outside and approaching the curb. I stop as I
realize that I have no car and nowhere to go. I hail a cab and surprisingly
enough, I get one.

"Where to?" The guy asks as I climb in. I think a moment, and then I stop
thinking all together as I give him an address. The guy nods and the cab
begins to move. I still haven't begun to think about where I just told him to
go, but instead I think about what I'm going to say when I get there. I
realize what my reasoning is suddenly, and I pray it's enough. Right now I'm
so frsutrated, so upset, that I don't really care. He pulls to a stop on the
curb and asks for fourteen dollars. I hand over seventeen and climb out, not
really knowing that I'd given him more money than I could afford to. I walk
up to the directory and find his name at the bottom of the list. I should
have expected that with a Z. I press a few keys, remembering some stuff from
my FBI days and I'm inside. I walk to the elevator and get inside, thinking
about the past few days and about what I'm about to do.

The elevator doors open to reveal a grayish hallway. I step out into and
start looking for the door numbers. I start moving down the hallway and
desperately try not to think about what a failure I am. Maybe the reason I'm
so angry is because i know Joss is right. I do need to do something with my
life. But everything that has happened was not my fault. I left for LA
because of the accident. I left LA because the Martinson death was too much
for me. I left Minnesota because John Matthews wasn't re-elected. I was
kicked out of the FBI because of Faraday. So here I stand, and he thinks he
can yell at me for wasting my life. I find the door and stand in front of it.
I stare at the golden letters and then I knock. The knock sounds desparate to
me. Urgent, but so desparate. Am I? A moment later, the door flies open and I
can see the distaste in Toby Ziegler's eyes. From the way his tie is resting
in his collar, I can tell that he's been hard at work. I've probably just
interrupted the one break he's allowed himself to have.

"What are you doing here?" He snaps. I practically jump at the harshness
in his voice and sigh. I look at my feet and try to remember the words that I
had gathered in my head to tell him.

"To be honest, I don't know." I find myself saying in a weak voice.

"In that case, good night." He retorts quickly and starts to close the
door. No, he's suppose to let me finish.

"Mr. Ziegler." I exclaim, my throat threatening to close up. He stops
suddenly, slowly the action of closing the door and watching me intently. I
sigh again, trying to remember the words I had prepared and I frown slightly.
His gaze feels so sharp, so full of anger and pressure. It hurts almost. I
don't want to cry in front of him, but the heat is there behind my eyes.

"Yes?" He asks sharply. I am wearing on his patience. I bite my lip a
little and blink a few times. I can do this, I know. I can speak the truth.
What is it about this man that makes me so nervous?

"I know that . . ." I pause. I have to do this right. "I know that you
don't like me. You probably don't trust me either . . . but if it means
anything to you, I have . . . just had an upsetting evening and I don't want
to be alone." I say softly, pausing briefly between points because I realize
that what I'm saying to this man, this person who threatened to kill me
earlier today, is that I need him. I barely know him, but I know that I need
him. "And strangely enough . . . you're the only person I really trust; maybe
because you don't like me." I admit to him and myself. He watches me
carefully as I speak, his lips perse as he absorbs what I have to say. It's
quite cute the way he does that, but I shake *that* thought out of my mind.
"You know I don't have a place to live, and I can't go back to the White
House . . . Not now." I say softly, remembering Joss's angry words. I shake
my head slightly and go for the big one. "So I was wondering, if just for
tonight, I could just sit on your couch or the floor of your kitchten and
just . . . just feel safe than I have in months." I say, surprising myself.
Why not cry 'I need you' while I'm at it? God, I need to say something else.
"I understand if you say no but--" I start again, but his voice, softer than
I've ever heard it, interrupts.

"If I said no, I'd be the bad guy." He says almost forcefully, but his
voice is soft and almost caring. I look at him and shake my head weakly. He's
not going to let me in, I'm sure of it. He doesn't have to, I guess. I don't
even know why I came here anyway. Did I really think he would let me do this?

"Of course not. No one would even know I came here." I assure him weakly,
my eyes burning as tears threaten again. I won't let him see me cry. God this
day has been so hard. He stares at me. I'm standing at his doorway, helpless
and vulnerable, just waiting for him to slam the door in my face.

"I would." He said softly. He stares at me, his eyes seeming kinder than
I've seen them before. I pause, waiting for his next move. He has a
conscience, I know. I was just never sure if he had a heart. He sighs and
steps back, opening the door to a wide gateway.

"Come on in." He says. I look at him, trying to hide my surprise. I smile
weakly and move inside. I hear him close the door behind me as I move slowly
into what appears to be his living room.

"Thank you." I say softly, looking at him. He merely nods. I look around
the place, happy to be indoors, in a place that feels like a home and not
some dank old hotel. I face him again to see him approaching me for a second
but then he turns and moves to the hallway.

"I'm going to work some more and then I'm going to sleep. Make yourself
comfortable." He says, his voice shaking a little. Is he nervous? Why? I nod
and watch him trot down the hallway. I move to the black leather couch and
feel his warmth on it. There's a glass on the table, still warm with some
rich liquid inside. I realize that I'm clutching my folder to my chest and
move to put it on the table, careful of the glass. What a day it has been.
What was I thinking, staying around here? I should have known something would
go wrong. Something always does. I must be a jinx.

I lean forward and open the folder, trying to sort through the many
important and unimportant papers inside. It all feels like such a mess. I
can't help but sigh, trying to let out the frustration I've felt all day, but
I try to make a quiet sigh, for I can't disturb him any more. I've already
ruined his night, now haven't I? I lean over the folder and trace my fingers
through my hair, clenching my head slightly. I pull the folder into my lap
and lean my elbows on to my knees so I can stare at the papers but I don't
see them. My body feels so sore. I'm so tired. Why has my life been this way
from the beginning? I never tried to be this way. I was going to be a doctor,
but I couldn't handle death. I was going to be a politician, but I couldn't
even get my boss re-elected. Granted, he was a jerk and he invented an excuse
'not to run again' after he lost, but still, didn't some part of his failure
fall on me? I was going to be an FBI agent and help make my country a better
place, but I couldn't even control my anger. So much anger inside of me and I
couldn't control any of it. I couldn't control anything about me or my life.
Why couldn't I just stay somewhere?

Suddenly I feel the anger again and I find myself tossing the folder
aside into the couch and sobbing angrily. Why does it always have to be this
way? Why can't I just have something normal? I sink my head into my lap and
begin to cry softly, my arms crossing over my neck as if to pin me down.
Maybe I can stop breathing and this life can be over with.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the floor, and then something
strange happens. Soft music begins to fill the room. It's got an upbeat tempo
but it's still a sort of soft rock that I've come enjoy. I look up, my face
still slightly wet and I see Toby standing at the stereo fiddling with the
volume control. Surprise leaks across my face as he turns and looks at me.
Who is this person and what has he done with Toby Ziegler? He smiles at me, a
weak smile, but a smile, and very playfully starts to move towards me,
swinging to the music. I've never seen him playful and I can't help but smile
a little wider. He dances towards me and holds his hand. I laugh and take it,
feeling him pull me to my feet.

And we danced. I never would have thought he would be a good dancer, but
he's fantastic. Between the soft rock, a little swing and all the more, he's
a fantastic dancer. We don't really talk, but we dance together. He spins me
across the floor and laughs with me, and I realize that maybe I never knew
him in the first place. No one had ever told me about this side of him, and
I'd never seen it, but I hadn't known him long enough to guess. Suddenly the
CD switches over, and the music is slower, gentler. He holds me closer as we
slow down and I can feel his body close to mine. Is this possible? I feel
warm here in his arms, and I like the warmth. I rest my head on his shoulder
and close my eyes as he holds me closer. I never thought of this man the way
I'm thinking of him now, and I wonder what's going to happen next. I feel him
nuzzle me softly, pressing his face against my neck and I can't resist the
urge to hold him a little tighter. Is he going to kiss me? I look in his eyes
and I can feel that he wants to. He looks back and then the music switches
again. The music is uptempo and he immediately uses it to spin me again. I
laugh and the dance begins again.

We danced to many things. Jazz, waltz, more soft rock. He laughed with me
and I watched him be more open than I'd ever seen him. The air feels thick
with something I can't understand until another slow dance comes on and I
feel his hand on my back. The thickness is the attraction, the feeling of
wanting to be in his arms and feel him nuzzle my neck again. I nestle my face
in his neck and I can hear his heart beat a little faster. I find myself
yawning and he smiles at me. I blush a little and try to look at my feet. We
talk for a moment and I tell him that the couch is fine, and then I find
myself being tucked in, in a way. The last thing I see before I close my eyes
is him smiling at me, the same confusion in his eyes that I feel in my heart.
What has just happened to us?

The next morning, I awake with a clear head. I've dreamt of many things,
things I barely remember. Toby was there, I know, in my dreams, and so was
Joss. I know what I have to do. I can't do it alone, but I know where I can
find help. I can't let this linger. I sit up and look at my watch. It's not
even 5. I've gotten less than three hours sleep, but I know what I have to
do. I get up, grab my stuff and pause. I move down the hallway and peer into
Toby's open door. He's sleep soundly in what looks to be a very comfortable
bed. I like the way he sleeps. I smile weakly and then leave quietly. I don't
know what to say to him.


. . . . TBC . . . .