Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Middle of the fucking night. Two and a half days ago.

That was the last time C.J. Cregg slept in her own bed. She was beginning to forget the way her apartment smelled after a hot shower, the century-old walls releasing their musty secrets in the steam. A home-cooked meal was nothing but a faint childhood memory at this point, but that was par for the course. She'd considered whether this job was worth it more times than she could count and decided every single time, without fail, that it was.

After the success of their final State of the Union address followed by the crisis in Bolivia, the President and Leo kept her and the rest of the senior staff up late to unveil their 364-day brainstorm session, and it was pointless to go home after that. An early briefing in the Sit Room followed by a full day of meetings and more reading than she'd done in all six years of college led to another night of barely uninterrupted naps on the office sofa. Margaret seemed disappointed C.J. was already awake when she came in to sound the alarm at 5:30 a.m., but she didn't say as much while rambling off the Chief of Staff’s breakneck schedule. By nightfall, C.J. was craving sleep so badly she almost thought she hallucinated an aide wheeling her bed past the Roosevelt Room, but it was only a catering spread on its way to a committee she’d pawned off on Toby. So, giving in to the inevitable, self-imposed prison of her office for another few hours while she waited for news out of Nicaragua, she settled for the next best thing: orange chicken, a Stella Artois, and the sparse yet comforting small talk of Commander Kate Harper.

Kate was a hard nut to crack, that was for sure, but C.J. found herself contented most nights to keep working on her. They’d made it through some tough days together in China recently, not that there were ever any easy ones. Kate knew how to push C.J.’s buttons, how to continually push the envelope with the President, push the limits of her position within the chain of command, but C.J. never took it personally because it wasn't personal. That much she knew. That much she could trust. Kate, it turned out, cared about her job just as much as C.J. did, and that among many other shared qualities made them allies. Or so C.J. thought.

“Can I ask you something?” she finally got up the nerve, abruptly changing the flow of their conversation about the best Korean joints in town.

“Sure,” Kate fidgeted, wiping her mouth on a soggy napkin. “What's up?”

“It's just...Leo mentioned something the other day, and I...look, it's not a big deal, unless it is a big deal, in which case I'm not really sure why it would be a big deal or why you’d even bring it up to him if it was, let alone…”

“C.J.,” Kate cracked a diffusive smile, taking another swig. “Spit it out.”

“He said you told him you'd been married,” C.J. swallowed. “Several times in fact.”

Kate squinted her eyes, frowning as she looked up at the ceiling, appearing to search the perfect backlog of conversations she kept stored in her brain.

“Yeah. I guess I did say that.”

“So it’s true then?”

“Yeah,” Kate shrugged, like they were talking about the weather, or Charlie’s unfortunate attempts at growing a mustache.

“Really? Because your personnel file only mentions one.”

“Why are you looking at my personnel file?”

“Because,” C.J. did her best not to fumble, crossing her long legs beneath her desk, fiddling with the top button of her silk blouse. “It's my job to stay apprised of any incongruities or issues the staff may present, things the press could get a hold of if there’s anything the least bit salacious attached, and you never told me you were married. Why is that?”

“I guess...it’s not really the kind of thing you and I talk about.”

“Really?” C.J. repeated, heart sinking more than she knew it should. “Had I known that I guess I would have kept my soliloquy about the last three guys I've dated to myself.”

“I mean,” Kate stood, running a hand through her hair, forgetting it was in a ponytail, messing it up. “It's not something l really like talking about. With Leo, I...I must have been feeling vulnerable, for a second, in that moment. I let my guard down.”

“You don't do that,” C.J. smirked. “You don't let people know more than you want them to know. You might say you've made a career out of it.”

“I guess you got me then,” Kate paced as she slipped her hands in her pockets. “Maybe...consciously or not, I did want it to be known. And anyway, why is he telling you about…”

“I think he thought he was helping,” C.J. sighed, tossing her hands in the air. “He said you seemed upset and thought I'd know the right thing to say, but clearly that was a bust.”

“No, it's fine, really,” Kate shook it off. “I just wasn't expecting the third degree tonight, that's all.”

“Speaking of which,” C.J. couldn't help but continue. “I still don’t get the other marriages. What did you mean by…”

“Only the first was legal,” Kate froze, staring down at her loafered feet beneath primly pressed slacks. “The others...just felt like marriage. But they were still long-term relationships.”

“I see.”

“With women.”

“Oh,” C.J. heard herself say as if through an echo chamber, anxious smile creeping so high into her cheeks she thought her lips might crack, skin flushing red against her will. “What?”

“You said I was good at not letting people know what I didn't want them to know. Well...you were right. And now you know.”

“I…” C.J. tried not to sound like an idiot, but knew she did. “That's...not really anyone’s business, so…”

“You seem to think otherwise,” Kate sat back down. “But I guess given the media’s scrutiny of your personal life, that would make sense.”

“Yeah,” C.J. immediately began flashing back to all the self-checking and defensiveness that had come up when the tabloids began conjecturing about her own sexual orientation. It wasn't her finest week to say the least, but in the end, she’d decided not to give them anything. Mostly out of principle, but also because there was nothing to give. Nothing concrete anyway. Nothing named or felt beyond her own internal doubts and musings. Nothing other than the fact that she really could have gone home an hour ago if she'd wanted to, but she'd chosen to stay. “Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…”

“It's alright,” Kate finished her beer. “You were just trying to help, right? Trying to protect me.”

“Uh huh,” C.J. was still a little dazed. Yeah, that must be it. “Still, I...I feel...I mean, I know we're not exactly bosom buddies, but I did think we were…”

“Friends?” Kate quickly finished the sentiment. “We are.”

“Good,” C.J. straightened her back. “Still, there are lines that shouldn't be crossed. That I shouldn't cross, and I don't take that for granted. Your personal life, your past, as far as I'm concerned, doesn't need to make the morning briefing. I want to make sure that’s clear.”

“Crystal,” Kate nodded. “And I’ll try not to let anything slip to Leo that I'm not willing to follow up on during ‘girl time.’”

“God, I feel like an asshole,” C.J. cringed, laughing frustratedly. “What can I do? You want the other half of my egg roll?”

“Sure,” Kate smirked, reaching out for the peace offering. “Or, you could take me out for a real drink sometime. Ask a couple more questions, let me tell you more about why I was feeling vulnerable. You know, as a friend.”

C.J. watched Kate’s fingers slide off the dark mahogany of her desk, snatching the fried delicacy from its thin paper wrapping.

“You're on,” she smiled weakly, clearing her throat. “See. I'm confident enough in my sexuality not to take that as a come on.”

“Good,” Kate laughed, standing slowly, making her way out before stopping in the doorframe, the light from the hallway peeking around her blonde shoulders. “And I'm confident enough not to deny that it was.”

C.J. stared back blankly, hearing nothing over the sound of her pulse and Margaret’s distant typing.

“Night, C.J.,” Kate winked before heading back downstairs.

C.J. laughed a little harder at that, the kind of laugh that makes you feel embarrassed when there’s no one else there to hear it. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, holding back a tiny snort. Was it all a joke? Had the whole thing really been...It was hard to tell at times with Kate’s dry sense of humor. Nevertheless, she figured it was best to let it go. Besides, even if Kate wasn't exactly straight, C.J. definitely was.

She tossed the rest of her orange chicken, clearing her desk before checking in with Margaret one last time and returning home, where she somehow knew she still wouldn't be able to sleep.

The DNC Gala was always nothing short of a dog and pony show, and this year was no exception. Everyone was looking for a handshake or a handout, the smell of blood so thick it was difficult to breathe, especially anywhere near the candidates. Russell and Santos kept to their respective corners while the President and anyone else who mattered offered themselves up for photo ops. Thankfully, C.J. could avoid most of it, though she’d dressed the part nonetheless, opting for a sleeveless, dark brown number with a pink skirt in a design something akin to paisley. It wasn't her favorite look, but she'd already gotten a handful of compliments, and after the day she’d had she wasn't too proud to admit it felt good.

Between consoling Toby after his fight with Josh and having to make nice with the decidedly slimy but necessary Cliff Calley, C.J. was ready to take an extended vacation somewhere far, far away from D.C., somewhere like Tahiti, somewhere she wouldn’t feel the constant tug between her role as boss and her role as friend and confidante. She didn’t mind it most days. In fact, those moments reminded her of the family they’d all once been, a family that felt like it was slowly disintegrating, starting with Sam’s departure, then Josh and Donna’s. She missed the days when she and Abbey would slip away and get drunk together at these things. Now, with the President’s MS taking its toll, Abbey tended to stay glued to his side as much as he’d allow, and C.J. couldn't blame her for that.

One thing was certain: someway, somehow, she was going to get trashed tonight. She was going to let herself come just a little bit undone, let someone else listen to her for a change. If Toby needed to be alone, that was fine. She understood completely, preferred he actually take care of himself in the wake of his brother’s suicide. But there had to be other co-conspirators in her midst, and she was determined to suss them out.

Of course, the one person she'd been avoiding for the past few weeks was the first she spotted. No, she tried to stop herself, scanning the room for other options, quickly realizing there wasn't anyone else she could possibly stomach. Taking a long gulp of champagne, she finally cut across the ballroom, heading towards a very lonely-looking Kate Harper, who seemed almost as desperate as C.J. was to disappear.

“Someone told me you and I were going to have to duke it out for best dressed,” C.J. approached, leaning against the bar.

“Well, mine’s definitely from the sale aisle at Bloomingdale's,” Kate glanced up briefly before turning back to her drink. “Yours I'm guessing isn't exactly off the rack.”

“Got me there. A girl my height gets to have her vices,” C.J. smirked. “You look nice, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Kate smiled, stealing another quick glance. “You too.”

“What are you drinking?”

“I switched from champagne to the harder stuff. Easier to make excuses about leaving early that way.”

“You're not usually one for all this pomp and circumstance,” C.J. noted. “What brings you here tonight?”

Kate swallowed visibly, shifting back and forth in her heels. She might have felt out of place in a room like this, but she certainly didn't look it. C.J.’s eyes raked up her bare legs, over the curves of her black dress, the way the silk hung teasingly from the plunge of a very low neckline. She did this as stealthily as she could, relying on the reflection from the bar instead of staring directly. That somehow made it feel okay, like it was an accident rather than a deliberate choice.

“Charlie said some guy at the gym wanted to know if I was seeing anyone, and that guy turned out to be my ex. But, I decided to push myself anyway, get a little change of scenery, see if anyone else might try to strike up a conversation about something other than classified NSA secrets for a change.”

“I hear you,” C.J. bit her lip, kicking back the rest of her glass before grabbing another. “Any takers?”

“You know, it's been such a long time, I'm not sure my senses in that department are even accurate anymore. I almost found myself attracted to Will Bailey just because he refused to make small talk. He said I could stand there and look like we were getting along without actually having to do any of the work.”

“Wow, what a catch,” C.J. rolled her eyes. “Sounds like you really have been out of the game for too long.”

“Definitely not denying that,” Kate laughed, almost shyly.

“I have to say, I...well, nevermind.”

“You're confused aren't you?” Kate smirked. “Why I’d even be interested in Will, or any guy for that matter.”

“A little,” C.J. admitted, ears burning from the allusion to their last non-work conversation. She'd been able to convince herself that it was probably a dream.

“I’m not opposed to dating men,” Kate spoke, voice a little more than a whisper. “I'm not opposed to dating anyone, really. If that helps.”

“It does,” C.J. smiled politely, keeping her breathing in check. “Not that you owe me any kind of explanation. I was just, well...Will Bailey?”

“Forget it,” Kate laughed again, shaking her head. “It was a bad idea.”

“How's this for bad ideas,” C.J. leaned closer. “I say we go down to the lobby bar and get so drunk we forget all the Will Baileys and Cliff Calleys, at least for the rest of tonight. What do you say?”

Kate ran her fingers over the edge of the counter, gripping on tightly, hesitating for only a moment.

“Deal,” she breathed, letting go.

C.J. resisted sweeping her eyes over Kate’s dress again until they made it to the elevators, and she could rely on another reflection. The lounge was pretty empty. Most people had either gone home or were still upstairs sloshing back drinks they didn't have to pay for. C.J. opted for more champagne, while Kate ordered another dose of whatever brown liquor she’d been consuming.

“I have to be careful these days,” C.J. sighed. “I used to make it to the gym at least four times a week. Now I can't remember the last time I was there. They probably have all new machines by now that do the work for you, like out of Star Trek or something.”

“Not quite,” Kate shared. “But you're not really missing anything. Besides, whatever you’re doing, it works.”

C.J. opened her mouth to say something witty, offer some self-deprecating comeback, but nothing came. Instead, she laced her fingers around the stem of her glass, feeling herself soften in ways she hadn't for a long time, and it wasn't entirely unwelcome.

“So,” she changed the subject. “What’s a nice girl like you doing single anyway? Whatever happened with…”

“My long list of past lovers?” Kate’s eyebrow rose.

“Sorry, I didn't…”

“Yes, you did, but it’s okay. If we're gonna do this, let's really do it.”

“You mean...”

“Talk,” Kate clarified. “As friends.”

“Right,” C.J. nodded, sucking in her stomach, adjusting herself on the stool before taking another long, generous sip.

“My line of work hasn't made for the most successful relationships. The ex-husband, that was safe. And fun, for a while. The others...those are a bit harder to hash out.”

“Were they fellow CIA?”

“Possibly,” Kate teased. “But if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“See, that's not true,” C.J. took the bait. “My clearance is just as high as yours.”

“No, it’s not,” Kate looked at her sweetly, almost apologetically. “But I think it's cute, you trying to tell me it is.”

Okay, C.J. breathed. She couldn't ignore that one. Kate Harper was obviously, definitely, more than likely flirting with her, and she was going to have to find a way to shut this down. She is, right? Or is it just the champagne? Maybe this was how women made friends with each other these days. It had been so long, C.J. really couldn't be sure.

“What about you?” Kate broke her from her thoughts.

“Me?” C.J. tried to play dumb, which was never her strong suit. “What about…”

“Why hasn't anything panned out for you? I mean, you mentioned Danny, and Ben. No one’s been able to keep your interest?”

“No one’s been able to keep up,” C.J. laughed, shaking her head, watching the bubbles float up from the bottom of the flute, her smile slowly fading. She realized she'd left out one name she hadn't even uttered to herself in a long time. It was dangerous, letting herself get too caught up in what might have been, the closest she’d come to finding real joy in a world that required so much sacrifice for so little reward.

“Really?” Kate mused again, and C.J. hated that she could tell she was holding back. Kate’s work as an agent gave her skills in interrogation and psychological assessment that she no doubt utilized in other parts of her life. Lord knew C.J. would have killed for that kind of insight.

“Well,” C.J. cleared her throat. “There was this...I don't really like talking about…”

“You don't have to.”

“No, it's...something I carry with me, daily. More guilt than anything. He was...well, he died. So that was that.”

“Secret service?” Kate asked gently.

C.J. lifted her eyes abruptly then, the light from the candles on the bar dancing across her face like spirits.

“Simon,” she swallowed. “How did you…”

“People talk,” Kate acknowledged. “They shouldn't, but they do.”

“Well,” C.J. breathed, sniffing a little, pushing her chestnut hair behind her ear. “That was the closest I've ever been. And it didn't get very far, so.”

They sat silently for a few moments. C.J. felt Kate watching her, but didn't feel pressured to share more. Instead, she felt a sort of calm, strange space opening up between them. It wasn't exactly empty, but it allowed them to exist there together, to hold the possibility, the option for less or more, give or take, as the night continued.

“You shouldn't feel guilty,” Kate finally offered. “But I know me saying that doesn't change how you feel. This life, no matter how much we try to pretend it doesn't, no matter what part we play...there are risks. Always. But that's a choice we each have to make.”

“I know,” C.J. nodded. “That's what I try to tell myself. Doesn't always work, but it helps.”

“Everyone deserves some level of happiness,” Kate insisted. “Even if it's short-lived. Even if it means knowing it won't last.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience.”

“Yeah, well,” Kate’s hands cradled the glass, eyes shifting. “Let's just say I've known my fair share of casualties.”

“I'm sure you have,” C.J. watched her, but didn't ask for more. Even that level of divulgence on Kate’s part felt sacred. “How do you do it then? Hold on to so much so few people can understand, let alone the things you can never mention?”

“I don't know,” Kate shook her head. “Look for the light, I suppose. The few people whose situations are even a little bit similar. Maybe that's why I like you so much.”

“Maybe,” C.J. dared, heart slowly creeping into her throat, risking a lot as she looked at Kate across the bar. “Is that the only reason?”

“Not exactly,” Kate sighed, bringing her lips to her glass. “But it felt like a good place to start.”

This isn't happening, C.J. repeated for the hundredth time. This can’t…

“Kate,” she started, a bit shaky, eyelashes fluttering of their own accord. “Listen, I…”

“I'm sorry,” Kate stopped her. “I know it's...look, I'm not trying to push your boundaries, and I know you're not...I respect you, completely. I just haven't felt like I could talk to someone like this in a very long time. I don't expect anything. In fact, I should probably…”

“No, wait,” C.J. reached out, resting her hand on top of Kate’s very carefully, but firmly, stopping her retreat. “Have another drink with me.”

She pulled away a second later, turning her head towards the bar, but keeping her body facing Kate’s.

“You sure?” Kate did in fact whisper that time, looking down at where their skin had met, like it was another ghost, like it couldn't possibly have been real.

“No,” C.J. finished her champagne, accepting another. “But I'm not opposed to finding out.”

This wasn't the worst decision she'd ever made. This wasn't Hoynes. It's nothing like that, she kept telling herself. Kate was technically a subordinate, so that didn't make it wise. But it needed to be okay. It had to be, because nothing had ever ever felt as good as Kate pulling her towards one of the two hotel rooms they’d just booked once they were out of sight of any lingering reporters or politicians. Nothing felt as good as Kate keeping their fingers clasped, frantically slipping the key card against the lock with her other hand, pushing open the door, leading C.J. inside. Nothing felt as crazed or ridiculously sane as her shoulder blades slapping against the back of that door, Kate pressing up against her, their lips crashing together, teeth almost gnashing before Kate grabbed her face to steady them, and C.J. found herself being kissed so hard. So hard and soft, wet and warm, that it had to be right. It just had to be.

Kate roped her arms around C.J.’s waist, their bodies somehow floating towards the bed together, silk scratching against silk, hips needily making contact as hands searched and splayed sloppily across exposed skin. Kate’s calves hit the side of the the bed first, causing her to fall, and C.J. couldn't believe it when she climbed on top, like she had any idea what she was doing. Kate helped her by hiking up her skirt, pushing it up C.J.’s thighs until she was able to straddle her comfortably, hands tangled in blonde waves, trailing down to the pulsing flesh of Kate’s ivory neck. C.J.’s mouth followed, licking and sucking the spot just behind her ear, until Kate flipped them over, strong thighs locking around C.J. with a force that could have only been military. Kate was so much smaller than any man C.J. had ever been with, and yet her presence felt larger, hands taking up more space, more forcefully and ably directing their bodies as she led them through this haze, to a place where they fit together seamlessly.

“Is this okay?” Kate exhaled in the dark, making her way down C.J.’s chest, hands caught beneath her as she worked to find a zipper.

“Yeah,” C.J. tried not to hyperventilate. They’d both had a lot to drink, definitely more than enough to blame this on the alcohol the next day, but not enough that either wasn't fully aware or in control of their actions. She rolled over an inch, letting Kate slide the zipper down her long, muscular back, until it peeled away easily. Kate pressed her to the bed again, continuing her descent, stopping at C.J.’s collarbone, lavishing it with the fullness of her tongue and teeth. C.J. closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel worshiped, to forget for a second that they worked at The White House, that they were responsible for so much more than their own desire, that they had any reason not to want this as much as they both did.

“God you're gorgeous,” Kate huffed, almost inaudibly, little puffs of breath coating C.J.’s pink skin as the blonde cupped her naked breasts, mouth diving between them. C.J. had never felt such a lack of self-consciousness, like she was suddenly more than enough, more than anyone else had ever been capable of making her feel. It was a bit like heaven, or what she imagined heaven to be for those who believed in God. Then again, she couldn't be sure what she believed anymore, her entire sense of who and what she was crashing down inside her, like it had only been waiting for someone to blow hard enough.

Kate’s mouth found her right nipple, and C.J. thought maybe she’d been set on fire. She let out a gravelly moan, and Kate sucked and nipped, all the while tracing her nails across C.J.’s rib cage, then lower, until her hands were bathing the soft skin below her belly button with caresses that would have driven anyone mad.

“Oh god,” C.J. ached, shuddering as Kate’s teeth bit the tender bud. “Please...please just...”

“What?” Kate asked, coming up for air as she slid C.J.’s top completely off. “Is this...”

“Yes,” C.J. ordered, only a little impatiently, eyes still tightly closed.

Kate followed her instructions, stripping her down until she was only in her underwear, the thin strip of black lace not hiding much. C.J. continued to shiver at the feeling of Kate’s graceful fingers painting shapes across her stomach, until she felt her hovering again, their noses touching as Kate held her cheek, slowly strumming her lower lip.

“C.J.” she spoke, and it almost sounded sober. “Look at me.”

C.J. did then, blinking back a few tears, her remaining reservations, as she allowed her eyes to focus in the dark. Kate was looking at her like she always did, with equal parts respect and defiance, like everything they had in common outweighed the reasons for holding back. C.J.’s hands brushed against Kate’s shoulders, and Kate helped her slide the straps of the black dress down her porcelain arms, stopping once the garment was pooled at her waist. Kate’s breasts were round and youthful, much more so than her own, but again C.J. felt no need to hide. Instead, she reached up and touched them, reverently, like she was afraid this might be the only time she was allowed to act this selfishly for the rest of her life.

Kate leaned back down, pinning C.J.’s hands to the mattress. She began kissing long, lingering trails down her torso, and C.J. instinctively spread her legs, allowing Kate to slip between them. Kate’s fingers looped around the elastic, eyes flashing gray and serious, much closer to the way they looked in the Situation Room every time they found themselves teetering on the edge of making a decision they’d both have to live with if it didn't go as planned.

“Tell me to stop if you…”

“Don't,” C.J. shook her head adamantly, hands burying themselves in Kate’s golden mane. “Please don't, just…”

“Fuck you?”

“Yes,” C.J. nodded. “But only...only if you...”

Kate answered by climbing back up her body, kissing her wildly, lips saying more than words ever could, breath so erratic, hands so shaky it was a wonder they could keep a hold of anything. But Kate held her so strongly, so securely, it was easy for C.J. to let go, to melt under her touch, let someone else take care of her as Kate finally removed the last of their clothing. C.J. kissed Kate like it was the only way to stay conscious, letting their limbs tangle, skin tingling all over, especially in the place where Kate sat on her thigh, wetness coating the freckles there. C.J. gasped at the loss of contact as Kate began to dip back between her knees, fingertips inching their way towards her center, treading lightly along the path.

“Kate?”

“Yeah?”

“I…” C.J. tried to summon her commanding tone, but it came out more like a prayer. “Please just fuck me, because I don't think I can…”

Kate’s hand settled on her then, finding its way between folds that were drenched like C.J. had never been felt up before, like she hadn't been playing these games with people who didn't deserve her since high school. But Kate truly did, and C.J. spread herself even wider, letting her move all the way in, until Kate was filling her up with two or three fingers, she couldn't be sure. Kate began moving in and out with just the right speed to let her acclimate, until C.J. thrusted back, throwing one arm behind Kate’s neck, holding on for dear life.

“Gaah,” C.J. moaned, feeling Kate’s movements deep within her bones, in her teeth it was so fast and so good. “Fuck...jesus…”

“Too much?”

C.J. could only shake her head no, because it wasn't too much, but it wasn't yet enough. She reached down between them, and Kate let her press gently into her own hallowed, dripping space. C.J. did what felt natural, searching until her fingers found Kate’s clit, and she began to rub.

“Good?” C.J. asked, wondering who the hell she had become.

“Uh huh,” Kate trembled. “M-more…”

C.J. complied, and Kate never lost the pace as she continued to fuck her. She kissed her again, tongue ravenous, breath sputtering dizzily, until they both started to fall apart, and C.J. could tell she was close. Kate’s fingers pumped vigorously, and C.J. lost her momentum as her own body rebelled, back arching off the bed, eyes closing, mouth falling open as her face contorted, voice conspiring to make sounds she didn't know she could make. She felt herself tense up, tightening around Kate’s incredible fingers until her body couldn't take it anymore, and she came while biting down on Kate’s shoulder, whimpering out one final gasp before falling onto the bed.

Kate fell next to her, pulling one of the pillows against her body, trying to stifle some of the goosebumps that had erupted across her skin. C.J.’s hand was still between her legs, and she continued to stroke, to marvel at how hot and slick Kate was, wondering how often she got like this. Had it happened before? In the moments they’d shared at The White House, all the flirtations C.J. tried to pass off as nothing? Because they really were nothing compared to this, the absolute knowing and feeling that she could make Kate wet, that she enjoyed making her wet, making her scream.

“C.J.,” Kate pleaded, gripping the sheets, head rocking back and forth against the comforter, until she was throwing the pillow aside, hand settling on C.J.’s arm, bracing herself, pressing C.J.’s fervid fingers more firmly into her as she choked back a sob, and she came for what seemed like a very long time. C.J. watched her ride out the waves, memorizing every moment, every detail, so she’d never be able to forget. Finally, she pulled her hand away. Kate loosened her grip, and they both rolled onto their backs, staring up at the ceiling.

Neither spoke for a while. The hotel was quiet. Too quiet, the distant traffic so mild at this hour there was no way it could provide cover for the sounds C.J. was sure had echoed down the hall. Most people were asleep, of course. They wouldn't be heading back to work until the sun rose over the State House, but C.J. didn't know many people like that. In fact, she had no idea what time normal people woke up anymore. Nothing in her life had been normal for as long as she could remember, even before she moved to Washington. So it made sense then, this stroke of insanity. It fit somehow with all the other rash decisions and poor personal choices she’d made, the ones that left her lonely even in the moments when she was surrounded by other people.

She had no idea what time it really was, or where she’d left her cell phone. It was probably on the floor somewhere with their shoes and purses, buried in the mess they'd left behind. She'd told her secret service detail to wait downstairs until she was ready to leave, vaguely remembering saying it might be a while, but nothing more.

“Hey,” Kate finally whispered, patting her shoulder as she sat up. “Come here.”

C.J. wanted to run right away. She wanted to ignore that sweet voice and the temptress attached to it, the absolute paradox that was Kate Harper, cold and necessarily opaque by day, a beautiful revelation of juxtapositions by night. There was still so little she knew about her, and yet, C.J. couldn't help but crawl towards the top of the bed as Kate pulled down the sheets, letting them slip inside. C.J.’s head spun with champagne and adrenaline, flashbacks from the entire evening, all the hints and bits of conversation that had led them to this point. It was way too much to start analyzing or regretting at this hour. Not yet, not when it was so easy to collapse under the crisp, white linens she didn't have to worry about smearing her mascara on. There would be enough to worry about later. But for now, she found herself curled up in Kate’s arms, both of them catching their breath as they closed their eyes and continued not speaking for as long as they could.

It was still dark when one of their phones began to ring. C.J. was determined to ignore it, but Kate finally broke the spell, hobbling across the well-worn carpet until she found the device. C.J. could only make out every other word with her face half hidden in the pillows, opening one eye reluctantly, watching Kate pace in front of the mirror. There was so much more to see from this angle, like the way Kate’s perfect ass bounced with every step, or the way her abs twitched as she spoke, like someone who had worked very hard at maintaining them. There were plenty of scars too, a rather large one running the length of her left quad, no doubt the remnant of a story C.J. would never get to hear. But Kate was exquisite. There was no denying that. So exquisite, in fact, C.J. had to look away so she could start accepting the inevitable.

“That was the Secretary of Defense,” Kate reported. “I suspect you’ll get a call any minute.”

“China?”

“Palestine,” she corrected, slipping back in bed, rubbing her hands together before pulling the covers tightly beneath her chin. “Peacekeepers warned they might be stretched too thin. Looks like we may need to rethink our position.”

“You're freezing,” C.J. noted, bringing her hand to Kate’s shoulder, rubbing it fast to create some friction. “Do you always get this cold?”

“I do,” Kate smirked, rolling onto her side. C.J. couldn't believe how good she looked. “Even when I was stationed in the desert, I always had a jacket.”

“Well, it gets chilly there at night, or so I'm told.”

“Yeah, but not like D.C.” Kate’s eyes flashed hazel and green in the short distance between them. “Did it snow a lot where you grew up?”

“It did,” C.J. whispered. “But I don't really feel like talking about the weather right now, do you?”

“What else should we talk about?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe the latest in sports. Red Sox are looking pretty good this year. Or China. Palestine. Anything besides the fact that we should be getting dressed instead of lying here together like we don't have somewhere else to be.”

“True,” Kate sighed, walking her fingers up C.J.’s arm, tracing her elbow. “Except that you haven't been called in yet, and technically you're my boss, so I don't feel a whole lot of pressure to move very quickly.”

“Starting in with that excuse, I see?” C.J. laughed ruefully, shaking her head. “Just as I feared.”

“What?” Kate shifted closer. “That I’d be so caught up in how beautiful you are, I’d let the whole world go up in flames?”

“Stop it,” C.J. whispered, biting her lip, slowly pulling away as she turned on her back, more tears threatening to spill. “You know we can't...”

“I know,” Kate swallowed, but refused to look away.

“So when do we stop pretending that we can?”

“I don't know, I guess...I mean, I'm not opposed to forgetting this ever happened, if that’s what you…”

“That is what I think,” C.J. closed her eyes painfully. “Isn't that what you think?”

Kate was very quiet and very still. She pulled the sheets a little tighter, flipping her hair behind her ear.

“That is what makes sense.”

“It's an election year,” C.J. said, like either of them needed another reminder. “All of us are under an even bigger microscope than usual, and even then, I…”

“I know, C.J. I told you, I didn't expect…”

“I didn't expect,” C.J. exhaled, angrily wiping at her eyes. “I'm not usually like this. I'm no prude. I've had my share of one night stands, believe me. I just never…”

“Do you wish we hadn't?”

“No, not really,” she couldn't lie. “I just really didn't think I'd ever...well, you know.”

“You can say it,” Kate smiled sadly. “Saying it's not going to make it any more or less real.”

“Yeah, but it might make it harder to forget,” C.J. breathed. She was starting to dry up, to find her equilibrium, the reserve of steel she kept inside to protect herself from getting too close to anything that might hurt her or someone else. She only hoped it wasn't too late. “It's not...not like I haven't thought about being with a woman before, or even with you necessarily, especially when...it's just that these things never work out. That’s the way it is. That's the way it has to be, for now.”

“For now?” Kate picked up on the thread. C.J. really should have known better.

“I think it would be safer not to assume...” she sighed. “I'm the White House Chief of Staff, for Christ’s sake. People already think...well, I don't really care what they think, but that's…”

“Yes, you do,” Kate pushed. “We all do. Why do you think it's easier for me to date men, huh? Don't you think I realized I'd made a mistake when I said what I did to Leo? It's not like I don't know better. I do. But that day, I...it had been so long since I'd thought about her. We were as good as married. We were waiting till it was legal, everywhere, not just a handful of states. And then she…”

“You don't have to say it,” C.J. sat up, holding the sheet to her chest, reaching out to trace Kate’s cheek.

“I can't say it,” Kate swallowed. “I've already said too much.”

“Let's pretend you didn't then,” C.J. nodded. “Let's pretend none of this ever happened. No slip to Leo, no last night, none of it. But don't think for a second I don't understand. The secrets were forced to keep, the constant fight against our better impulses to be open, especially with the people we spend so much time with, day in and day out. It's human. No one outside could even come close to getting it, but I get it. I wish I didn't, but I do.”

“So what now then?”

“We go back to the way things were,” C.J. swallowed. “I'm still going to being there. With you, for you, as much as I can be. As a friend, in whatever warped definition that means for people like us. I care about you, Kate. I wouldn't have done this if I didn't. I think you're gifted, capable, sexy as hell on top of it all, and it terrifies me that I'm willing to admit that, because at the end of the day we both know we can't. Not now, not ever. Not if we don't want our lives ripped apart by the press, by Congress, by the people writing the history books. It isn't fair, but I've come to realize that's just the way it is. I've accepted it. I hope you're willing to do the same.”

“Of course,” Kate agreed, pulling her knees to her chest. “I care about you too. I appreciate...I'm just glad you were willing to explore this much, even if it was a mistake.”

“I wouldn't say that,” C.J. smiled, shaking her head. “I enjoyed every minute. I was in search of something last night, and you gave me exactly what I needed.”

“An orgasm?” Kate grinned.

“Yes, well,” C.J. blushed again. “Not just that.”

“Me too,” Kate sighed. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” C.J. did her best not to break. “Why do I feel like we're about to shake hands and walk out this door like we’re not going to see each other again in twenty minutes?”

“Because that's usually how it works,” Kate laughed. “I've got a pretty good poker face though. I can compartmentalize like no one’s business. I'm ready to do what it takes.”

“Good,” C.J. breathed. “Me too.”

“Alright then,” Kate nodded. “But if you think for a second I'm letting you out of this bed with a handshake instead of another kiss, you really don't know me. Not yet at least.”

C.J. bit her lip again, laughing somberly as she fell back against the pillows. Kate leaned over her one last time, cupping the sides of her face as she kissed her slowly, sweetly, like she wanted C.J. to kick herself every time she remembered who they really were, the parts they weren't willing to show anyone else, all the things that remained unspoken. C.J. kissed her back, letting her tongue slip just barely across Kate’s lower lip before thinking better of it, giving her one final, grateful peck, before pulling away.

They got up and got dressed without saying another word. Kate left to go back to her own room, to make it look like someone had actually slept there. It was most likely overkill, but one could never be too sure. C.J. stayed behind, sitting alone in her room, trying not to think about anything other than her schedule for the day. She took a town car back to her place to freshen up and put on a clean suit before finally answering the call from The White House. Within the hour, she reported to the Sit Room, to the Secretary, to Kate, moving on like nothing had ever happened.

Chapter Text

C.J. found it easy not to miss someone she got to see every day. Even easier not to cross the lines she knew they shouldn't cross when the focus of their jobs was to keep the world from ending in some kind of nuclear apocalypse. That said, she and Kate Harper must have had the best self control of any two people she knew, because the fact that they hadn't slipped up, at all, in the several months since their night in a hotel only a few blocks away was nothing short of a miracle. If more people had this level of self control, it would be a far better world, she thought. The divorce rate would certainly be lower, that was for sure.

Things went back to normal because they had to. C.J. still wasn't entirely convinced the whole thing hadn't been a fever dream, but she only needed to catch herself staring a moment too long at Kate, hair pulled back, skin glowing beneath her fitted blazer, to be reminded that it wasn't. It was all too real in the hours she found herself lying in bed thinking about what the Deputy was doing across town instead of the crisis in Sudan, or any of the other hundreds of things she should be thinking about instead. Their daily life was so ridiculously dire, their loyalty to protecting the President so non-negotiable, it was just as well they were able to carry on without a second thought.

C.J. could only imagine what the President would say if he knew about any of this. She never let herself get very far in that train of thought, because the idea was mortifying. Something told her it would have been about the same as her father finding out, or any of the other liberal, Catholic men she admired. They'd say it didn't matter, that they loved her regardless of what she did, that no mistake could ever make them disown her. But she'd see the look in their eyes and know it wasn't entirely true, that deep down there was disappointment, and with Josiah Bartlet that disappointment had real, political consequences she’d never even consider bringing near his legacy.

But if she forgot about all of that for a second, focused instead on what she’d learned about herself post-Kate, it was a little less frightening. C.J. had long suspected, well before the press rudely began asking questions, that she might not actually be the upstanding example of heterosexual womanhood she'd always professed herself to be. Her attractions to women went as far back as Berkeley, maybe even further than that, but she'd never acted on them. Not even with Tilly Hedgwick, a very well-known and well-liked lesbian in the Hollywood scene, who made a pass at her at a party out in Malibu. There were plenty of opportunities then, but she'd never taken them, mostly because she never liked doing what other people expected. Her brother asked once, point blank, if she was gay, and she was so pissed she hit him over the head with the rotary phone they kept in the upstairs hallway. He asked again a few years later, and she nearly ran him over with the family station wagon.

Dealing with the fact that she may be bisexual had always been a solitary act, and so it continued to be, which was fine. It was there, confirmed finally in her undeniable attraction to Kate, in all the places she felt pleasantly sore the day after their encounter. No one else needed to know about that. She wasn't ashamed, not really. It just wasn't anyone’s business. The fact that she'd consummated said feelings after this long, this one time, didn't mean she owed anyone anything more than she'd previously been willing to share.

Still, she wondered if her resistance to being pegged as gay made her less likely over the years to push the President on marriage, or any real chance at an employee non-discrimination act. Don't Ask, Don’t Tell had certainly done its damage, including keeping Kate in her closet. But the truth was, Josh, Leo, and everyone else the President listened to had encouraged towing the line rather than leading in that arena. They'd all been cowards, though Toby was admittedly the boldest. They could have done more. They should have done more.

That was always the case, wasn't it? With everything, including this space station debacle that left three astronauts struggling to breathe for days. They could have solved it a lot faster had they not kept the military shuttle a secret for so long, even though she understood the reasons why they did. And now, someone had leaked it anyway. Everyone thought it was her, of course. She almost thought it was her, but it wasn't, and now the NASA investigation was threatening to fuck up the Democratic campaign before it could even really take off. Santos and Leo had barely won the nomination, and the pressure from Vinick was only mounting. The worst part was knowing it was a losing battle but having to pretend it wasn't, like all their hard work wasn't going to slip away under an inevitable Republican presidency. It was hard to swallow, but C.J. tried to focus on the few small victories they might have left.

Toby and Kate, meanwhile, were charged with leading the investigation, and that left C.J. feeling more isolated than she’d ever been. Kate tried to play nice, continuing the song and dance routine they'd so carefully worked out, but C.J. kept her distance in the moments they weren't forced to work together on national security. Even their friendly banter in the hallways seemed too tenuous at this point. Babbish was scrutinizing every move C.J. made, asking who she trusted and who she didn't, and Kate was on that list. She couldn't very well say she trusted her more than anyone else, even after the Cuba incident, after learning that most of Kate’s service file had been redacted. Toby was being protective in his own right, insinuating Kate could throw her under the bus at any moment, but C.J. knew she wouldn't, and not just because they’d slept together. It was more than that. They had a bond as colleagues that went beyond their libidos, as it should. But C.J. still thought it best to avoid Kate while the investigation was under way, as impossible as that was proving to be.

“Brought you a milkshake,” the blonde popped by one afternoon, a little extra pep in her step.

“Why?” C.J. asked, standing behind her desk, refusing to look up from her notes.

“Because I heard you could use a milkshake.”

“I just had lunch.”

“Fine,” Kate planted herself in the sitting area, opening the lid before crossing her legs. “I'll drink it myself then.”

“You brought me a milkshake just so you could drink it? Here. Give me that,” C.J. crossed the room, stealing the frozen beverage, wondering how Kate knew cookies n’ cream was her favorite. “It's probably not a good idea for the head of a major investigation to be seen bringing the lead suspect a milkshake. But we can't talk about any of that, so scram.”

“Wow,” Kate shook her head, resting her elbows on her knees. “Gotta say, I'm not sure I've ever been so shafted for trying to be nice to someone.”

“I thought we agreed we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“And I thought we agreed we were still friends,” Kate looked at her sharply.

C.J. stopped pacing. Slowly, she lifted her gaze from its steady focus on the floor, realizing she was acting like a lunatic. She took a seat in Leo’s favorite chair, safely across the room from Kate, looking down at the drink like it was poison, picking at it with her straw.

No one expected them not to interact. Those were C.J.’s self-inflicted rules, no one else’s.

“You're right,” she swallowed. “We are.”

“Yeah, well, friends make sure the other doesn't pass out because she hasn't eaten enough today.”

“I could kill Margaret.”

“No, you couldn't,” Kate smirked. “You’d never hurt a fly. Unless that fly was trying to screw over your new tax bill or something.”

“Thank you,” C.J. laughed in spite of herself. “That’s almost sweet.”

Kate eyed her closely, watching as C.J. began to slurp. C.J. told herself the only reason she was fixated on her lips was because she wanted the milkshake. Nothing more.

“You know,” Kate stood, checking the hallway to make sure no one was within ear shot. “People really can be friends with people they've slept with. My cousin and his ex are on the same bowling league.”

“Really,” C.J.’s eyes went wide. Ex was such a loaded term. That’s not what they were. That’s not what this was. “I suppose that's true. Look at Toby and Andy. Actually, don't. They’re a terrible example. Forget I said that.”

“The point is, men and women do it all the time, don't they?” Kate suggested.

“Absolutely. Josh and Donna have been sniffing each other's butts for years, and no one’s ever questioned their ability to get stuff done or suggested they stop being attached at the hip.”

Except C.J. had done that, and now they were barely on speaking terms, which was a whole other issue.

The truth was, no one suspected she and Kate had done a thing, and why would they? There were so few instances, especially in politics, when women really got each other instead of being pitted against one another, when they could recognize their power to affect real change instead of clawing at each other’s throats. C.J. wasn't going to let her own internalized prejudice get in the way of them continuing to have a good working relationship, even if there was more to the story.

“Yeah, well,” Kate stood again, smoothing out her gray pants, crossing back to the door. “I just wanted you to know I'm here for you. You might not think I can be, but I am. For milkshakes, small talk, anything.”

“I thought you hated small talk?”

“I do,” Kate admitted. “With most people, but you've never been that.”

C.J. stopped breathing for a moment. She let the straw fall from her mouth, looking up at Kate, begging her to walk away before either of them said something that would take things further.

“See you,” Kate squeaked, scooting off just as Margaret returned.

“Oh good!” Margaret clapped her hands. “I told her cookies n’ cream was your fave. At least someone around here can get you to eat.”

C.J. chewed the inside of her lip, scalding the redhead with a glare as she went to answer the phone.

It was their story, she and Kate’s. It was theirs and theirs alone. But there were some stories that were never meant to be told, and C.J. intended to keep it that way.

A few weeks later, Chairman Farad of Palestine was assassinated. No one expected it, and the fallout in the region was sure to be devastating. On top of the political ramifications, it was a personal blow to the President, who had worked so tirelessly on the peacekeeping agreements, putting his health aside, butting heads with many of his staff in order to make a deal. Farad’s death hit them all hard, almost like the death of a friend who symbolized a future no one was certain would survive without him.

After a full day of tracking Israeli tank movement in Gaza and putting together plans for world leaders to attend the funeral, C.J. and Kate made their way to the Oval Office to deliver one final security briefing before the President left for Jerusalem the next morning.

“Sir, C.J. and Commander Harper are here to see you,” Debbie announced.

“Send them in.”

C.J. followed behind Kate, watching the blonde’s shoulders slump a little more than usual. Kate was taking it a lot harder than she let on, but she’d never admit as much. She had already shifted into crisis mode, putting her own feelings aside to focus on the big picture, something C.J. was all too familiar with. The Sit Room had been tense all day, round after round with the Defense Secretary ending in its usual stalemate. C.J. told Kate she should go home, call it a night while she had the chance, to which Kate’s only reply was we both should. C.J. tried not to linger on those words. She felt like they were speaking in code a lot lately, but now was not the time. A scandal was a scandal, and this administration had never been lacking in that department. She sure as hell was determined never to be the cause of it.

“Thank you for this,” Bartlet took the briefing in his good hand, straightening his bowtie, dressed to the nines for the recital he was about to attend. “I know I was a bit short with you both today, and for that I apologize.”

“No need, sir,” Kate assured. “I think we've all been feeling a little stretched.”

“Yes, well, that may be the case,” he nodded, removing his glasses. “But I'm thankful to have you by my side through whatever mess this unfortunate situation has set off. We’ll get through it together, one day at a time. Won't we, Claudia Jean?”

“Yes, sir,” C.J. swallowed. “Is there anything else?”

“Not unless you want to throw on a gown and come listen to Mozart in B flat for a couple of hours.”

“I think I'll pass, sir,” C.J. smiled. “Thank you, though.”

“Goodnight, ladies.”

C.J. turned on her heels, warmed by the generous exchange with the President. They’d been few and far between as of late. Something in their relationship had changed in her transition from Press Secretary to Chief of Staff. She didn't know why he was more withholding now, other than the obvious. She made it her mission in life to get him to trust her as much as he trusted Leo, but so far it was touch and go. The NASA investigation certainly didn't help things.

She headed back through the adjoining door to her office, aware of Kate’s footsteps behind her, leaving it open, allowing the Deputy to step inside and close it shut.

“I told Frost if he bothered you again I'd remove his eyelids with a scalpel,” Kate blurted.

“Jesus,” C.J. gasped, hiding behind her scowl. She hadn't exactly been patient when she told Kate about the analyst storming into her office earlier, pressuring her to do something about other suspected assassination attempts. “Down, girl. You know I don’t expect…”

“He should never have approached you,” Kate spoke firmly, folding her hands in front of her. “It won't happen again.”

“Well...good,” C.J. breathed out, rummaging through the memos Margaret left on her desk. “Feel free to threaten anyone else on my behalf then. I can give you a list, if that’ll make it easier.”

“Tempting,” Kate smirked, cocking her head to the side, taking another curious step towards the desk, resting her hands on the edge. “He did mention one other thing. If you have a minute.”

“What?” C.J. finally looked up, stricken. She couldn’t handle more bad news today. She was already running on less than ten minutes sleep and more caffeine than was healthy for a woman her age.

“It's just...you never told me about your dad.”

“My…” her mouth fell open, stance shifting. “What, the guy has a whole dossier out on me now? That's fantastic.”

“That's his job,” Kate spoke softly. “He's a creep, no question. But I'm not exactly shocked he has that kind of intel.”

“Right,” C.J. swallowed, ignoring Kate’s question, hoping they could move on to other things, like the President’s schedule, or what might happen next if they couldn’t get China and Russia to back off in Kazakhstan.

“Why don't you ever talk about it?” Kate asked again. “It’s a tough disease. My grandmother…”

“Because,” C.J. cut her off, running a hand through messy hair. “If I talk about it while I'm here, I start to question why I'm here instead of there. And if I talk about it too much, people start to feel sorry for me, and if I talk about it with you, I know you’ll listen, which will just make it harder to stop talking.”

“I get it,” Kate stood up straight, crossing her arms. “Sorry, I…”

“No, I’m sorry,” C.J. crumbled, sighing heavily as she fell into her chair, bringing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t...I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You were saying? Your grandmother?”

“Died when I was pretty young,” Kate continued, taking a seat. “Of Alzheimer's. It was really hard on my dad. He didn’t know how to deal with it, and I was still at Annapolis, so my mom was left to be caretaker most days. I can't even imagine if one of my parents…”

“Don't,” C.J. warned. “If you don't have to imagine, don't. It's not anything I'd wish on another soul, least of all you.”

“I'm so sorry,” Kate shook her head. “Between that and your mom...it must be tough, is all.”

“He told you about...God, did he tell you what I ate for breakfast while he was at it?”

“He didn't have to,” Kate smiled wryly. “I'm pretty sure the answer is in that half-eaten yogurt sitting on your desk.”

“Yeah, well,” C.J. flicked it into the trash. “I guess we don't really know each other that well, do we?”

“Not so much,” Kate laughed. “But you make it so easy to talk.”

“Do I?” C.J. snarked back, appreciating the sarcasm. “Is that how we keep getting ourselves into this situation then?”

“What situation?” Kate mused. “Me trying to be nice and you pushing me away?”

“You know that's not...I don't mean to be mean, I just…”

“Need to keep your distance,” Kate nodded. “Got it.”

“But that's not what I...I don't really want that. You know I don’t. It's not like we can avoid each other. Things have been cordial, I thought.”

“Yes,” Kate conceded. “They have been that.”

“What do you want from me?” C.J. shrugged. “I grew up in Ohio, moved to LA, and now I'm here. Everything else should be obvious, I’d think.”

“See, that's where you're wrong,” Kate shook her head. “I know there's a lot more to you than what you do inside these walls. I know you like the Bengals, that you prefer Neil Diamond to Neil Young, that you've figured out how to take charge in the Sit Room when everyone’s talking over each other and Hutchinson won't shut up. I know a lot of things about you, C.J. Details, and also the big things, like how you lead with your heart more often than you probably should. But if there's any chance of us actually being friends, I’m gonna need more. Or at least let me listen, like you said, until you're done talking. You might be surprised how good it feels.”

“Not that surprised,” C.J. breathed, brows deeply furrowed as she leaned back in her chair and looked up at Kate, the way her nose scrunched up like it did when she was trying to make a point, very subtly. Most people probably would have found it snide, but C.J. thought it was comforting, if not endearing. “How about dinner tomorrow night?” she offered before she could think better if it.

“Here?”

“No,” C.J. negotiated. “Outside. Wherever you'd like. Pick your favorite place.”

“There’s a sushi bar out on Connecticut I like,” Kate blinked. “How does that sound?”

“Good,” C.J. confirmed. “Just to be clear, this is a friendly dinner. For information gathering purposes.”

“Of course,” Kate nodded. “I’m not sure what else you’d imply it would be.”

“You, just...go,” C.J. waved her off, looking back down at her papers to avoid showing just how flushed her cheeks were. “I need to finish so I can go home and pass out with my heels on again, like I have for the past several nights.”

“Get some rest, okay?” Kate stood. “I don't want to have to worry about you.”

“Then don't,” C.J. insisted. “I'm fine. Honestly. I'll be fine.”

“Night, C.J.”

“Goodnight, Kate.”

Less than an hour later, Toby stopped by C.J.’s office and found her in much better spirits than she'd been in for weeks, though most of it was caffeine. She was desperately in need of sleep, but the lure of shooting the shit over a glass of champagne with one of her oldest friends was too strong to resist. She began flitting around her office, preparing to unwind as Toby quietly sat next to her, and then dropped a bomb so big it was deafening. When he told her he’d hired a lawyer, her hearing became muted. After that, she could only make out every other word, like they were underwater, his confession drowning whatever good mood she'd been in, the water pouring in so thick she was afraid it would never stop.

And then, the waiting began. She paced back and forth in her office, biting her fingernails to the quick as he was interrogated. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She figured Brock had taken the brunt of things, figured it was something she’d slipped and said about the shuttle somewhere along the line, but she'd avoided thinking she or anyone else would actually be taken down, sent off to jail to pay for their sins. Toby knew exactly what would happen if he did this, and he'd done it anyway. She didn't know what was worse: the fact that he’d definitely be fired before getting hauled off to prison, or the fact that he was willing to go this long letting C.J. think the same might happen to her.

And she really couldn't be sure this was it. She wasn't safe. They'd talked about the shuttle after David’s death, C.J. knowing Toby of all people would understand her predicament, sympathize with wishing they could do more. Maybe that conversation had led Toby to think this was what he should do. He was smart, smarter than almost anyone else in that building. He had to know it wasn't worth it, but it was too late.

Once it was clear the President was going to fire Toby immediately, C.J. went to the Vice President’s office and asked Will to serve as Communications Director. He accepted without batting an eyelash, probably more thankful for the opportunity than distressed for Toby’s future. It was funny how these things worked out, how everything could change so dramatically, and yet so casually, from one minute to the next.

The President made his statement to the press, and C.J. cried alone in her office for a long time, shutting her door, sending Margaret home. It was so late, she knew she should have just stayed there, but her pantyhose were starting to itch, and she’d spilled soup on her skirt earlier that day. She needed to go home, where she could really let go for a while, cry under the comforting mist of a hot shower instead, collapse into bed and prepare to do it all again the next day.

On her way out the door, she kept staring straight ahead, lest any reporters were waiting for her to come out and talk. She was not in the mood tonight. She knew better than to say anything, but was afraid just the act of being bombarded might make her crack in ways she never had all those years in the press room. She'd been able to keep it together for so long, but right now, it felt like the wheels were finally coming off the bus, and there was no stopping the inevitable surge of rage and resentment that would come pouring out. It was better to get out of the line of sight before that happened, and she was almost there. All she had to do was…

Not trip over a divot in the sidewalk and fall to the ground, sending her bag flying in one direction, her feet in the other.

“Ma’am!” a flock of secret service agents came running.

“C.J.! Oh my god,” Debbie, who was on her way out at the same time, stopped as well. “What can I do? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“No, good Christ, I'm fine,” C.J. rolled her eyes, rebuffing anyone’s attempts to help. Painfully, she pushed up on her own hands and knees, cringing as her flesh pressed into the cement, scraped pink from where she'd tried to stop the fall.

“You're lucky you didn't break something,” Debbie huffed. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” C.J. sniffed, gritting her teeth. “Who puts suede on the bottom of heels?”

“Who buys heels with suede on the bottom?” Debbie argued.

“Good point,” C.J. bit her lip hard as she waved off the agents, trying to keep the deluge that was brewing inside from erupting.

“It's been a long night, hon,” Debbie squeezed her shoulder, picking off some lint and a few chips of gravel. “Go home and get some sleep. Better yet, go home and do something fun, like take a bubble bath. I can send you my homemade recipe for lavender ice cream, if that helps.”

“No, thanks,” C.J. forced a smile, holding onto the metal grates of the fence as she slipped her shoes back on. “That's thoughtful of you, but I'm…”

“Fine?” Debbie’s eyebrow arched, stepping closer, touching C.J.’s coat again to provide a little extra support. “I know how much you all like to say that, and you might even say it so often you're able to convince yourself. But some of us know better.”

“Mrs. Fiderer, I…”

“I'm just saying,” she pulled back as she shrugged. “Take care of yourself, will ya? If no one else is there to do it, we have to do it ourselves. Trust me on that.”

C.J. wanted to jump to her own defense. She wanted to claim that she wasn't as alone or as much of a mess as she appeared to be. But if the President’s secretary was trying to give her a wake up call in the wee hours instead of rushing off to get home herself, she figured she was in no position to argue.

“Thanks,” C.J. nodded, hiking her bag up on her shoulder, stepping out into the humid D.C. air.

“Goodnight, Ms. Cregg.”

C.J. began walking back to her apartment, limping only slightly from the way her ankle twisted. She’d hurt it enough times playing basketball in high school to know it wasn't serious. That was the least of her concerns. The real question was why she found herself stopping every few yards, checking her contacts, pulling up Kate’s number, staring at it, before slipping her phone back inside her coat pocket. There were a million reasons why she should just keep walking, but instead, she hailed one of the cars that was never too far behind her, getting in, texting the Deputy National Security Advisor before instructing the driver to take her to the address Kate sent back.

“C.J…”

“Did you watch the press conference?” C.J. stormed into Kate’s apartment like she had been there before, many times, pacing around the small living room, letting her secret service detail scan the new environment before signaling they'd wait downstairs.

“Yeah,” Kate shut the door behind them, slipping her hands in the pockets of her gray sweatpants, hair hanging loosely over her white tank. “I'm...well, I don't really know what to say. Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright!” C.J. barked. “I'm almost never alright! Why would I be alright when the entire world is falling to fucking pieces? Why would I...”

“I know,” Kate stepped a little closer. “I know it hurts. It sucks, thoroughly. I can't imagine…”

“No, you really can't,” C.J. seethed, shaking out her hands, moving restlessly between the living room and the kitchen, trying to find a way to release this energy.

“You're right. But...C.J., this was ultimately his decision. You can't take the blame for…”

“I'm not! Did I say I was? I just have to figure out...I need to…”

“There's nothing you can do,” Kate shook her head. “Except distance yourself. Start taking better care of yourself again. I've seen what this investigation’s done to you. You're not eating. You're not sleeping. You can't keep going like...”

“He was my best friend!” C.J. exploded, face turning purple as she pursed her lips, crystal blue eyes stinging with tears fighting their way to the surface. “You really think this is the best time to lecture me about my eating habits?”

“Why are you here then?” Kate crossed her arms. “If you aren't here to talk, why…”

“I can't talk about it,” C.J. shook her head, continuing to pace aimlessly, keeping an ironclad grip on her purse, like it would somehow save them both. “You're still on the case, aren't you?”

“The prosecution’s taking over,” Kate clarified. “But you're still not answering my question. Why are you here?”

“I…” she exhaled sharply, swallowing hard as she watched Kate watching her, looking so relaxed, so calm, like she was just anyone, like they were just any two people who happened to be standing in front of each other in a very inconspicuous place. “You said...if I needed anything, I...”

“What do you need?”

“Nothing!” C.J. snapped again. “I don't...I can't talk. I can't…anything...”

“Hey,” Kate took a bold step forward, reaching out, running her hands up C.J.’s arms as she stood there, shaking like a leaf in her coat. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

C.J. felt herself shrinking, throat painfully constricted as she let out a gut-wrenching sound through her lips, and the levies finally broke, tears pouring, breath coming out in short bursts and long, hearty gasps. The sobs came harder than when she was alone, which was embarrassing in and of itself. But Kate folded her up in her arms, squeezing her tight, hands moving into C.J’s hair, stroking lightly as she rocked them back and forth where they stood. C.J. knew she didn't deserve this. She’d been a monster, a really thankless friend, and worst of all knew she was sending signals she absolutely should not be sending. But Kate didn't seem to care about any of that as she held her close, letting her cry for as long as she needed.

“It's okay,” Kate lied again. “C.J., I'm sorry, I...I never thought it was you, but I didn't expect Toby…”

“I can't,” C.J. pulled away, panicking, like a bird who had caged itself, fluttering back through the kitchen, then towards the door. “Jesus, Kate we cannot do this!”

“Do what?” Kate snapped. “Talk? Fine, don't talk then. But you coming here sure sends a different message.”

“I'm leaving,” C.J. told her, determined to make it true, getting as far as her hand clutching the doorknob before Kate was there, standing right next to her.

“Wait,” she pressed against the wall, gripping C.J.’s shoulder, not aggressively, not even very convincingly. It was just there, a simple, defiant, wishful plea, coupled with the softness of Kate’s soothing voice. “Don't go. Please. Tell me what you need.”

C.J. sighed, shuddering as Kate pulled her hand away. She leaned against the door with her forehead, hands resting on the wood, resisting the outside world that was calling, begging her not to get lost in this fantasy that she could have it all, that she could have anything that felt this comforting, this distracting. She turned her head to the side, slowly opening her eyes and facing Kate, who was standing there looking at her like she wasn't crazy, like she had every right to fall to her knees and curse the universe for being so cruel.

Within seconds, C.J. was pushing off the door and into Kate, grabbing her face, kissing her like wildfire, Kate’s hands and lips spreading across her coat, ripping it off, sending it to the floor. C.J. backed her into a lamp in the corner, knocking it over before Kate reached behind them and set it upright, taking the lead as she wrapped her arms behind C.J’s back and pulled her towards the sofa, laying her gently on the tweed cushions. C.J. kicked off her heels, not caring where they flung, hearing one of them hit something in the distance, but Kate didn't seem at all bothered. She was too busy with the buttons on C.J’s jade green blouse, pulling the silk apart before journeying inside, raking her fingernails over the undershirt C.J. wished now she hadn't worn, because it was just in the way, like her necklace, beads clicking against each other as Kate kissed her thoroughly, positioning herself between her legs like that was exactly where she always belonged.

“Wait. What happened to your knees?” Kate stopped, pulling one of C.J.’s legs close as she picked at the ripped pantyhose.

“What? I fell. It's fine, I…”

“You're hurt.”

“It doesn't hurt,” C.J. insisted, pulling Kate back in, biting down hard on her lower lip before shoving her tongue inside her shockingly warm mouth, squirming as Kate lashed and circled, hungrily lapping her up. C.J. lifted her hands once again to Kate’s face, tracing the arch of her eyebrows, the soft beauty mark near her nose, needing to absorb all her features before they slipped away, like everything else in her life had. Her eyes continued to flood, breath catching as Kate’s lips slowed, less feverish, more deliberate, kissing her intently, holding her tenderly by the waist.

“I don't think this is really what you need,” Kate shook her head, lips walking across C.J.’s cheek, words defying her actions. “I'm not sure it's what either of us…”

“Want?” C.J. panted, fingers buried deep in Kate’s hair. “Is it wrong to want it?”

Kate shook her head no, and C.J. couldn't believe Kate looked like she was about to cry too, for reasons that remained to be seen. But all was forgotten as Kate kissed her harder, and C.J. drank it in, heart pounding, legs kicking until they were fixed behind Kate’s back, ankles locked in place. The left one felt a little bruised, maybe even swollen, but she pushed down the pain with the rest, mind going blank as Kate’s hands went to the hem of her long skirt, and she looked at C.J. with eyes hungrier than anyone C.J. had ever seen.

“Can I…” Kate breathed. “I mean, is it okay if I…”

“Anything,” C.J. swallowed, biting her lip. “Please.”

Kate quickly found the zipper at the side of the garment, tugging until it was gone, hands roaming the length of C.J.’s legs, peeling her ruined pantyhose down them, kissing the exposed skin inch by uncovered inch. C.J. fought between staring in awe and looking away. Somehow looking made it more real, the idea of Kate, the feeling of her coming together all too tangibly in the way she looked as she kissed her knees and licked her way down her calves, like she wasn't the least bit intimidated by C.J.’s height, or her power, or any of the things that were typically a hindrance in these circumstances. But Kate wasn't backing down, and C.J. found her whole body quaking at the sight and feel of her underwear being pulled right off, lost with the rest of the clothes south of her hips. Kate looked at her again with such thirst and admiration, C.J. thought she might go to pieces all over again if she didn't do more than just look.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” Kate whispered, stroking her fingers through the triangle of trimmed curls, watching C.J.’s head fall back, hips spreading of their own volition.

“So are you,” C.J. managed, voice higher than it had ever been.

“Are you really sure you want me to…”

“God, please don't ask me that,” C.J. shook her head.

“I have to,” Kate swallowed. “I would never take advantage…”

“I know that,” C.J. struggled to speak, licking her own lips, trying not to be too conscious about the fact that she was spread wide open with the lights on, fully on display. “And you don't have to...not if you don't…”

“Oh I very much do,” Kate smiled, tracing C.J.’s thighs. “I don't think I've ever thought about something so much. Other than, you know, all the other things I'm forced to think about.”

“I hear you,” C.J. whined a little, scooting back against the arm of the sofa, allowing the other woman to move closer. “Kate, please…”

“Okay,” Kate stretched her legs out behind her, then slipped to the floor, kneeling as C.J. moved along with her, shifting her body until it was facing forward. Kate reached up and pulled her towards the edge of the couch, C.J.’s ass practically falling into her hands, but Kate kept her afloat, kept her balanced just where she needed to be as she leaned forward and breathed in all she could. “You smell good too.”

“Do I?” C.J. swallowed. “I haven't...haven't been home in a while. I should have…”

“C.J.?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking.”

And C.J. did just that as Kate pressed her lips and tongue against her most sensitive space, opening her wide, taking the full ripeness of C.J.’s flesh into her mouth. C.J.’s head fell back again, mouth gaping, hands kneading the cushions as she lifted her feet in the air. Kate’s hands cradled them, holding them in place as she began the work of devouring her whole.

“Kate,” C.J. cried. “Oh my...unnggh…”

She felt stretched beyond capacity, hips cracking as she opened wider, Kate pushing forward, nose tickling as her tongue swept up and down, searching, savoring, not missing one inch as she finally sought C.J.’s entrance, meandering along the edge. C.J.’s words and breathe conspired to make her sound like she couldn't speak English. Kate entered her with the fullness of her tongue, dipping in and out, curling up before pressing back down, like she was trying to taste the center of who she was, to kiss the truth of her.

“Oh god,” C.J. moaned helplessly, hands resting on Kate’s head, then her own thighs, before going back to Kate’s tight shoulders. “Fuck…”

Kate lifted her tongue to C.J.’s clit and began an expert campaign of licking and sucking, stealing the rest of C.J.’s breath from her lungs. She panted hard, taking in as much oxygen as she could between the guttural declarations that shocked her as they emanated from within, Kate’s rhythm increasing, adapting to what seemed to work best, to what made C.J. lose all track of speech and sound. C.J. felt herself begin to burn, the ache growing from inside the well of longing and denial, until it was threatening to break free, all her excuses, all her determination to not let Kate Harper in failing spectacularly as her legs shook and feet flailed, eyes shooting up to the ceiling. Her clit buzzed with electricity, and she squeezed the blonde’s shoulder, pinching, scraping with nails that were much too long, and Kate grabbed her other hand while steadying her knee, head bobbing furiously, licking until C.J. sang for mercy, coming so fucking hard she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to not feel this brilliant pressure, the rise and fall of it, the crescendo, until her legs went limp, and she gently pushed Kate away.

Kate didn't miss a beat, climbing onto the couch, pulling a blanket around them both as she straddled C.J.’s lap, allowing her to recover. She brushed her long fingers through sweaty bangs that had grown out, down the sides of C.J.’s sharp cheekbones and familiar smile lines, kissing her breath as it managed to escape her lips.

“Feel like talking now?” she whispered playfully.

“Not really,” C.J. laughed, a bit delirious as she responded through lazy kisses, eyelids fluttering, chasing Kate’s lips as they left her own. “Is that...is that what I taste like?”

“Uh huh,” Kate laced their fingers, bringing C.J’s hands to her chest. “You've never tasted yourself?

“No, have you?” C.J. breathed, taking it as confirmation when no answer followed. “Why do I always end up feeling like I grew up in a convent when I'm with you?”

“I'm not sure that's a compliment,” she laughed.

“Trust me when I say it is,” C.J. swallowed, lifting shaky fingers to Kate’s cheek, staring back way too fondly, against what was left of her judgement. “You're like...some kind of weapon sent to destroy my resolve, aren't you? I just know it.”

“I've been called worse.”

“Well,” C.J. sniffed. “This really isn't why I came.”

“Really?” Kate squinted. “I’m not sure I buy that.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No. Just very good at evading the whole truth.”

“And what's that?”

“That you do need me,” Kate looked down solemnly, pulling C.J.’s hand to her lips, kissing each knuckle while keeping their eyes connected. “Or at least someone like me. Someone to take your mind off the things you can't control. Someone to remind you how good you are, how much you deserve a life away from the hubbub. If not me, than definitely someone.”

“Wow. That's quite the argument,” C.J. rolled her eyes. “I’d say you've made a pretty significant case for why it should be you, and now you're backtracking?”

“That's not...” Kate shook her head. “I'm just...trying not to get ahead of myself, okay? I don't want to come on too strong.”

“It’s a little late for that,” C.J. smirked. “I don't think there’s anyone who can do what you just...well, I know there's not.”

“I don't know about that,” Kate beamed, kissing her ear.

“Don't play coy with me,” C.J. laughed again, rolling her neck, letting Kate nuzzle against her throat, her pulsepoint. “My god, you're astonishing.”

“That's a big word.”

“I know,” C.J. swallowed. “That's why I used it.”

“Thank you,” Kate bowed a little, kissing her chin, her cheek. “For everything.”

“Why are you thanking me?” C.J. continued to feel like putty in her hands, even as her tone began to sound more resistant. “I'm the one who showed up here and proceeded to fall apart at the seams. Really, you shouldn't have had to…”

“Don't start,” Kate told her. “I said I'd be here. I meant what I said.”

“Clearly,” C.J. trembled, relishing in the feel of Kate’s hands roaming beneath her bra, thumbing tightly wound nipples, sending trickles of heat straight through to her core.

This was too easy, scarily so.

“Do you even like what we do?” C.J. blurted, trying to change the subject.

“What?” Kate’s fingers stilled. “What kind of question is that? You mean at work?”

“Uh huh.”

“You know I do,” Kate looked at her curiously. “We both do. Don't we?”

“Most days,” C.J. admitted, smoothing her hands up Kate’s back, beneath her tank. “But what about...I mean, it has to be less exciting than the CIA, right? Aren’t there days you miss being a spy?”

“I was never a spy.”

“Oh really? What exactly would you suggest I call it?”

“Most of it wasn't that sexy. It was a lot of getting the shit kicked out of me, a lot of running around trying to stay alive. But I do miss it, sometimes. There was a certain thrill, I guess...especially when I got to do the shit-kicking. Why? Is that a turn on?"

“You bet your ass it is,” C.J. grinned, hands slipping down the back of Kate’s sweats, delighting in the way her hips jerked as she squeezed.

C.J. had never seen the Deputy blush this hard or this much. It was addicting, making a woman who was typically so stoic, reserved in every other part of her life come alive like this, witnessing her blossom in every stolen moment. Kate tried to hide it, burying her face in C.J.’s shoulder, before bringing her lips back to her ear.

“What else turns you on, huh?” she whispered, palming C.J.’s tender breasts, tongue sweeping the maze of her cartilage.

“Hmm...your voice,” she gasped, eyes shut. “You're always...always whispering, even when you're not.”

“I don't whisper,” Kate pulled back, scowling. “Do I?”

“Don't try not doing it now just to prove me wrong,” C.J. teased, pinching Kate’s sides, melting at her reaction. “Do you wish you were going to Jerusalem?”

“Not really,” Kate shrugged. “Not if it would have meant missing out on this.”

C.J. stopped moving altogether then. Her eyes were big, wet and dilated, full of wonder at how long they could keep this up, this willful ignorance of their situation. It was torture, doing this to either of them, knowing it wouldn't last. But it felt too perfect, too normal to stop just yet.

“You’re one smooth talker, Kate Harper.”

“It’s just me being honest.”

“What are we doing?” C.J. shook her head. “How can you be so...fine, seemingly, with whatever this is?”

“Maybe I am.”

“How?”

“I don't know,” Kate swallowed, pulling her hands away, resting them on her own thighs. “I find myself thinking sometimes. About what it would be like to take you out on a real date.”

“Seriously?” C.J. practically snorted. “What would we even do?”

“Order a pizza?” Kate shrugged. “Or maybe go out for pizza, after a few rounds of mini golf.”

“Mini golf?!” C.J. balked. “What are we, fifteen?”

“I like mini golf,” Kate smirked.

“I guess I could dust off my clubs,” C.J. found herself taken by the hypotheticals. “I was captain of the girls golf team, you know.”

“You were not.”

“I was,” she admitted. “And the basketball team. And the volleyball team. And the debate team, which is the only thing that really comes in handy these days. Although I guess if I played more golf with Congressmen, I could use it to my advantage. But definitely not mini golf.”

“We don't have to golf,” Kate conceded. “We could do anything. Hike. Check out a museum. Catch a movie.”

“I can't remember the last time I did any of those things.”

“Or we could just stay in,” Kate offered. “I make a mean avgolemono soup. I have a Greek aunt who taught me.”

“So you're saying you'd cook for me?” C.J. gaped. “And I'd never have to learn? I could just reap the benefits?”

“I didn't say that,” Kate pushed her shoulder. “Can you dance?”

“A little,” C.J. bragged. “I have been known for my moves. We used to go wild sometimes in the West Wing, especially after the State of the Union. You’re bound to hear rumors. I assure you they're all true.”

“Sounds like a party.”

“It was,” C.J. nodded sadly, reflecting on how much had changed. “It was a different time.”

“Well, any woman who can dance is a winner in my book,” Kate kissed her again, wrapping her arms behind her neck. “Not that you need any help with that.”

“How did you get to be so charming?” C.J. marveled.

“I'm not sure I am,” Kate brooded, leaning their foreheads together.

“Don't sell yourself short,” C.J. held her face. “Really. I want to know how you got so good at this.”

“I'm not, I...I just know what I like. I try to treat people the way I want to be treated. You know, golden rule and all that.”

“You're no girl scout though.”

“No,” Kate sighed. “I’ve had my share of complicated, trust me. Especially with my ex. Husband, that is. He could be…well, those weren’t my finest moments. Or his, really.”

She trailed off again, and C.J. saw yet another side of Kate she didn't know existed, a side that wasn't quite as unflinchingly sure. A side that had been hurt, many times, maybe more than a little. Kicked around by people who weren't meant to be her enemies.

“Is that why you started dating women?”

“No,” Kate guffawed. “That's not really how that works.”

“I know,” C.J. winced. “Sorry, I just...what made you brave enough to even go there? The first time, I mean.”

“Well, when you're already putting your life on the line, taking the risk of being called queer isn't all that difficult. But I knew I had to keep quiet. If I wanted to keep my job at least, which, come to think of it, we should really be doing something about.”

“Yeah,” C.J. agreed, though she was suddenly hit with a wave of guilt for not doing more, for not being willing to be so brave. “Tell me about it.”

Kate brought her hands back to C.J.’s chest, to her heart. C.J. watched the way their bodies rose and fell in sync, both of them getting lost in the silence. It was as if they were each daring the other to speak, to keep them there for as long as they could.

“I should get going,” C.J. exhaled, shifting beneath the weight of Kate’s legs until she let her up. “Toby’s hearing will be in a few days. I'm sure tomorrow they’ll still have questions.”

“True,” Kate nodded slowly, sinking into the sofa as C.J. stood, searching for her skirt, her underwear, slipping them back on despite how disgusting it felt. “I spooked you, didn't I?”

“Please don't say I remind you of a horse,” C.J. sighed, deflecting instead of dealing, opting for the ridiculous. “I've heard that enough over the years. I don't need…”

“I wasn't…” Kate gawked, biting her lip as she crossed her arms. “You know you can joke all you want, but you don't have to...”

“I do have to,” C.J. looked at her seriously then, and the spell was broken. “Secret service is waiting for me downstairs. We're just lucky they don't ask a lot of questions.”

“What did you even say to them?”

“I don't remember, but it must have been convincing enough for them to leave me alone for...however long it’s been.”

Kate perched on the arm of the sofa, fidgeting, silently watching C.J. put herself back together. She zipped up her skirt, straightening her necklace, trying her best to make her soiled pantyhose look like they could pass for another day.

“There are always going to be secret service,” C.J. told her as she pulled on her heels, refusing to make eye contact. “Always people watching, waiting...”

“I know,” Kate nodded quietly. “This doesn't have to change our previous agreement.”

“You mean to never do this again?” C.J.’s chest physically hurt, suffocating beneath her resignation. “To pretend...that I don't want it, again. And again. That I wish I didn't have to leave?”

“Yeah,” Kate answered, but it was smaller, less certain than before.

“It's too distracting,” C.J. went for her coat, finding it tucked behind an end table with the rest of her excuses. “The last thing we need when we're going toe-to-toe with Russia is to be making eyes at each other across the Sit Room table.”

“Right. And pretending we don't want it isn't just as hard?” Kate argued, cheeks hot, though not with anger. C.J. knew exactly what she was feeling. She was just better at fighting it. “What do we do then?”

“I don't know,” C.J. admitted. “Find other ways to distract ourselves, I suppose.”

Kate cringed at that, shaking her head with such miserable disenchantment, such faded hope, it took all C.J. had not to take it back immediately, tell her to wait for the unlikely day she might be ready to throw all caution and doubt aside. She stepped forward, bringing her hand to Kate’s cheek, pushing some of her soft, blonde waves from her forehead, letting the kiss against her temple linger just a few more seconds before turning away.

“C.J.”

“Yeah?”

“You didn't…you never mentioned any of this to anyone, right? Like Toby?”

C.J. felt smacked across the face by the insinuation. It was that quick, the snap back to reality, the admission of both their fears, the real consequences of never being able to fully relax, even with the people you should be able to trust.

“No, Kate. I've never told a soul. Why, have you?”

“No,” she swallowed, shaking her head. “And I won't. You have my word on that.”

“Good,” C.J. breathed, shaking as she picked up her purse, feeling just as sick as when she arrived. “I should hope not. See you tomorrow.”

She left without looking back, getting in the car, staring out at the city whizzing by, all its brick and monuments blurring with the lights from the traffic. It was a love-hate relationship, her and D.C. This place had given her many things, and it had taken just as much.

When she got home, she collapsed into bed with her clothes on again, unable to stop crying, unable to sleep. She tossed and turned, until she finally reached for her phone, typing without thinking, wanting to make peace as best she could.

I'm sorry, she wrote. About earlier.

What did that even mean? Sorry for what, exactly? For everything? For the most incredible sex she'd ever had in almost a half-century of living? For the way Kate made her feel, holding her without question, convincing her for even an hour that everything really would be okay? For not reciprocating, not making love to her like she was dying to, telling her all the things she knew she wanted to hear? Or for the way she'd spoken at the end, the way she'd left things, refusing to fight for more, for either of them?

Me too, Kate replied not long after that.

Sushi tomorrow night? C.J. typed through her tears, pulling her coat over her head, letting her heels dangle as she buried herself beneath the pillows. Like we planned?

It was a long shot, but she figured why not try to hold on to the pieces she was able to face without running in the other direction.

I don't think I can, Kate wrote back.

C.J. knew it was coming, knew that was the right thing to say, but it was still a blow. It still felt like a lot to lose when she’d never really had her in the first place.

I understand, she responded. Thanks.

She lie awake for hours, staring out at the hazy August skyline, wondering if sleep would ever come.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t completely out of nowhere, Kate and Will. There were plenty of signs, going all the way back to the night of the DNC Gala if C.J. really thought about it, which she'd decided was bad for her mental health. She didn't want to know, but that was her job, wasn't it? Knowing. She knew everything going on in that White House, every piece of legislation, every random, trivial bit of history, every person, all their strengths and weaknesses. There was no way she shouldn't have seen it coming.

It was hard enough trying to pretend everything was fine, that nothing had changed since Toby’s indictment and her colossal failure at dealing with her own emotions surrounding those events. She'd learned two very important things that week: one, how easy it was to shut someone out of her life once they’d committed an unsalvageable act of treason; and two, that it actually was possible to miss someone you got to see every day. Sometimes, it was even worse than never getting to see them at all.

Kate had proven that in all the ways she distanced herself after their second encounter. It was subtle, so much so that no one else would have noticed, except maybe Margaret. Even then, C.J. was pretty sure Margaret would have taken it to her grave. She was that good of an assistant, always forcing her to eat, forcing her to sleep, ready to hide a body, ready to do whatever was needed to keep them going, including help C.J. pretend everything was fine when it wasn't.

She and Kate’s ability to deal with their mutual misery over Kazakhstan was impeccable. Kate was an absolute pro, as always, asking the right questions, and only those questions she needed to do her job. C.J. tried to steer clear of her otherwise, knowing she deserved the cold shoulder after walking out like she did. She’d been a coward, taking what she needed and throwing the rest back in Kate’s face, turning away the best thing to happen to her in the eight years she’d worked in that god forsaken city. Kate had opened the door to having a fuller, more well-rounded life, more deeply meaningful life, and C.J. had promptly slammed it shut.

So that was how it stayed for weeks, including the days leading up to Ellie Bartlet’s wedding. C.J. thought back to one particular Saturday when she'd been called in to help with the planning. She had a Master’s Degree in Political Science, but here she was debating menu options for the President’s daughter's nuptials. She wouldn't have resented it as much had she not been trying to reserve weekends for other things, like that elusive self-care thing everyone seemed to rave so much about. Anyone who said they actually did it was a liar, C.J. was sure of it.

Next thing she knew, she was being kept later than she planned by Kate, who insisted on briefing her about China and Kazakhstan that afternoon, because the situation was only getting worse. C.J. couldn't blame her for that. She couldn't even blame her for how distracting it was, listening to her go on and on about troop deployment and embasserial management, when all she could do was focus on Kate’s jeans, and how good she looked in corduroy. No one looks that good in corduroy, C.J. simmered, but this was her life now, noticing all the little things about the woman she’d stupidly slept with, like how green her eyes were when her hair was down, or how flawless her skin looked with the new makeup she was wearing lately. This, all while wrestling with the fear that they may be headed into WW3 if they couldn't figure out how to get these nuclear powers to back off in a land that belonged to neither of them.

It became clear, through all of it, that Kate was trying. For someone, C.J. remembered thinking. Definitely not her, but the effect wasn't lost on her nonetheless. C.J. found herself trying a little too, being nicer than usual, going out of her way to make sure Kate knew there weren't any hard feelings, at least not on her end. The stakes were too high, and the reality was she didn't have anyone else to commiserate with, to dish with about the President’s douchebag son-in-law, to joke with about the way Josh’s hairline kept receding every time he barged into the White House asking for another Santos favor. It was harder to resist being friends than to hold a grudge, and slowly, things got better again. But Kate was still distant, and C.J. was very adept at filtering out the things she chose to ignore.

Then the day of Ellie’s wedding came, and C.J. walked down to the Situation Room in her red silk gown after learning that Chinese troops were moving into Kazakhstan at the worst possible moment. She bumped into Kate along the way, stumbling upon the perfect opportunity to make a fool of herself.

“You look nice,” she sputtered.

Nice. Like she hadn't gotten an 800 verbal on her SATs. Like it hadn't been her job for nearly seven years to come up with something a whole lot better than nice. Nice might have been okay several months ago, before their relationship had developed into whatever it was. But now it felt like a massive understatement, a poorly constructed cover for what she really wanted to say.

“You really look nice,” she said again. Twice.

All her resolve went out the window at the sight of Kate that day. Not consciously. It was more like word vomit, a visceral reaction followed by the mouth making moves the brain would have definitely warned against had it not been turned to mush. It was black, the dress. Gorgeously cut, completely sleeveless, with the slightest ruffle along the neckline. It showed off Kate’s chiseled collarbones, the way the muscles in her back moved synchronously every time she turned a corner. C.J. had never found herself so dumbstruck by another woman’s features. The voice inside her head told her this was amateur, inappropriate and beyond immature. But all her eyes could do was remember the way Kate’s skin felt beneath her fingers, the way her words, her laugh, kept her afloat on one of the worst night’s of her life. How grateful she was, even if she hadn't acted like it.

“Okay, now I'm starting to think you're hitting on me,” Kate responded. C.J. couldn't believe the gall she had, naming it for what it was.

“Who’s the guy?” C.J. deflected, like it would somehow protect them from any onlookers, or at least distract from the sirens going off inside her skull.

“What makes you think there's a guy?”

A cheap shot, C.J. thought, both impressed and entertained by her sass.

And then, before she knew it, Kate was coming clean. She told her about her date, about taking Will Bailey to the wedding as her plus one. C.J. stood outside the door to the Situation Room feeling not like one of the most powerful women in the free world, but like a kid getting passed over on prom night, the lanky sixteen-year-old who spent every Homecoming putting together a presentation for the pep rally rather than figuring out who she’d take to the dance. It was so incredibly myopic, she could barely stand herself for feeling anything but happy that Kate had found the strength to move on in ways C.J. simply couldn't. Not yet at least.

But it also wasn't a total shock, not as much as she let on. Kate had an extra seat at her table. C.J. had forced Will to do most of the wedding planning for her in the eleventh hour, and Ellie made it clear how much she loathed his input by not offering him an invitation. Kate must have taken pity on him, decided to allow him to tag along, to serve as a buffer between her and the grabby ambassador from Canada. C.J. could get behind that strategy. It was a good plan, not so much a date, even if that's what Kate was choosing to call it.

C.J. decided to feign support for now, because really, what other option was there? Kate scampered away, refusing to answer any more questions. She led C.J. into the Sit Room, where they continued to monitor the Russian convoys to the West and the Chinese to the East. After a while, they made their way back to the Oval Office, where they helped the President broker a de-escalation agreement just long enough for him to walk his daughter down the aisle and watch her say “I do.”

“Do you think either of us will ever get married?” Donna mused, sitting on the steps looking forlorn as she scanned the ballroom, cradling her purse and a broken wine glass in the hammock of her dress.

“You? Definitely,” C.J. told her, taking a breather from being chased by Barry Goodwin and all the other headhunters, adjusting her bejeweled cleavage. “Me? Doubtful.”

“What?” Donna looked up at her with eyes as big as the moon. “That's the saddest thing I've ever heard. Why would you say that?”

“When would you suggest I find time to date someone, much less fall in love and convince them to spend the rest of their life waiting for me to never come home?”

“But that's now, right? It won't be like that one day. Soon! Don't you think? I mean, not that I’ll have it any easier if things keep going the way they're going.”

“You eyeing a position in the Santos administration?”

“I’d say it's likely, unless Josh has his reservations, like he did with me being spokesperson.”

“You tell Josh I said not to be such an audacious prick,” C.J. scoffed, stealing a glass of white from a passing tray. “The last thing he should be doing is trying to steer good people like you away from the ship. He needs you more than you need him. Don't ever let him tell you otherwise.”

“I know he does,” Donna smiled. “But we need you, too! You'd make a great advisor in the transition, all that institutional knowledge. Maybe you’ll end up staying, right?”

“I don't know yet,” C.J. sighed. She hadn't even begun considering her exit plan.

“Well there's gotta be something for you. I'm sure it's coming.”

“We’ll see,” she mused, sipping her wine, eyes checking out the masses until she spotted Will all by himself. He was playing with the name card at Kate’s empty seat, fanning it into the flames of a candle until it accidentally caught on fire, forcing him to dunk it in his ice water.

Kate was nowhere to be found. She must have gone back downstairs. C.J. was thankful for some reprieve, if only so she could witness this fine spectacle from Will and listen to Donna wax poetic about their futures. She knew there was a good chance she’d be called away again before the night ended, so she finished her wine, cutting herself off before comparing her final scorecard in Dignitary Bingo with Josh and Charlie, and then heading back to her office.

“Nice wedding.”

C.J. shrieked, lifting her head from the couch all too quickly, scrambling to make sure nothing had popped out. She sat up, pulling her hair out of her mouth as she turned towards the door, just as Kate was leaning against in, her hourglass silhouette lit up like an angel through the fog of C.J.’s contact lenses.

“How's your date?” C.J. yawned.

“Fine,” Kate crossed her arms, looking bored, maybe a little tipsy, C.J. couldn't be sure.

“Really? Has he asked you to dance yet?”

“No. Why, were you planning to?”

C.J. clenched her jaw, taking a deep breath through her nostrils, rubbing her temples as she scowled.

“What do you think the chances are of you ever tying the knot again?” she asked, blaming the awkward question on having just been woken up. She couldn't yet be held accountable for the connection between her words and her brain.

“Not likely, I’d say,” Kate shrugged. “I don't think I need to go down that particularly painful road again. But you never know. I could be persuaded.”

“Hmm,” C.J. pondered. “There’s a very eligible Communications Director down there, waiting patiently, doing magic tricks and becoming a pyromaniac who might just be able to make you change your mind.”

“He’s…” Kate shook her head, more at herself than anything. “You kind of threw him to the wolves, you know. And I think he handled it like a champ.”

“He did,” C.J. had to admit. “You're doing the right thing. Find the most boring guy in the White House and get him to hold your purse while you run off and do the dirty work.”

“Don't you think he's the one doing the dirty work?” Kate’s eyebrow rose. “Talking to the press about whatever we make him say or not say? You should know. You were good at it.”

C.J. blinked at the dig, bracing her palms against the seat, sitting on her hands.

“Sure,” she swallowed. “I supposed that's one way of...”

“I'm just saying,” Kate continued to pick at her cuticles, looking away. “Maybe it's not just a distraction. Or maybe it is. Maybe you're not the only one who needs to feel less alone every once in awhile, you know?”

“I…” C.J. was agape at how quickly this had escalated. “Kate…”

“You look amazing, by the way,” the blonde almost spat, wiping her eyes stealthily as she turned back to the hall. “You're needed in the Sit Room. Five minutes. Fix your earring.”

C.J. stared at the empty doorway, pressing her tongue into her teeth, so hard she thought she might draw blood. She stood achingly, running her hands down the sides of her dress, picking the hook out of her hair before securing it through her lobe.

There were people who got to enjoy the wedding, those who stayed till the very end, sending the happy couple off on their honeymoon, showering them with birdseed and wishes for a successful life. And then there were people who never got to sit at the reception, never got to taste the trout, or talk to the groom’s family about what they were getting themselves into. People like her, people like Kate. Because this was their job, and that would always come first.

The next few weeks were spent trying to keep the Chinese at bay and get the Kazakhs to reschedule their elections with U.N. monitors. None of that information was available to the press. C.J. took great joy in watching Will flounder under the hot lights of the press room, having little to give the piranhas at their daily feedings. It was hard trying to keep the smug look off her face every time he went out there and bombed. His success was all of their success, but right now, keeping him out of the loop was the best way to protect the fragile developments they'd been able to make in the region. It wasn't entirely sadistic.

Other than that, C.J. was left ruminating on the true meaning of “lame duck,” taking meetings about little other than foreign policy, which was arguably the most important part of her job. But she missed the domestic wheeling and dealing, the legislative aspect, the part she’d had to cede to Cliff Calley as a very light touch Deputy Chief of Staff, instructing him mostly to put out fires and hold off on anything they couldn't absolutely guarantee would pass. They needed as much bipartisan support heading into this election as they could muster, needed to seed the ground for Santos to be able to work with the Republicans if he was elected, or Vinick to at least consider hearing the Democrats on issues where they were able to find common ground. It felt like the days of ramping up support for something truly culture-shifting were over. This was the slow wind down, the let's-get-the-out-of-here-without-burning-the-place-to-the-ground phase of the Bartlet administration. C.J. only hoped they wouldn't have to add “war” to the last few lines of their entry in the history books.

Still, those weekends away from the office never really took hold, and so C.J. found herself in on a Sunday, the night of the Vice Presidential debate. She waited for the President to begin a call with Chigorin, finding ways to keep herself busy, catching up on emails, checking in with the nurses at her father’s home, setting up a long overdue lunch with her niece. The good thing about the light at the end of the tunnel was the possibility that she may have more time to spend with family, or at least those who were left. Most were too bitter about her missing birthdays and Thanksgivings to continue to care.

But that was also the hard part, knowing things would never go back to the way they once were, when her mother was alive, when her father still knew who she was. Truthfully, there wasn't much for her outside of work, and that had made getting lost in it that much easier. She was still reluctant to look at what might fill her days when she was asked to leave her credentials and exit that ivory palace, what might lie beyond the greatest excuse she'd ever had for not investing in other parts of her life like she should.

Baby steps, she told herself, standing without really knowing where she was headed, just that she needed a change of scenery. The debate was about to start in a few minutes. She’d planned on watching in her office, but thought maybe she’d head down to the mess first, grab one of the Snickers she had the chef hide for her in the freezer. Maybe some of the other no-lifers around there might want to join her in the Roosevelt Room, turn on the TV and watch Leo scrape the floor with Ray Sullivan, start a little chant for their former boss.

It was a thrill really, watching Leo get a second lease on life, another unexpected chapter in the long book of McGarry achievements. They were all indebted to him, maybe C.J. most of all. He'd supported her like no one else, put forth her name to follow in his footsteps, told her she was doing alright even when the President forgot to. She was looking forward to seeing him do his thing tonight, proving that he still had plenty left to offer the world.

There was only one person she really wanted to share that with, even if it meant eating crow and owning up to her shitty attitude about Will.

Kate had to still be there. She was probably held up in her office, the dungeon they made her work out of near the Sit Room. C.J. understood that space logistically, but it always seemed like the short end of the stick, like someone who had the weight of the nation’s security on her shoulders should at least be repaid with a better view. Kate didn't spend much time there anyway, but C.J. hoped she might find her there tonight, be able to smooth over some of their tenser moments with the other half of her Snickers, or at least the promise of silent company as they watched the debate.

She made her way through the Comms bullpen, hoping to rustle up a few stragglers, see if she could convince them to raid the dessert trays with her, when she noticed the faintest light coming from Will’s office. Slowly, silently, she tiptoed towards the window, squinting to make out what antics the bug-eyed whipping boy was up to now.

Her feet stuck to the ground like tar when she spotted Kate through the blinds. She was in there, with Will, the two of them sitting at a table with candles and take out, having what appeared to be a real date, though given the cheap tins and the fact that they hadn't left the building that was certainly debatable. C.J. quickly turned on her heels, not wanting to see more than she was meant to. She'd gotten enough of a glimpse to know Kate was in fact trying. She was going through the motions, committing to the much maligned small talk, sizing Will up, maybe convincing herself that he wasn't that far out of her league.

C.J. went back to her office and turned on the TV, forgetting the Snickers, forgetting what she'd seen, telling herself that this was exactly what was best for all involved. She began watching the debate, listening to her friend and mentor defy the odds and soothe the American people’s need for a known, tried-and-true face in all the election hype. Santos was a good man. His heart was in the right place, but it was Leo who would seal the deal with most voters. There was something to be said for the familiar, for the people who time and again showed up, even when it wasn't easy.

C.J. listened to the sound of Leo’s voice as she went back to her emails, responding to one from Danny that had been sitting in her inbox for way too long. She began typing a response as she waited for the President to return from the residence so they could make their call to Russia.

Danny Concannon was not her second choice. For a long time he'd been her first, their Sam and Diane will-they-won't-they the stuff of legends around the White House, much to C.J.’s chagrin. Though she had to admit it was kind of nice being humanized. She noticed the press corps wasn't as rough on her when Danny was in the room, mostly because he was the one doing the grilling. They'd even conspired to surprise her one year at Christmas time, when Danny dressed up as Santa and popped by after leaving his post as Chief Correspondent. She'd teased him then, letting him know what he could have had if they were ever serious, which didn't appear to be in the cards.

It was nothing new, she and Danny. But it was also nothing, period. Those days of getting to be human, showing her Achilles heel to the people she worked with were long gone. It had been enough of a struggle to be taken seriously as Chief of Staff, and the whole thing with Brock going to jail over the leak had scared C.J. enough to keep quiet about the completely innocent dinner she’d agreed to with Danny.

They met late one night, in a restaurant across town. C.J. did her best to move things along, rushing them through catching up, demanding he cut to the chase. Because there was always a chase with Danny. He didn't just want to see her. He wanted to tell her how to do her job, tell her she wasn't doing enough to make a splash before leaving office, which was already a sore point. Even worse, he had dirt on Doug Weston, the slimeball Bartlet son-in-law she so detested. Danny claimed he wasn't interested in running the story, that he only wanted to help. But that wasn't how things worked. Everyone always wanted something, and the gift of this information felt like a bribe. A bribe to spend more time with her, to continue poking the old wound, the missed opportunity that was better left missed. She didn't buy him saying he was ready to give up being a reporter. She didn't buy anything he was spinning, really. The truth was, he always drove her crazy. But she was still flattered, and that may not have been nothing.

Meanwhile, the days were getting longer and more intense as the election neared. The only good parts were when she and Kate finished each other’s sentences, concocting a plan to make Germany and France do their bidding on a U.N. resolution to sanction oil revenues in Khartoum. Once Kate was on board with the idea, C.J. went full steam ahead trying to work out a proxy deal that would pressure the Chinese and help them in both the Sudan and Kazakhstan. It didn't quite have the wind under its sails yet, and the President had his reservations, but Kate’s faith was more than she could ask for at this point. She’d done such a good job of not throwing a fit over Kate and Will, the Deputy was even starting to smile at her again. They'd gone back to having the occasional tête-à-tête, about Doug Weston, about how much more they wished they could do in Darfur. It was rare to feel as ethically aligned with someone as C.J. was with Kate. It was refreshing, a godsend, even on the days when she missed her more than she should, even when she didn't have the time or energy to think about anything other than the next meeting, the next negotiation. Kate even asked her to have dinner one night, seemingly out of nowhere, but C.J. couldn't. It was much too soon, and besides, she had a date.

Kate’s reaction to that was surprising. She didn't seem to want to believe it, even offering to walk C.J. outside anyway, but C.J. continued to say no. Because saying no was her superpower, the one way she could stay out of trouble, on every front. But she couldn't help thinking about Kate through her second dinner with Danny, right up until the point when he practically proposed marriage, asking her to hold hands while they jumped off a cliff. It was sweet, if not nihilistic. It made C.J. feel wanted in a way that caught her off guard, a way that made sense. More importantly, it felt safe, safer than anything she'd allowed herself to feel in a long time.

She wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't that she didn't feel the same way, not exactly. It was just that Danny had been gone for a while, and a lot had happened in the meantime. She'd changed, grown more than she thought was possible this late in the game. There were choices ahead, big ones, and she didn't know if she wanted to fall off the cliff into the unknown or into something more stable. Danny wasn't a bad choice. All she had to do was look at her goldfish to remember how good he could made her feel.

She wasn't ready to make any decisions until after the inauguration, vowing not to see him again until then. But before she could make that perfectly clear, her phone rang with a 911 from Kate. It was odd, really. She knew it meant something awful had happened, but she was also eager to get back, thankful for the interruption. Guilty too, that Kate might have somehow felt her breaking free of whatever connection they had.

That feeling went away as soon as Kate told her about the nuclear accident in San Andreo, California. All hands were on deck then, and C.J. couldn't remember another night in recent history when she'd been that scared, or gone back and forth so many times between her office, the Sit Room, and the Oval. The situation was about as bad as it could get, but C.J. knew she and Kate had it on lock. They were running the entire operation, both of them on the phone constantly, working back to back, coming up with a plan to save everyone, just like Sudan. Just like Kazakhstan. There were lives on the line, and that was what mattered most. But C.J. also couldn't help feeling most alive in those moments, like she and Kate could achieve anything once they put aside their bullshit and did what they had to, what only they were uniquely positioned to do. It carried through in her assurance to the President that they had done the right thing, even though one of the rescue workers died in the process. It was never black and white, their success. Someone always won, and more often than not, someone lost too.

Once the worst was over, Kate put her hand on C.J.’s shoulder, the way someone would after a hard fought game when the buzzer went off. She pulled away before anyone else would have thought it more than a collegial gesture, but for C.J. it was the reminder she needed that there was still something there between them. A spark, a chemistry that could only be conveyed through the conduit of a crisis. It was just a flicker, but it kept C.J. from calling Danny back for days.

This has to stop, she told herself. It had been too long, and not long enough. They were adults. Affairs happened, every single day, and people didn't spend months getting hung up on them. She was supposed to have a thicker skin. She was supposed to not feel like throwing up every time she watched Kate leave the building with Will, his hand on the small of her back as she laughed at one of his inane jokes.

It had to get easier. Danny could help with that, and if it meant faking it for a while until things felt more real with him, C.J. was ready to put on the greatest performance of her life.

A few weeks before the election, The White House was considering putting troops on the ground in Kazakhstan. Bartlet brought in the candidates to brief them, considering it would be one of their messes soon enough. C.J. felt like she might blow a gasket if she didn't let off some steam, so she stole away to the gym for the first time in forever, one of her agents keeping watch at the door while she secluded herself in the boxing studio. She was always more of an elliptical and free weights person, but this felt good. It was exactly what she needed, to punch something, hard.

“You're gonna break your hand if you keep hitting like that,” Kate’s voice came from behind.

C.J. barely flinched, rolling her eyes as she continued to pound the bag.

“Here. Try this.”

Kate stepped into her orbit, arms coming around both sides, stilling C.J.’s hands against her chest. C.J. closed her eyes, sweat pouring down her neck and over her biceps. She tried not to get lost in the feeling of Kate’s hands on her body, how much she didn't mind them being there, how quickly the memories that came with them returned. Kate adjusted her thumbs, tucking her fingers beneath them, before taking hold of her wrists and miming as she brought their fists forward in slow motion. She let go after that, stepping back as C.J. continued to hit the bag the same way she did before.

“I don't know what the point of having secret service is sometimes,” she huffed. “Keith, could you excuse us, please?”

The agent nodded apologetically, posting outside the door, leaving the women alone in the dim, wooden rec room.

“I hear you're having sex with Will,” C.J. slammed the bag again, this time with her whole body, as soon as Keith was out of earshot.

“I'm...” Kate gaped, moving over to the window, forcing C.J. to contend with her presence, the way her post-workout skin flushed under the tight black tank she sported. “How did you…”

“People.”

“What people?”

“I'm not at liberty to say,” C.J. grit her teeth, hitting even harder.

“C.J...”

“People talk,” she swallowed. “They shouldn't, but they do. You’re the one who told me that, right?”

“Yeah, I guess I did. Well?”

“Well what?”

“Why are you bringing it up?”

“I just wanted you to know that I know,” C.J. panted. “So you don't have to dodge out of my office every time he’s in there. I'm happy for you, really.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “I think it's gross, but I'm still happy for you.”

“I don't believe that,” Kate shook her head. “Not for a second.”

“Fine,” C.J. raised her voice, and it echoed through the room. She grabbed the bag, stilling it, before bending down to her water. “Then don't.”

“Why are you so upset?” Kate circled her. “It's not like you haven't been dating.”

“I went on one date,” C.J. insisted. “I didn’t start fucking the Press Secretary who looks like a talking frog. Or a fetal baby bull.”

“Well,” Kate breathed, laughing nervously as she paced. “I'm glad we can have these adult conversations.”

“Why are you here?” C.J. exhaled, chest heaving as she continued to drink, water trickling out of the corners of her mouth, wetting her already soaked shirt.

“I wasn't...I didn't plan on following you here, if that's what you…”

“Fine,” C.J. shivered, wiping her mouth on her towel before throwing it over her shoulder. “But don't expect me not to plan. Don't think I haven't calculated the exact amount of space I need to maintain between the two of us to make this work. Not all of us are able to be so cavalier about our interoffice dalliances.”

“Is that what we were?” Kate’s brow furrowed. “A dalliance?”

“We weren't anything,” C.J. sniffed. “I wouldn't have let it get that far.”

Kate stared back at her, eyes a little wide as the words sunk in deep between them, like a rift opening up in the floorboards. C.J. cursed herself, hoping Kate knew that wasn't what she really wanted to say. But she wasn't able to bear this. She never had been. The fact was, her life, her choices, weren’t hers alone. Everything she did reflected on the President. Everything she didn't do was just another safeguard, another attempt at sleeping easier at night, knowing they wouldn't have to deal with the mess the next day.

It would have been ridiculous to most people, a grown woman not being able to own her identity, refusing to lead in that sense, when the cost of not doing so meant giving up a whole other way of making a difference. But this was the life she’d chosen, and she didn't have to explain the reasons why she wasn't able to go there. Not even when someone like Kate might have been willing to meet her on the other side. The cliff was too high. C.J. wasn't prepared for that kind of fall.

Kate nodded then, biting her lip a little as she walked out without saying another word. She left C.J. to continue throwing punches, to go another round with herself in the dark.

“Hey, kid,” Leo answered the phone. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” C.J. smiled weakly, hanging over her kitchen counter, picking at some cold pasta she’d brought home the other day. “How's the road? You're not pushing yourself too hard, are you?”

“No,” he told her proudly. “The sunlight’s good for you, it turns out. I've seen more of it the past few weeks than I have in years. You should try it.”

“How do the polls look?”

“Better,” he shared. “But they could be better.”

“You’ll get there. Josh will end up in an early grave if you don't.”

“Yeah, I don't see that happening. I think you guys’ll have to deal with our ugly mugs around the place for a few more years.”

“We’ll take it,” C.J. laughed. “Not that I can guarantee I'll be there.”

“Of course you will,” Leo spoke sweetly. “You were made for this. You're just getting started.”

“I don't know, Leo,” C.J. sighed, holding her head in her hands, thinking about how much time was passing, about how much a career politician like Leo had given up to get where he was, the price he continued to pay. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you…” she swallowed. “You don't have any regrets, do you?”

He was quiet for a moment. She imagined it was too personal, too much to think about when there was no way to go back and fix the things that were long broken. But he’d always been real with her, as real as he could be. She figured if they couldn't talk specifics, the least he could give was another pat on the back, a little more encouragement to see them both through to the other side.

“No, kid,” he finally breathed. “It's been a hell of a ride.”

“Get some sleep, friend,” C.J. smiled. “We miss you. See you when you get home.”

Chapter Text

Election Day always felt like a holiday in The West Wing. It was their least productive twenty-four hour period, everyone waiting on pins and needles for the results to roll in, gathered around TVs, analyzing and predicting, unable to accomplish much else. C.J. spent the morning being chased by Charlie, who insisted she start reviewing the many job offers she'd received. But today was not the day for that. Today was a day to be still, to take in everything about the way things were right now, in this moment, because after today it would never be the same. No job would ever be as exciting, as draining or fulfilling as these past eight years. Not a chance, C.J. thought, though she was still holding out some small glimmer of hope for what might come next.

It had always been a struggle for her to live in the moment, because the moment always seemed to be fleeting, whether she wanted it to be or not. But C.J. forced herself to do it on Election Day, sneaking into the Oval Office when it was empty. She stood there alone for as long as she could, taking it in, feeling terribly anxious and incredibly thankful at the same time.

By evening, Margaret had chased her down and forced her to stop stalking the halls “looking like a lost sheep herder.” She said it was making everyone nervous, which usually meant C.J. was doing something right, but today required more sensitivity. So she settled in at her desk, picking at a salad while staring at the stack of offers, trying to imagine what could possibly compare to this, what wouldn't feel like a massive demotion or a corporate sell out. There was plenty to choose from, and the variety made her feel more like a jack-of-all-trades than she knew herself to be. All she really cared about was making a difference, doing something that mattered, leaving an impact that would last well after she was gone. And, if she could get paid enough to support her admittedly bougie tastes and lifestyle while she was at it, that would be alright too.

“Hey,” Kate’s voice surprised her, coupled with a knock at her open door. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” C.J. chewed, eyelids fluttering as she quickly wiped her mouth on a napkin and pushed the bowl away. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Kate entered slowly. “I was just about to head out. Thought I'd see if you needed anything before I go.”

“Not tonight,” C.J. breathed, leaning back in her chair. “It's sort of a holding pattern around here, as you might expect.”

“Sounds about right,” Kate nodded. “You okay though?”

“Yeah,” C.J. swallowed, looking up at her curiously. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“It's a lot of change,” Kate mused. “I know I don't always do so well with that.”

“Yes you do,” C.J. laughed. “Way better than I do, that's for sure.”

“I've just had a lot of practice making it look easy,” Kate smirked, slipping her hands in her pockets.

C.J. couldn't believe she was humoring her like this. They'd barely spoken in weeks. It had been strictly business every day since their fight at the gym. C.J. knew she'd hurt her then, because her own heart, her own ego continued to sting. She'd been cruel, spoken as if she were callously indifferent to everything they’d shared, all the ways their lives had become enmeshed, emotionally and tangibly. She figured that was it. She'd finally pushed Kate away enough for it to stick. It didn't make sense why she’d give her another shot at being civil. C.J. wasn’t sure she would have done the same if the shoe was on the other foot.

“Looks like a few people want you to come in and shake things up,” Kate eyed the big stack of binders.

“Yeah,” C.J. waved them off. “I haven't even started. Charlie keeps bugging me about it, says he wants to follow me, whatever I decide.”

“That's great,” Kate’s eyes lit up. “That’ll be really good. For both of you.”

“I think so.”

“So you don't have any inkling of what might be next?”

“Not really,” C.J. shrugged. “Although forty degrees is making California look a lot more enticing right about now.”

“Why does everyone want to move to California?” Kate scoffed, shaking her head as she paced. “Seriously, Will was just saying he might want to head out that way too.”

“Really?” C.J. was taken aback, but did her best to keep her face neutral. “Well, it is a beautiful place.”

“Yeah, I hear San Andreo’s really nice this time of year.”

C.J. gawked at that. They’d gotten so used to joking about their shared trauma. It was a survival strategy most days, but there was also relief in thinking Kate might actually harbor some ill feelings towards her. Maybe she liked the idea of C.J. settling in the radioactive dust cloud of a nuclear catastrophe. There were worse things, she supposed.

“I don't know,” C.J. ran her hands over her desk. “Maybe you could get used to it.”

“Me? No,” Kate rejected the notion. “SoCal’s not really my scene.”

“Don't knock it till you've tried it,” C.J. insisted. “I'm sure Will has his sights on something worthwhile out there. Maybe he’ll run for office.”

“I never wanted to be the wife of a Congressman,” Kate swallowed. “That's not something I'm interested in.”

Wife? Jesus. C.J. felt it like a kick to the gut. Things had to be way more serious than Kate let on if that was even a consideration. Even one to be shot down.

“Your hair's getting longer,” Kate noted lightly. “You’ll fit right in with the Hollywood scene. Or the surf scene, whatever you're feeling these days.”

“Neither, actually,” C.J. smiled as she blinked.

“Well, wherever you end up, the people there will be lucky to have you.”

What is this? C.J. reeled. It was almost unbearable, being treated so kindly when she didn't deserve half as much. Worse, it felt like a goodbye when they still had a few months left. C.J. wasn't ready for it. She didn't trust this feeling, this gentle forgiving of the past.

“Thanks,” she answered, clearing her throat as she went back to her salad.

“I'll let you go,” Kate backed away. “See you.”

C.J. nodded, flipping on the TV, returning to the ritual of staying glued to the set all night for the latest updates.

Around eight o’clock, C.J. got a call from Josh. She heard his voice and immediately, she knew.

There was something about the way the human voice adapted when it had the worst things to say. C.J. had heard it many times in her life, but this time, with Josh, it struck deeper, maybe because it was so unexpected, or because it couldn't be true. She needed it to not be true.

She held it together in front of the President, even though she felt sick having to be the one to tell him, the steps between her office and his never feeling quite so long or so heavy. He took it better than expected. Margaret had gone to dinner, and she was thankful for that, because she needed a few minutes to compose herself, just a little bit of time to gather her strength in case Leo didn't make it. Part of her knew then. She knew he’d fought so hard to come back from the first heart attack, done way more than his doctors recommended. They all saw it, but how could they say no? How could anyone tell him to stop when this was his life? How could they get him to save himself when they needed him in so many ways?

She needed him. She needed this to not be true.

But it was.

When she got word that he had died, she hung up the phone, standing still until she was able to choke back her own needs, like she had so many times before, going right away to the President. Again, he was calm, much more so than she’d expected, much more so than she felt inside. But they had a duty, both of them, to be there for the others. There would be plenty of time to mourn later. There was always later.

First, she had to tell the only other person besides the President and Mallory who knew Leo better than anyone else, who loved him just as much.

“Margaret?” she called hoarsely when she heard her return to her desk.

“Yeah?” she poked her head around the wall a second later. She was always right there when you needed her. Always.

“Come here a minute,” C.J. stood, ushering her to sit down. “I have to...I have something I need to tell you.”

And Margaret's face changed, because C.J. knew her voice had done the same thing Josh’s had. It was like a prelude, a warmup to delivering the words no one wanted to hear. Margaret fell into the chair in front of C.J.’s desk, skin turning a shade paler than she normally was. She stared straight ahead, looking at the chair behind the desk, where Leo had sat all the years she’d taken such good care of him.

Slowly, she looked up, eyes filled to the brim. C.J. didn't have to say anything else. She just nodded, and her arms cradled Margaret’s shoulders as she lost it, trying her best to weep quietly, knowing the President was in the Oval, and she didn't want to upset him. C.J. felt her face becoming wet, but she didn't feel the tears leave her eyes. She’d gone numb from head to toe, knowing this was just the beginning of another long night, maybe the longest. She needed to stay tough for Margaret, for the President. She needed to be there for them, because Leo no longer could.

She sent Margaret home, knowing she'd want to go to the hospital and offer her support to Mallory first. That was good. She needed to do that, for both of them. C.J. sat at her desk and continued to feel numb watching Santos speak on TV about Leo, the in memoriam reel beginning to play on repeat. This was surreal. It was unprecedented, awful in every possible way. She hated that any of them had to think about the political consequences, but they had to. Leo would have wanted them to. He'd have insisted on it. There was so much to do now. The journey to victory was that much steeper, right as they were about to cross the finish line. C.J. really didn't know if they'd make it, or if it even mattered without Leo there to cross it with them.

She went to give the President his condolence calls around midnight, and at first she thought he wouldn't want to talk, but he did. A little. She held it together again, knowing if he broke, she would too. They were both doing a hell of a job of keeping it together, at least in front of anyone else. She stayed all night after that, waking the President when the race was called for Santos. Staying after, helping Will prepare what he needed to say, going around making sure that Carol and Ginger and all the other assistants were okay too. No one was, but she did her best to console them, to pay them the attention they deserved, the way she knew Leo would have.

Finally, at about seven in the morning, she went home. She thought as soon as she locked the door she'd start to crack, but nothing came. She'd gone too long holding herself up to fall apart just yet. It was like a muscle, kept stiff for so long it needed time to reshape itself, to be able to do what it was meant to do. That was what kept her grief from pouring out the second she dropped her purse and jacket on the floor, collapsing into the sofa. That, and knowing she needed to shower, change, and head back in as soon as possible.

Just as she was about to give in to the thirty minutes sleep she’d allotted herself, there was a knock at the door. It was too early. Something else must have gone wrong. The secret service had to be calling her back in, but they weren't banging or yelling. It was a quiet, familiar knock, and her heart began to pound furiously as she crept closer to the door. She opened it, and at the first sight of Kate, she felt the blocks within her start to shift and breathe, the pressure, the rush of tears and salt and expletives rising into her face and throat.

“No,” she clenched her teeth, stepping back through the living room, letting Kate in without welcoming her in, allowing her to shut the door. “You can't be here, I…”

And then she realized, very quickly, that Kate’s cheeks were already streaming. Her eyes were red and puffed like C.J. had never witnessed in the years she'd known her. She’d seen her on the verge, but not like this. Kate Harper was crying, freely. It looked like she had been for quite a while, and she wasn't yet ready to stop.

C.J. flung herself forward, hugging her so tight, her own sobs finally coming with every powerful shake of Kate’s body. She had no idea she was capable of this. Kate had seen more than she should have in this life. She'd killed, very likely, witnessed unspeakable horrors, and yet she carried herself with the most admirable grace and poise C.J. had ever seen. She was a rock, not just for her, but for everyone in those quiet moments in the Sit Room, the times they knew they were sending their servicemen and women into harm’s way, waiting on bated breath to hear if they'd survive. And here she was, standing with C.J., holding her up, letting herself be held as they cried for Leo McGarry.

C.J.’s hands gently swept over Kate’s shoulder blades, tracing them through her coat, showing as much affection as she could in her own stifled despair. Slowly, Kate pulled away, shrugging off the coat as she crossed the room to the sofa. C.J. followed, sitting next to her, before hesitantly taking her hand, holding it in her lap.

“I'm sorry,” Kate swallowed. “I know I shouldn't have…”

“Yes, you should,” C.J. sniffed. “I'm glad you did.”

“Are you okay?” Kate shuddered, looking up at her face, then their hands. “I know that's a dumb thing to ask, but I just…”

“I will be,” C.J. nodded, wiping her eyes. “We all will be.”

“I didn't expect...” Kate shook. “I mean...I guess I just didn't expect it.”

“Me either,” C.J. soothed, and then broke a little more, squeezing Kate’s hand, careful not to cross the boundary they were both so obviously treading. “I don't know what’ll happen next. I don't know how...it's too much to think about. I don't want to think about any of it.”

“I know,” Kate sniffed. “He was an incredible man. One of the best I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah,” C.J. sighed. “And you didn't even get him for as long as the rest of us did.”

Kate was silent, licking her lips as she shook her head, looking out the window.

“I met him once,” she swallowed. “A long time ago. Florida. 1995.”

C.J.’s mouth fell open, unable to comprehend Kate’s words at first. She knew they were in Florida at the same time, but had no idea their paths had crossed. Leo had certainly never mentioned it.

“Kate…”

“He was there, trying to work out the Cuba deal. I was...well, that part I can't tell you, actually,” she laughed through her tears. “But Leo...he'd had too much to drink. Way too much. And I saw him, trying to get in his car. I stopped him. He let me take his keys and put him in his hotel room. Even then, even when he was completely wasted, didn't even know where he was let alone...he said thank you. He didn't try anything, he...he just let me help him, and I never saw him again. Not till I started working here.”

“Did he…” C.J. spoke through the shock. “Did he ever know you were…”

“No,” Kate told her. “He asked if we'd ever met and I said no. I didn't want him to feel...I didn't want him to think I respected him any less. Because I couldn't have respected him more.”

C.J. started to feel the sensation returning to her eyes, her hands. She held Kate’s words close to her heart, aching for the loss of her friend, for this man who was so much more than most people even knew. Kate stared down at the floor, knees shaking as they let the memory of Leo sit with them for a little while, wishing he would be there when they went back to The White House, that he would still be able answer their calls, that he would still drop in unannounced for lunch, or a much needed pep talk.

“Thank you,” C.J. breathed, finally looking up, keeping their hands firmly clasped. “I can't believe you just told me that. Really. Thank you.”

“I had to,” Kate shook her head. “I needed someone to remember it with. Of course, if you tell anyone else, I…”

“Got it,” C.J. smirked, despite everything. “Dead as a door nail.”

“Where does that phrase even come from?”

“I don't know.”

It was strange yet perfect, sitting there laughing with Kate, helping each other navigate the onslaught, the waves of pain. Kate’s hand was warm, her skin the softest thing C.J. had ever felt. It was like a blanket, soothing away her misery, and at the same time, siphoning the energy she'd been using to keep her distance, draining it faster than she could handle. C.J’s tears started to flow again, as if they needed to be released in the presence of someone they knew would kiss them away if only she asked, if only she kept holding her hand like they could get away with it.

“I need to stop acting like I’m the only one hurting,” C.J. swallowed, sniffling. “I'm not. Not even close.”

“Of course you...it's okay…”

“No, it's not,” C.J. took her hand away, pressing her fingers to her temples. “I have to pull myself together, for the President. He was...he just lost the person he trusted most in this world, more than anyone. Maybe even more than Abbey, if we're being honest. Someone like that...they only come once in a lifetime.”

“I know,” Kate reached out, resting her hand on C.J.’s shoulder. She slouched into it, falling against the back of the sofa, and Kate fell with her, heads resting next to each other, just inches apart.

It was so easy, letting herself unravel like this. C.J. couldn't do it with anyone else, not in the same way. Toby had been good for it at times. Danny wanted her to do it, but with him it always felt like there was something to prove, even in his attempts to make their interactions simpler, more transparent. With Kate, there was no pretext. There was only the ease of existing without trying, of being accepted, flaws and all, of not having to force herself into a particular mold. C.J. didn't have to explain as much with Kate, because Kate already knew. She knew her days, knew how she viewed the world, knew her heart, even knew her body almost as well as C.J. did. It was amazing how quickly, how naturally someone could become that person, and that meant summoning all the more restraint to keep from getting sucked in again.

C.J. groaned, shaking her head as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands.

“This year has definitely been the shittiest,” she sniffed. “To think, we were almost there. We were this close! And now who does he have left? No one. They're all gone. Leo, Toby, Josh…”

“That's not true,” Kate brought her hand to her back, rubbing softly. “You're still here. I'm still here.”

C.J. closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of Kate giving her the solace she craved. She fell back against the sofa again, heart thundering as she boldly tore her eyes away from the floor. She looked over at Kate, realizing then that there was only a breath between them.

“You're not the person I should be going to when I'm falling apart,” she whispered.

“I know,” Kate told her. “But I can be. I can be whatever you need me to be.”

C.J. wasn't strong enough to resist tipping her chin forward then, catching Kate’s lips in hers. It was different this time, different than any of the other kisses they'd shared, slower, less frenetic. C.J. evaporated into it, Kate’s hand coming up to hold her cheek, neck tilting, letting it deepen. Kate chased away her remaining tears, smoothing her fingers across C.J’s skin, over every line, like she could read her, like she knew exactly how to restore her strength, fill her up at the same time she depleted her.

C.J.’s chest began to burn. She grabbed Kate’s hand, lacing their fingers before tearing it away, even as her lips continued to rebel for another few seconds.

“No,” she mumbled, shaking her head, shifting. “I...I can't keep doing this. I don't want...and Will…”

“Will’s not…” Kate admitted. “It isn't like that, with him.”

“Really?” C.J.’s brow furrowed. “It seems a bit like that.”

“It isn't,” Kate clarified, easing some of C.J.’s guilt. “I know it's...it’s hard to explain, but it has it’s expiration date. Always has.”

“Right. And this doesn't?”

“C.J., I...I didn't come here to do this,” Kate told her shakily. “I crashed as soon as I got home last night, but when I woke up and saw the news...I had to make sure you were okay. I needed to make sure you weren’t alone. This is where I needed to be.”

“Why are you so fucking nice to me?” C.J. complained. “I've been terrible to you. Awful, actually.”

“Yeah,” Kate nodded. “You kind of have.”

“Thanks,” C.J. rolled her eyes, though she needed to hear it. “So why do you keep...”

"Because...it's not about you rejecting me,” Kate spoke plainly. “It's about you rejecting you. I know, because I've done it. I know how easy it is to run. I've been running my whole life, for as long as I can remember. I just thought...I thought maybe I'd found someone I could finally stop running with.”

C.J. was speechless at the admission. Neither had dared make any declarations. Neither had asked for more than what they knew they could have. It was just sex, incredible, breathtaking sex. C.J. had nearly convinced herself that was all it was. Everything else was a joke. Everything else was just the clever tease of what it would mean to be more, want more. But that had never felt like a real option, because it wasn't.

“Are you telling me you can shut it off?” C.J. responded, ignoring the rest of what Kate said.

“Yeah,” Kate blinked, a little defiantly. “I can. But that's…”

“Well, I envy you then,” C.J. sniffed. “Because I sure as hell can’t. Had I known it would be so easy for you, I never would have…”

“I said shut off, not make go away,” Kate corrected. “Were you even listening? God, C.J., I...I still feel things. Big things. I just refuse to allow myself to hurt more than I have to.”

“That's exactly what I'm doing!” C.J. insisted, shifting so she could face her. “We're doing the exact same thing, aren't we?”

“No, we’re not,” Kate shook her head. “Because I’d be willing to make it work. I would. But I don't think you are.”

It was harsh, but not untrue. C.J. crossed her arms, shivering as she looked up at the ceiling, wishing she had turned on the heat when she got home. She ran her hands over her own shoulders, folding in on herself, shutting down again. It was a pattern that was becoming all too familiar, harder to commit to, her excuses feeling more pathetic every time she touted them out.

“I’ve lost too many people,” she shook her head. “I can't lose any more.”

“Who are you afraid of losing?” Kate had to ask. “Your father...”

“My father’s already gone,” C.J. snapped, catching her breath, exhaling as she lowered her voice. “It's...more than that.”

She didn't have to say it out loud. They both knew the answer. The question had already made C.J. feel like she’d started losing them, because she had. Leo was gone. Josh, it turned out, was an asshole. Toby was going to jail. All she had was the Bartlets, and these feelings, this thing with her and Kate, threatened to burn the last fragile bridges that connected them, that ensured they needed her, that she wasn't more trouble than she was worth.

C.J. had heard the way they'd spoken about Ellie over the years. They weren't homophobes. She would never have called them that. They loved their kids fiercely, even their gay friends. They'd stand up for them no matter what, say all the right things, at least publicly. But their relief at Ellie’s eventual straightness hadn't been lost on C.J. They could say they didn't want her life to be harder, that they just wanted what was best for their little girl. But C.J. could only imagine what would have happened if Ellie had brought home Victoria instead of Vick. How would they have handled it then? Would they have embraced it in front of the whole country, or would she have been encouraged to keep it quiet for the sake of the administration? What would it have meant for their church? For his agenda?

C.J. figured they'd get used to it behind the scenes, learn to tolerate if not accept who Ellie was. She wasn't sure bringing her own undue attention to the White House would have been met with quite as much generosity. The President had already warned her about muddying the waters with Danny years ago. She couldn't fathom this being any more readily encouraged.

“What do you want from me?” C.J. finally asked, defeated. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, Mr. President, I know we’ve gotten you this far and you're almost out of the woods, but I’ve decided I’d like to be with a woman, so you're gonna have to endure just one more scandal before you're out of office?’ No matter what I say I am, I'll go down as Jed Bartlet’s lesbian Chief of Staff who had an affair with the Deputy National Security Advisor. That’ll go over well with the press, not to mention the Ethics Committee. It's a miracle we haven't already been caught. I'm not…”

“You really think it would be that bad?”

“Yes. Yes I do, and you know it too. Times are changing, but they haven't changed that much. It's too much. And you're right, I’ve never done well with change. What a shock.”

“C.J. that's not…”

“Please don't push me on this,” C.J. shook, already exhausted by the idea of such an upheaval. “I can't. I’m sorry I can't be the person you need me to be, I...I don't want to hurt you, and I know I am…”

“I'm not pushing!” Kate argued. “I don't need you to come out for me. I never said that. All I ever wanted was for you to know…for you to know how much I want to be with you, even if we can't. Because I think you wish we could too. And I really didn't come here for this. I came to make sure you were alright. I would never, ever force you to do something you’re not ready for, but C.J...for what it's worth, Jed Bartlet loves you. I know he does. He respects you, always has. He wouldn't have made you his Chief of Staff if he didn't. You really think this would change his mind about all of that?”

“It's not just him,” C.J. swallowed. “If I'm not willing to do what it takes to protect this administration till the end, why did I spend so much time doing it in the first place? Why have I sacrificed so much if I could just be who I wanted, do what I wanted all along?”

Kate couldn't argue with that. They had both made sacrifices. There were different standards for them than there was for anyone else. C.J. hated feeling like the only enforcer in this, when it was clear they each had a stake in it. They both had plenty to lose, maybe Kate even moreso, especially if she wanted to keep working under Santos.

“You know what I think?” Kate spoke quietly.

“What?” C.J. asked, exasperated.

“I don't think you give people enough credit,” Kate shook her head. “I don't think you realize how many people…would do anything, give anything, just to love you for exactly who you are.”

C.J. bit the inside of her lip. She blinked back another round of tears, choosing again to ignore the deeper meaning to Kate’s words.

“Danny does,” she whispered, wiping her nose on her sleeve as she looked away.

Kate was silent then. She stared down at her lap, deflating, before bringing her heavy green eyes back up to C.J.’s. She swallowed, slowly opening her mouth as she strained to speak.

“You should be with him then,” she nodded. “Really.”

“Alright,” C.J. sniffed, standing. “Let's end this then, whatever this is, once and for all. It's time for all kinds of endings, right? One more should be just fine.”

Kate stood too, looking a little lost, like she couldn't quite comprehend how they'd gotten to this place. C.J. knew she hadn't come here to do this, to torture them into making decisions they both knew were too risky, pressuring her into anything she wasn't already willing to give. This was just what happened when the two of them collided. C.J. had never known another force of gravity so strong, so persistently, unforgivingly unfair.

“I don't want to leave here angry,” Kate told her, wiping her eyes as she crossed her arms, stepping forward. “I just want you to be happy. That's all I want.”

“Me too,” C.J. nodded. “I want that for you too.”

Kate picked up her coat, pacing back towards the door, bracing against the wooden frame. She froze, looking up at C.J. one last time.

“I wish things were different,” she breathed. “I really do.”

“So do I,” C.J. exhaled. “I wish I could be braver for you. Believe me, I…”

She shocked herself, leaning forward, kissing Kate’s forehead, then her cheek. Kate caught her hand very gently, faces sweeping past each other, eyes closing, noses dancing as they fell into another soft, long kiss, this one really feeling like the last. This one really feeling like goodbye.

Kate pulled away quickly, squeezing C.J’s arm before she left.

C.J. went back inside, going numb again. She took her shower, got ready and headed back to the White House, where she threw herself into preparations for Leo’s funeral.

That night, when she was done with work, C.J. went to Danny’s, breaking her rule about not seeing him again until after the inauguration. She was too raw in every sense, vulnerable in all the ways she'd warned herself against for way too long. Danny didn't ask questions. Not this time. He was just so happy to see her, they spent a lot of time not talking. All night, in fact. It was nice, to not talk.

Sex with him, it turned out, wasn't terrible. There had been plenty of build up to make it exciting, if not somewhat predictable. It wasn't that he’d worn her down. The thought of that made her want to trade in her feminist card for good, but thankfully, that wasn't the case. It was just that things finally made sense. She tried to get lost in that feeling, to enjoy it, even if she wasn't completely present, even if it felt like she was losing more than she was gaining.

C.J. didn't understand how or why, but Kate disappeared after that. She looked for her all week, noting her absence at Leo’s funeral, along with the return of Nancy McNally. C.J. asked where Kate was, and was told she planned to take vacation time, that she'd gone long enough without a break in Nancy’s absence. C.J. knew it was a lie. Kate never would have left without a reason, especially when the situation in Kazakhstan was still so unstable. But that was the official NSA response. C.J. didn't call or text, figuring if Kate wanted her to know where she was, she would have told her.

It's funny, isn't it? she thought. How people can be there one minute, and then, they're not.

The next few months were a blur. Danny invited her to spend the holidays with him, and she accepted, deciding he and his family weren't so scary after all. She took the job with Frank Hollis to build highways and infrastructure in Africa, putting his exorbitant millions and her sway overseas to good use. It was the right move. All of it. She knew it was. She was almost free. All she had to do was to collect the transition memos from her staff so they could resign before being rehired, and then they could go their separate ways.

Kate finally reappeared about two weeks before the inauguration. C.J. didn't ask where she'd been, knowing she wasn't likely to get the real answer. They had a few brief conversations, mostly about Toby, who C.J. had recently reconnected with. She was debating whether to negotiate for his pardon. Kate, unsurprisingly, wasn't very sympathetic, but C.J. was learning to accept people for who they were, learning to forgive, to hold space for those in her life who were less than perfect.

Kate’s transition memo was the last she received. It was fitting, somehow, like she'd tried to hold on for as long as she could. C.J. knew she wasn't being asked to stay, which was a shame and a mistake, as far as she was concerned. But it wasn't her place to say that. She tried to find her that last day as she said her goodbyes before leaving the building, but Kate had already gone, along with Will and Charlie. C.J. let it all go too, returning home to pack her things, before heading to LA the very next morning, to her new life, to new beginnings, leaving the rest behind.

Chapter Text

Three years later.

New Hampshire in June was about as hot as Los Angeles any other time of year, except humid, sticky. C.J. didn't mind it, even as the backs of her legs stuck to the black leather of the town car, bare shoulders toasting in the sunlight as she held Danny’s hand. She’d been looking forward to this day for a long time. The dedication of the Josiah Bartlet Presidential Library felt like closure, the last big hurrah of the former administration, a bookend marked by reconnecting with the team as they paid tribute to the man who brought them together in the first place.

She and Danny were among the first to arrive that morning, followed by Charlie and Will. C.J. was sure Toby would bail at the last second, but there he was, moseying, moping his way down the long, marble hall. She'd spent enough time convincing him his presence was in fact wanted, that the invitation hadn't been a prank. Three years was an odd amount of time, just long enough for all of them to feel the changes, but not so long that they weren't still recovering from the effects of a life in politics, especially those tumultuous final months. The dedication was like a collective sigh of relief, a clear and concrete symbol of the impact they'd made. A promise, that ultimately, the Bartlet legacy would stand the test of time.

It had taken a while for C.J. to break free of some of her old habits, like waking up at all hours of the night, staying plugged in to the news until it was so overwhelming she had to tap out. There was a lot to be said for the world post-White House, more freedom, more room to breathe. She couldn't remember the last time she wore a suit jacket, for instance. Santa Monica was so laid back, she'd had to put the kibosh on yoga in the conference rooms at work during lunch hours. Secret service finally took their leave six months or so into the new job, right before her first trip to Africa. The nonprofit sector had its perks, though the work was no less tiring.

C.J. wasn't sure Kate would be there. Truthfully, she didn't even know if she was invited. Her book came out a few weeks earlier, and it was already making quite a splash. C.J. hadn't had time to read it yet, but she'd asked an assistant to scan it for anything that might affect their work in Sudan or other parts of the continent. Thankfully, Kate had only paid C.J. the highest professional compliments, noting their Sit Room achievements, but neglecting anything personal, which was remarkable considering just how personal the book reportedly was. She figured she could live a while without reading it.

When Kate did finally show, C.J. wasn't as ruffled as she thought she might be. Kate looked exactly the same. It was almost as if no time had passed, though her hair was slightly longer, pulled halfway up, tan suit more formal than C.J.’s green dress by far. They locked eyes for a moment, nodding politely before Bartlet appeared, followed by President Santos. The ceremony was brief but moving. Former senior staff were then ushered into a grand hall, where they were seated for lunch.

C.J. tried not to be obvious about the game of musical chairs she was navigating. It would be pointless to do that, to make a big deal out of something that didn't need to be, but she wasn't exactly dying for them to be bumping elbows all afternoon either. Before she knew it, Danny and everyone else was seated, leaving her and Kate the last ones standing. They both stared at the white folding chairs in front of them, neither willing to make the first move, like someone else would surely sit there for them.

“Have a seat, Claudia Jean,” Jed waved at her affectionately. “Stay a while. Danny, just how long has it been since you made an honest woman out of her?”

“She's never needed my help with that,” Danny shook his head. “Six months. We figured, with the baby, it was a good idea.”

“Congratulations,” Will smiled. “What's her name?”

“Amelia,” C.J. beamed as she unfolded her napkin.

“That's a beautiful name,” Kate spoke softly, genuinely. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” C.J. smiled back. “I can't believe it's been a year already. She keeps us on our toes, that's for sure.”

On her third trip to Darfur, C.J. visited a refugee camp on the Sudanese border. She hadn't planned on adopting, hadn't even considered it. She and Danny had barely discussed having kids. It didn't feel like a priority for either of them. He’d been completely supportive of her new career, working on his own book while she traveled frequently, spending time with her in between board meetings and strategy sessions, all the hours it took to get the Foundation off the ground. They'd only recently moved in together. C.J. was committed to making it work, but needed to take things slow, and Danny was as patient as could be expected.

Then she met with the woman who ran the orphanage at the camp. Amelia was just a few days old then. Her mother had been murdered, the baby found clinging to life by aid workers in the nick of time. There were so many other children there, hundreds, all with similar stories. Adopting an older child would have made more sense, in many ways. C.J. knew that was true. And yet, something about Amelia drew her in, kept her coming back day after day. She couldn't explain it. She fought with herself, trying to resist the cliché, knowing people would have all kinds of opinions about why she should or shouldn't be doing this. But this baby, the one with the little red ribbon tied around her wrist, needed her help. She wasn't out of the woods yet. She was going to need a lot of medical treatment that the camp simply couldn't provide.

C.J. spent almost a full day by her side before she was scheduled to leave, holding her tiny hand, watching the way even just a little bit of attention improved her color, not to mention her vitals. It was magic, a connection she'd never in a million years thought she'd find, especially under these circumstances. C.J. finally decided she didn't care what anyone else thought. If she could legally adopt this child, she would. A few weeks later, she and Danny went back together and brought Amelia home to California.

“I want to see pictures later,” Bartlet insisted. “Toby, you didn't happen to bring your Pulitzer, did you?”

“No, sir,” Toby was stone faced. “Why would I do that? This is your day, not mine.”

“Well, I figured you might want to share it with the rest of us, considering the hell you put us through on the road to martyrdom.”

“Oh boy,” Charlie shook his head, staring at the ceiling. “Shots fired. Didn't take long, did it?”

“He's only kidding, Toby,” Abbey apologized for her husband. “He's getting cranky in his old age.”

“What was his excuse before?” Charlie asked.

“Watch it, young man,” Bartlet laughed. “You're not my son in law yet. When does Zoe get back from Paris, anyhow? I’m sorry she missed this.”

“Two weeks,” he nodded. “She’s sorry too. But we're looking forward to not having to do the whole long distance thing for a while. At least until she figures out what’s next.”

“Or where you might want to practice law after you graduate,” Abbey noted. “Don't tell her I said this, but she doesn't get to call all the shots. You've got some say in this too.”

“Thank you,” he smirked. “I'll try not to hold that over her head next time it comes up.”

“Sorry I can't stay,” Josh sprinted up to the table, out of breath. “President needs to head back out on the trail. Donna’s already with the First Lady in Austin.”

“It never ends, does it, Josh?” Jed sighed.

“No, sir. You know that better than anyone,” he shifted his feet. “Though, I gotta say, he might have been convinced to hang out awhile if there wasn't a traitor in our midst.”

“Why, exactly, did I let you talk me into this again?” Toby turned to C.J.

“I was talking about Kate, actually,” Josh chewed his gum, smiling facetiously in her direction. “Admitting you voted for the other guy. Wow. That had to take...what’s the female version of cajones?”

“And, there goes the second round,” Charlie rolled his eyes.

“I see,” Kate smiled, cocking her head to the side, ready for the attack. “So you're saying despite your Press Secretary claiming he hasn't read the book because it's irrelevant, Santos actually has?”

“Nah, he doesn't have time for that,” Josh shook his head. “But I do. Well, my staff does. I don't have that kind of time either, but they read it, told me what I needed to know. Sir, I'm actually surprised you’d want to sit with to someone who worked under your nose and didn't think the Democrats could handle foreign policy."

C.J. swallowed, suddenly filled with guilt for not having read the book herself, for taking a page out of Josh Lyman’s playbook.

“I never said that,” Kate shook her head. “Look, I may have had my reservations about Santos’ ability to deal with Kazakhstan, but never yours, sir. I hope you don't think that.”

“That wasn't my interpretation of your commentary, no,” Bartlet agreed. “Josh, are you saying Matt can't handle a little friendly analysis of his first term? Don't tell me he's reading what they say about him in the comments online while he’s at it? Not that your book isn't many steps above that level of drivel, Kate. Forgive me.”

“It's alright. Anyway, you're the guys who made Vinick Secretary of State, aren't you, Josh? So what does that say?”

“That it was a good choice. One of many my guy’s made. I think we've done a pretty good job overall of keeping a war from happening, so we can’t be doing that bad, right?”

“Right. But the absence of war doesn't always mean peace, does it?” Kate argued. “There's still more you could be doing.”

“Alright,” Bartlet tried to intervene. “I think they’re about to bring out our salads…”

“And you didn't think you should maybe offer this keen insight directly to the President?” Josh jabbed. “No. Instead, you decided to use it to make money off a book. Noble of you. Really.”

“Maybe she would have offered her ‘keen insight’ had your administration kept her on instead of promoting a sexist scumbag like Glen,” C.J. finally snapped, surprising herself.

The table fell silent. Josh stood by, not even flinching as the waiters moved around him, leaving plates in front of everyone else.

“Wow, C.J.,” Toby mumbled. “Tell us how you really feel.”

“She could have stayed on,” Josh defended.

“And taken a demotion?” C.J. debated. “How happy would you have been with that?”

“I would have been happy to have a job.”

“I swear. How does Donna put up with you?”

“She enjoys my...other qualities.”

“Okay, thank you, Josh,” Abbey patted his shoulder. “If you don't mind, we’re going to enjoy our lunch now.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Bartlet,” Josh nodded. “Mr. President.”

No one picked up their forks after that, even when Josh took his leave. The seal had been broken, the edges worn off, everyone feeling a little bit more like the bickering siblings they'd once been, afraid to say another word lest they be permanently excused from the table.

“This looks really good,” Will finally broke the silence. “Does anyone know if the chicken is free range?”

“I'm sure it isn't,” Bartlet took a huge bite. “Spoken like a true Oregonian.”

“Sorry, Mr. President,” Kate shook her head. “I shouldn't have taken the bait.”

“It's alright. He deserved it. Nicely played, C.J.”

“Thank you, sir,” C.J. blinked. “He just...he really doesn't know when to quit, does he?”

“Danny, you're awfully quiet over there,” Bartlet poked.

“Oh, I'm just enjoying the fireworks,” he smiled, working diligently on his salad. “It's a thrill really, getting to see everything from this angle.”

“All of that was off the record,” Kate warned playfully.

“Don't worry about me,” Danny threw up his hands. “I won't be making a peep. I'm only here as a spectator, to support my wife. And you, Mr. President, of course.”

“I hope you’ll all be coming to the farm this evening,” Abby shared. “It's such a rare treat, having you here. I'm reluctant to let you go just yet.”

“I'll be there,” Will chirped up first.

Of course you will, C.J. thought. Congressman Bailey, it turned out, was an even bigger opportunist than any of the candidates he'd run before securing his own seat. But despite her latent misgivings, she couldn't help but feel a little proud as she looked around the table, even at him. Everyone was doing so well, all of them off on new paths, holding their own, charting impressive courses through the landscape. It was great to see no one had fallen through the cracks in the shuffle of the transition.

“Thanks for sticking up for me,” Kate whispered. “I didn't really need you to, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Of course,” C.J. swallowed. “I didn't do it for you. I mean...I just can't stand letting Josh think he can get away with talking to people however he wants.”

“Some things never change, I guess.”

“I think he’s getting worse,” C.J. sighed. “The power is bound to go to your head if you're already susceptible.”

“Well, clearly you weren't.”

“You don't think?”

“No,” Kate shook her head. “If that were the case, you'd be running for something instead of helping folks behind the scenes in places most people have forgotten about.”

“It's...” C.J. looked down at her plate, trying not to blush at the veiled compliment. “It's not exactly low profile, but you're right. Better than before. You, on the other hand…”

“I know,” Kate cringed.

“I'm not sure I've ever seen someone hit so many morning and late night shows in the same week. When do you have time to sleep?”

“On planes, mostly,” Kate admitted. “But I didn't do it for that. The spotlight’s been...an unfortunate but acceptable perk, I suppose.”

“Why did you do it then?” C.J. asked, trying not to sound too critical, or too invested, as she took another bite of her salad.

“I mean, I should think it would be obvious,” Kate answered. “There were a lot of important truths to tell. I figured this was the fastest way to have them heard.”

“Got it,” C.J. nodded, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “No, you're right. That makes sense.”

“You haven't read it, have you?”

“No. But I plan to. One of these days.”

“Nice,” Kate nodded, turning back to her own meal. “Well, let me know what you think.”

C.J. didn't respond to that. She had no intention of doing so. This wasn't them reconnecting, forging some kind of new friendship after all this time. Absolutely not, she told herself. They’d gone a whole three years without speaking. This was an exception, nothing more.

After lunch, they got a tour of the library on the serene University of New Hampshire campus, and by late afternoon everyone was picking up their cars at the front steps of the building.

“C.J., don't tell me you're not coming,” Bartlet caught up with her before she could escape.

“I'm afraid not, sir,” she smiled sadly. “Though I so appreciate your invitation.”

“You should go,” Danny nudged. “I can head back to the hotel and get her to sleep.”

“Danny…”

“Really,” he kissed her cheek, then her lips, before getting in the car. “Have fun. Mr. President, don't let her get in too much trouble. I don't want any pictures of her riding a tractor at midnight.”

“We’ll keep her away from the heavy machinery,” Jed smirked. “Come on, Claudia Jean. Tell me about all the highways you're building. I want to hear how you plan to tackle the environmental costs of such an endeavor.”

“That could take all night, sir,” C.J. breathed, following him and Abbey back to their motorcade. “There aren't any easy solutions, I'm afraid.”

“Well, good thing we’ve got all night then,” he smiled, putting his hand on her back as he let her slide in first, and they made their way out to the Bartlet Farm.

C.J. had never been so thankful for the President’s endless attention span, nevermind his exhaustive breadth of knowledge on subjects she was only beginning to develop any expertise. It kept her busy most of the night, even as the others in their party buzzed around the house. Charlie and Toby had taken to sipping scotch by the fire, smoking cigars, playing at being distinguished gents while Abbey made sure they had enough to drink. Kate seemed to be enjoying catching up with Will, at least for a little while. Jed finally gave C.J. some reprieve as he welcomed in his grandkids with Lizzy. C.J. ducked out to the back porch, content with delaying that particular reunion given the eldest Bartlet daughter's recent split from Doug.

“I don't blame you,” Kate spoke from the shadows, sitting on the swing bench, sipping her beer. “I wouldn't want to talk to her either.”

“I don't think I'm her favorite person,” C.J. swallowed, slowly approaching, trying to focus on the sound her heels made against the wood.

“Can I see baby pics?”

“Sure,” C.J. nodded, pulling out her phone. “I try not to be that annoying person, but you did ask, so. Here.”

She handed the phone to Kate, letting her flip through the album while C.J. stood by, leaning against the wall, taking a long sip of her wine.

“She’s amazing,” Kate smiled from ear to ear. “Look at this!”

“I know. They built her a tiny podium at work. She has it in her playroom now. All she does is bang on it with her fists. I could have taken a few pointers from her back in the day.”

“She's adorable.”

“She is. And whip smart to boot. I’ve got her enrolled in whatever pre-pre-K programs they're pushing these days. There’s a waiting list a mile long, but by the time she's ready I figure I'll have learned whose ass I have to kiss to get her in.”

“Something tells me you won't have a problem,” Kate smirked. “What’s this?”

C.J. moved a little closer, perching on the arm of the bench so she could see better.

“Oh, that's me trying to figure out how to keep her in the bathtub without screaming. She likes ducks. Hence the hand puppets. And the face I'm making. You know, quack quack.”

“It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

“Where is she tonight?”

“Back at the hotel, with Danny and the nanny. God, that sounds like some kind of pornographic nursery rhyme, doesn't it? ‘Danny and the Nanny,’” C.J. repeated, aware that she was rambling. “Not that I'm worried. At all. Believe me, I…”

“I wouldn't think you would be,” Kate assured. “Wow. I can't believe you're a mom.”

“Me either,” C.J. shook her head. “I can't say I ever thought it would happen, but I can't imagine my life without her. What about you? Do you ever think…”

“Yeah. I think I would,” Kate handed back the phone. “But I'd prefer to be with someone first. Someone who could help me.”

“So you're not…”

“Not currently, no.”

C.J. didn't know why she found herself breathing a little easier with that information, like it had anything to do with her, like it wasn’t the total opposite of what she had hoped.

“I’d like to hear more about your travels,” Kate moved them on to something else. “It must be hard, knowing the infrastructure you bring is a double-edged sword in most cases.”

“Meaning?” C.J.’s eyebrow rose.

“Well, just that wherever there are roads, capitalism’s bound to come plundering in next. The roads start to feel like scars on the landscape, especially when they affect the local economies, change the culture.”

“Wow,” C.J. blinked. “Didn't take long for you to start sharing how you really feel, did it?”

“Sorry,” Kate winced. “That wasn’t...it came out differently than I meant for it…”

“No, you're right,” C.J. sighed, sliding onto the bench more fully, keeping to her side. “It's not anything I don't already know. Sometimes it does feel like we’re doing more harm than good, but it's hard to justify not doing anything when there are people suffering right now. People dying of AIDS. People without any clean water.”

“I hear you,” Kate nodded, looking up. “I wasn’t trying to be a jackass. You're doing great work. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Thanks,” C.J. smirked. “I didn't think you were being a jackass, just honest. I could always count on you for that.”

“True,” Kate looked away, taking another sip of her drink as she slowly rocked the bench. “How's your dad, by the way?”

“He died,” C.J. shared, pushing off the ground with her feet, helping shift the swing. “Late last year.”

“Oh...C.J., I'm sorry. I didn't…”

“No, how would you?” C.J. smiled sadly. “It's alright. Thank you, though.”

“Of course.”

They sat silently for a while after that, staring out at the pasture, the barn looming in the distance. It was almost completely dark, the sun sticking around just long enough to paint the outline of the trees that piercing, deep blue, the color of the ocean meeting fire. It was cooler out now. C.J. kept her arms tucked around her own waist, crossing her legs, feeling more relaxed than she ever would have expected.

“I have to ask,” she continued. “How exactly did you justify voting for Vinick under the same roof as the rest of us? Don't tell me you were a closet Republican this whole time.”

“No,” Kate balked. “Are you kidding? I’m an independent, if anything, but I still bleed blue in most cases.”

“Good,” C.J. laughed. “That's a relief.”

“I had my reasons for voting the way I did. None of which had anything to do with Bartlet. Or you, for the record.”

“No, I...I didn't think that, I just...it hadn't even occurred to me until I heard.”

“Well, I couldn't be open about it then, obviously. But I decided if I was gonna write a book, I needed to be. About most things.”

C.J. hadn't really been surprised by the headlines, by Kate coming out in the book. The press led with that first, of course, moving on once their audience did. It hadn't taken nearly as long as C.J. would have thought, but there were plenty of other juicy tidbits to focus on besides her love life.

“I admire your courage,” she breathed. “Really.”

“Thanks,” Kate grinned.

C.J. didn't know how she'd missed the way Kate’s smile tilted up a little on one end, why she'd never noticed it before. It was like she was only halfway willing to take credit for her joy, afraid that if she smiled too much, people wouldn't take her seriously.

“Some might say it was political suicide,” Kate went on. “But it felt better than any of the other offers I got. I couldn't see myself working in defense, knowing what it’s like on the inside. I guess I've outgrown being able to do someone else’s bidding without being able to call at least some of the shots.”

“Makes sense,” C.J. looked at her, resting her hands awkwardly in the lap of her green dress, crossing her arms again.

“I should be heading back,” Kate stood. “I have to fly to Munich for a panel in the morning. But it was great seeing you.”

“Yeah,” C.J. stood too, trying to ignore the pangs of disappointment clawing their way into her throat. “It was.”

“You should call next time you're in D.C.,” Kate offered. “I’d love to catch up more, if you have time.”

“Thanks,” C.J. did her best not to look panicked. “We’ll see. I try to stay on the West Coast as much as I can, so...”

“Got it,” Kate nodded. “Well…”

“It was good seeing you though,” C.J. agreed, moving a little closer. “Really.”

They both leaned in for the hug. C.J. expected it to be brief, expected to pull away well before Kate did. Then a few seconds went by, and a few more. Her lungs began to revolt, skin screaming at their proximity, even as her eyes stung and fingers pled not to hold on to the back of Kate’s jacket as tightly as she was, to breathe in the scent of her. Kate held on too, hands staying flat, but firm against C.J.’s shoulder blades. This was a very, very bad idea. All of it, C.J. swallowed hard, willing herself to pull away, to remember Danny, to think about Amelia, to force herself to stop replaying everything she'd given up, all she'd left behind. It was starting to stick, memories attaching themselves to the lies she'd told, to herself, to those who were supposed to matter most.

Thankfully, Kate did finally let go. She smiled again, another silly, crooked half smile, before leaving C.J. there on the back porch.

C.J. turned away from the house, pushing herself painfully against the railing, dropping her head as she let out the biggest sigh of her life, like she'd been holding it in for three fucking years. She looked up again at the sky, blinking a little, shaking her head as she began the work of forgetting, of regaining her composure, of making herself know and believe that this meant nothing, that tomorrow everything would go back to exactly how it was.

“C.J.” Abbey joined her a moment later, flipping on the overhead light. “What are you doing out here in the dark all by yourself?”

“Oh, sorry,” she put her hand to her chest. “I thought...I didn't think I was…”

“It's okay,” Abbey whispered, sidling up next to her, standing so close their shoulders touched. “I'm not so keen about my oldest these days either. Don't tell anyone I said that. They'd paint me as some sort of Mommy Dearest type, no doubt. But honestly, how many times can I hear the same sob story without resisting saying ‘I told you so?’ She knew what she was getting herself into. We all did. Didn't we?”

C.J. had to laugh at that. Abbey was always a straight shooter, always had a leg up on people whether they realized it or not. She was the only other person in that White House with a bird's eye perspective, taking stock of all the interpersonal ins and outs, tucking away the information until she needed to use it.

“Thank you,” Abbey squeezed her hand. “For trying to save her then. For protecting Jed and I. Everyone’s skeletons have to see the light of day eventually, but it was nice getting to pretend my son-in-law wasn't a philanderer while we were still in office.”

“You're welcome, ma’am,” C.J. shook her head.

“Come on. You know better than that.”

“Abbey,” C.J. emphasized. “Sorry. Old habits.”

“They die hard. Or at least they should.”

C.J. loved the way Abigail Bartlet spoke in riddles. Loved and hated, because her poetry always felt like a rope you could hang yourself with if you got too carried away by how comfortable she was able to make you feel. Abbey could disarm you, and before you knew it, you were agreeing to things you hadn't mean to say, realizing she'd entrapped you in the plan she'd convince you was yours all along.

“Tell me something, Claudia Jean,” Abbey turned to her sharply, as if glaring into her soul. “Are you happy?”

“What?” C.J. laughed again nervously, even as she tore the instead of her lip to shreds with her teeth. “Why would you ask me that? Why wouldn't I be?”

“Well, none of us were invited to the wedding, and I thought we were close once.”

“We were,” C.J. gawked. “I mean, we are. Aren't we? I like to think so.”

“I like to think so too.”

“Well, I'm sorry,” C.J. fumbled, knowing Abbey wasn't buying it. “I am happy. Danny and I didn't want a whole thing. Who even has time for…”

“People who are happy,” Abbey boldly declared. “I'm not saying there’s anything wrong with a courthouse affair, it's just...I'm not sure why you wouldn't have at least made an announcement about it, like you did with the baby. That made more sense. That felt like the C.J. Cregg I've always known.”

“What...why are you saying…”

“I'm not trying to be harsh,” Abbey put her arm around her, resting her head on her shoulder. “I just miss you. That's all. We both do.”

“I miss you too,” C.J. swallowed. “But what does that have to do with…”

“Nothing. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe you're standing out here alone, staring into the dark, feeling great about everything in your life. What do I know? All I can tell you is this: when Jed and I lie in bed at night and think back on it all, when he talks to me about what more there is he’d like to achieve before this disease takes him from us, it's that he'd like to see the people he loves, the people who helped him get where he is today do what makes them truly happy. That's the only legacy he really cares about,” Abbey breathed, letting go as she turned around, leaning with her elbows against the railing. “So if you're not happy, Claudia Jean, maybe you need to think about why. Before another three years pass, and we still never hear from you. And you're still claiming everything’s fine.”

She patted C.J. on the shoulder casually, knowingly, before going back inside the house.

C.J. felt like she had turned every shade of red, mouth dry, veins in her forehead doing calisthenics beneath her skin. To anyone else, Abbey’s words would have sounded cruel and unnecessary, and that they were. But they were also what she needed to hear, even if it made her feel like she'd been living as an imposter in her own life.

Because it wasn't all wrong. There were certain things, like her job, that did sustain her, that did make her feel like she was doing more than just surviving. There was Amelia, the sweetest gift imaginable, teaching her more about her own capacity to love than anyone ever had. And there was Danny, standing by her no matter what, no matter how long and dark her days were, no matter how many times she screwed up. He believed in her. He believed in them. That should have been enough.

C.J. continued to watch the stars appear above the farm, until Abbey called her to come inside and have another drink. She went in, putting their earlier conversation behind them. Charlie and Toby convinced her to take a puff of a cigar, and C.J. stayed a little longer than she should have, but felt better for it by the time she crept into her hotel room that night. She was careful not to wake Amelia as she crawled into bed with Danny, hoping she wouldn’t dream about anything other than their life back at home.

The weeks following the library dedication were slammed for C.J., days jam-packed with socially responsible investment calls and debriefs with the field staff. At night, she carved out time with Amelia, relieving their nanny of her dinner-making duties as often as she could, throwing herself into mastering that mac and cheese recipe Danny was always dropping hints about. Amelia got most of it on the floor, but enough made it into her mouth to satisfy C.J.’s attempts at becoming a halfway decent chef. She still couldn't roast a chicken to save her life, but it was a start.

After she got the baby to sleep, C.J. crept up to the bedroom while Danny was still at work in his study, planting herself in the oversized lounge chair by the window, staring out at the Pacific. She refused to purchase her own copy of Kate’s book, asking her assistant if she could borrow the one she'd scanned, promising to return it soon. She didn't even open it for the first few nights. She wasn't sure she needed to know what was in there, what might whisper back from between the lines.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she'd heard all she needed to hear in passing. She hadn't watched any of the interviews or read the articles. She knew they were out there, knew enough to allow her to sleep without worrying someone had pieced together the things Kate had strategically left out.

But curiosity won eventually, and once C.J. started, she wasn't able to stop.

Jed was right; Kate’s prose was beautiful. There was a lot of what C.J. expected, a brilliant balance of calculated pressure on the administration to be more firm in their foreign policy, coupled with the hopeful endorsement of some of Matt’s more radical domestic promises. But there were also things C.J. didn't expect, answers to questions she'd long stopped asking, figuring she didn't have the right to know. She wasn't at all prepared for how much knowing would change the way she saw things, the way she felt about the past in the present.

I was asked to take a leave of absence, to let Nancy come in and try to smooth things over with the team, Kate wrote . I used that time to go to Cuba as a free agent, to spend those months assessing the  situation Leo McGarry had quietly tried to piece together over the last few decades. It felt like the best way to honor him. The man was more than Jed Bartlet’s right hand, more than the would-be Vice  President the world never got to  see. He was an indelible mentor, a devoted friend, a father figure to more people than he  would ever know. He still had so much to give when he left us. His death may have been  premature, but those of us who knew him won't ever let him down, continuing on as  stewards of his values, his vision. I believe that because of what Leo McGarry started in Cuba, we will see an end to the embargo with the next administration. President Santos  can and will find a way to work with all constituencies, to strike a compromise that is  both practical and equitable.

C.J. sucked in all the air from around her, slamming the book shut. She put her hand over her mouth, eyes heavy as they settled on the horizon.

It was one thing to imagine Kate being so upset about their conversation the day she took off that she'd run from the aftermath instead of dealing with the devastation of Leo’s absence. It was quite another to know there were already tensions brewing within the NSA, that she'd been kept from knowing the extent, that Kate and her determination were being actively challenged even then, and by some extension C.J.’s as well. But Kate hadn't complained about it, hadn’t tried to fight the system. Instead, she turned the situation into an opportunity to honor Leo, his impact deeper than C.J. ever realized. There were similarities between them that made sense in retrospect. Both Kate and Leo shared a quiet, selfless drive to do what was right, even if it didn't always make them the most popular person in the room. C.J. couldn't stand thinking Kate had been punished for those qualities, whereas had she been a man, she would have likely been rewarded.

She tried to put the book aside after that, needing a break, needing to let these new realities wash over her without getting sucked into the next, but she found herself turning the page on autopilot, filling in more blanks, discovering more painful truths Kate had waited years to be able to tell.

The first time I was engaged was in high school. My girlfriend and I were in such a state  of pure, all-consuming puppy love, it wasn’t fathomable to either of us that it wouldn't last. We thought nothing could separate us, not even her parents when they found the  diary we kept together under her bed. But then they told my parents, and that was a different story. My dad took the ring I made for her out of a gum wrapper and burned it right in front of my face, making me swear I'd promise to be a better example, especially if I wanted to follow in his footsteps…

Flings were common at Annapolis, among the men and women. I was like most other cadets, dedicated to my post, but never one to shy away from my share of fun. Jenny and I both shipped off to the Navy the same year. We were accepted into the CIA together after that. It felt fated, in a way, our paths always crossing, until we couldn’t deny the connection that kept us up nights in the mess, sneaking shots while telling each other things we couldn’t dare speak in the daylight.  Jenny isn't her real name, of course. I asked her family if I could speak openly about her  in this book, but they refused me that right. She and I celebrated our own commitment ceremony in a cheap motel we were forced to hide out in on our second mission. We knew things were headed south. We'd waited too long, put our love of country, our duty to serve above anything else. That was what was required of us. It wouldn't have been safe, not in terms of the mission, not in terms of our livelihoods back at home. But we knew what we had was special. Even if one of us didn’t survive, we knew. And she didn't.

Her family was notified before I was. I found out she'd been killed with the rest of our team. I excused myself, dropping out of orbit for a while, though not for very long. I thought for sure someone knew, or they'd figure it out. I chose to move on, to keep fighting the battles Jenny and I had sacrificed so much for already. To keep going, so as not to completely let it destroy me.

I learned then that love doesn't need to be called by any particular name for it to be real.  It doesn't need the law, or society, or the acceptance of our families to condone it, to make it official. But those things certainly make it easier in countless ways, for those of us still lucky enough to be alive, and for those left behind when love is lost. I hope that  someday soon, those brave soldiers still out there fighting to protect us will have the choice I didn't, to continue serving while being able to truthfully and proudly claim who they are and who they love.

“You've been pretty busy with that book since we've been back.”

C.J. closed it again, catching her breath as she stood from her chair. She drew the blinds, tucking the book under a stack of papers on her nightstand.

“Yeah, well,” she slipped into bed, burying herself beneath the sheets. “I didn't have a ton of time to read abroad, so...”

“Guess not,” Danny turned towards her, shifting closer, his warm belly pressed against C.J.’s side. “I can think of some other ways to keep busy, if you’re up for it.”

“Please don't make me into one of those stereotypical wives who always has to say no,” C.J. sighed, sitting up, taking off her glasses as she scratched at her arms. “That’s not…”

“I don't have to,” he sighed, pulling away. “You're doing a pretty good job of that yourself.”

“It's late. If I knew you wanted...I would have…”

“No, you wouldn't have,” he looked at her. “You've been avoiding me ever since we got home.”

“I made dinner, didn't I?”

“Yeah, and then took off right after for Amelia’s bath, put her to bed yourself. Then what?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’ You were working.”

“I was writing. I'm always interruptible when I write, you know that. And you weren't working. You were reading.”

“Danny, I'm tired. I don't have the energy to do this…”

“Were you crying?” his eyes went wide with concern when he noticed.

“What? No. I…”

“Yes, you were. I can tell when you've been crying, C.J. I know you pretty well.”

“Yeah? Well I wasn't.”

“Why are you lying?” he asked sweetly, trying to cut through the bitterness, curling his arm around her waist.

“Danny, I...I wasn't,” she bit her lip, eyes blurring as she stared at the sheets, feeling the guilt rise in her chest like bile with every gentle brush of his hand against her skin.

“Did you talk to her when we were out there?”

She’d never told him about Kate. He only knew that they weren’t close, that they never really were. Still, he had to have sensed there was something wrong, that avoiding the book had more to do with what it might reveal than pretending C.J. didn’t have time to devour it.

“Yeah,” she exhaled, staring at her hands, gripping the sheets like she needed that barrier between them, needed to keep herself insulated.

“But you don’t want to talk to me about it?”

“No,” she shook her head, smoothing her hand over her chest, feeling her skin itch in all the places she was holding on.

“Alright,” he turned on his back. “But eventually you’re gonna have to say something, because I can’t keep…”

“Is this working for you?” she blurted, almost noncommittally, like it had come from someplace else, from someone else. Not her. She wasn't doing this. She’d sworn she wouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he spoke calmly at first. “It is. But I know it's not for you.”

She brought her knees to her chest, shaking her head as she began to fold in again, head swirling with nausea and every anxiety she’d chased away with therapy and prescription meds, burying herself in her work and the baby and every other attempt to swallow up whatever feelings she’d repressed.

“How do you know that?” C.J. breathed. “How do you know it won't get easier, that I…”

“Because it won't,” Danny sat up angrily, sitting cross-legged, facing her, and C.J. couldn't look at him, even though she knew she had to. She at least owed him that. “I don't want to have to keep fighting for this. I've been fighting for it for way too long. Since way before you started.”

“Danny…”

“Please don't deny it. We gave it a good shot, kid, but if this is it, this is....”

“Don't call me that,” she swallowed. “Please. You know I hate it when...”

“See? You can't even give me the benefit of the doubt in this one moment!”

“It's not about this! It bothers me, Danny. I'm sorry, I…”

“Did you ever really love me?” he asked softly. “I just want to know. Did I ever even have a chance? Where did it go wrong? Was it before we moved out here together, or did it happen somewhere else along the line? Was it before you decided to marry me? Make one last ditch effort to try to convince yourself this was what you wanted?”

C.J. couldn't answer that. She just kept shaking her head, breathing in and out, until she’d finally berated herself long enough to look at him, knowing her face may not have said everything she needed to say, but it would say enough.

“I did,” she whispered, heart breaking, because it wasn't completely untrue.

“I've loved you for a very long time,” Danny nodded. “Since the day I brought you our fish.”

“God rest his soul.”

“This isn't funny, C.J.”

“I’m sorry,” she choked, catching herself as she brought her hand to her mouth again, biting her finger. “I'm tired. Tired of waiting to see if I...if I can live up to what you want. What you need. This isn't me. I'm not gonna learn how to make a chicken, or send out Christmas cards. I'm not gonna learn how to do things together instead of moving at my own speed, asking what you need before I...I'm not magically going to get more comfortable with this.”

“I never wanted you to change.”

“Yes you did! Don't say you didn't. I wanted to change. I wanted this to be right. But some things...some things just aren’t us. Some things...we can't change, no matter how badly we want to.”

Danny fell back against the pillows, both of them staring at each other now, the space between them on the bed feeling like miles, though no more than it had for at least the last year and a half. C.J. had never adapted to making decisions with him. This was still her life, her career. She was the one who decided to adopt Amelia, knowing Danny would agree, knowing he'd do anything, love anyone she loved, be willing to go along with the plan so long it was for both of them. He was a good man, a good parent. But he wasn't what she needed. He never was. She only wished she'd had the strength to tell him that from the beginning, instead of selfishly giving in to the attention, the comfort, when there was no one else there.

Because then, there was. There had been someone else in his absence, and that should have been the end for her and Danny. She never should have let him walk back into her life, knowing her heart wasn’t available, that it wasn’t empty like it had been when he’d last left it.

“I want you to be happy,” he swallowed. “I want you to do whatever it takes...for you, for our daughter. But don't think for a second I leave without feeling like I did everything in my power...everything...to make it work. You were all I ever wanted, C.J. I'm sorry it wasn't enough.”

“I'm sorry too,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. He let her take it, holding it for a while as they lie there, trying to remember the good parts, because it was better than nothing.

Eventually, the baby monitor went off. Danny pulled away, stretching before throwing aside the covers.

“It’s okay,” she stopped him, slipping on her robe. “I’ll go.”

He nodded silently. She pushed up off the bed, walking around to his side, resting her hands on his shoulders. She kissed the top of his messy, red mop, before stealing away down the hall towards the nursery.

“Hi, sweetpea,” she smiled through tears, scooping the screaming little girl up in her arms. “What's the matter? Come here, angel.”

C.J. cradled her against her chest, rocking her back and forth in the dark as she looked around the room at all the colors, the lights. None of this was fair. Amelia and Danny had a bond, one C.J. would never deny. She already knew that. Things were bound to get messy. They would be complicated, for years maybe. But what was worse? Staying because it would provide more stability, some semblance of normalcy? Or letting her daughter see her try. Watching her not give up. Watching her attempt to embrace who she was, like she should have all along.

She held Amelia until she fell back asleep again, placing her in the crib, watching her for as long as she could. She vowed then to herself, to the small human who relied on her for so many things, to be the person she was supposed to be. To be brave, even if it meant finishing the book, even if it meant rewriting history, if it wasn’t already too late.

Chapter Text

C.J. sat inside the Italian grotto on Connecticut, watching the rain pour over the brick outside, marveling at how she never even knew this place existed. There was so much she’d missed while living in D.C., cloistered as she was within a few city blocks. Everything else beyond Pennsylvania Avenue had been muted, like a picture out of focus, or a painting with the edges hidden by its frame. It was amazing really, coming back after all this time, discovering it anew.

The traffic was still the same. C.J. couldn't blame Kate for being late. She would have been too, had she not gotten there almost thirty minutes early. She ordered a bottle of sangiovese in the meantime, hoping Kate was in the mood for red, that she’d show up before C.J. had finished half the bottle.

“Wow,” the blonde smiled as she strolled up to the table, shaking out her umbrella, trying not to be self-conscious about her speckled pants and jacket. “You look just...wow.”

“Thanks,” C.J. stood humbly. Kate leaned in, giving her shoulder a squeeze and a quick kiss on the cheek that almost made both of them lose their footing. C.J. had picked up the black and white striped blouse and hip-hugging pencil skirt earlier that day, changing her mind about fifty times before deciding on the right ensemble.

“Sorry I'm late,” Kate continued as they sat. “The traffic…”

“I know,” C.J. waved her off. "It's okay.”

“Yeah, but I still have to apologize, don’t I? Otherwise, where would my manners be?”

“True,” C.J. took a sip of water, willing her hands not to shake. “You look good too, by the way.”

“In my six-year-old suit I keep for days I have to testify on the Hill?” she narrowed her eyes. “Just kidding, it's only two years old. But thanks.”

“Why were you testifying?”

“Just some Department of Defense stuff. I didn’t have to go before the whole committee yet. They're still trying to figure out whether they have a case.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Very,” Kate rolled her eyes. “It’ll be fine, honestly. I knew there were risks when I wrote what I did, but I lawyered up before it was published. I'm not that worried.”

“I should hope not,” C.J. shifted in her seat. “I can't handle anyone else I know going to jail, so…”

“I can guarantee that won't happen,” Kate smirked. “It’ll be a court-martial, if anything.”

“That’s still pretty bad, isn’t it?”

“They’ve got bigger fish to fry, trust me.”

The waiter came over and took their order. C.J. tried to focus on her glass, the way the candle on the table pierced through it, spilling strawberry shapes onto the white tablecloth, rather than how easily the Italian rolled off Kate’s tongue, or her kind back and forth with the waiter she apparently knew from dining there so often.

“Get the gnocchi,” she recommended. “It really is the best.”

“I’ll have that,” C.J. told him, handing over her menu. “Thanks.”

Kate sipped her wine, eyeing C.J. a little impatiently now, like she was waiting for her to tell them both why they were really there.

“I read it, by the way.”

“You did?” Kate smiled again, a bit forced. “Aw. That was nice of you.”

“Of course I did. It shouldn't have taken me so long. It's really something, Kate. I almost don't have words for...what you did. For Leo.”

“Ah, that,” Kate chewed her lip, looking into her lap. “Someone’s gotta keep things moving in the Caribbean. If Santos isn't willing, those of us who've actually been doing the work there for nearly twenty years aren't shy about taking matters into our own hands.”

“But you’ll still need him eventually, won’t you? Aren't you worried about losing his ear before you get the chance to make your case?”

“I think he’ll get the message. One way or another.”

“So you've become that person,” C.J. grinned, shaking her head. “One of the many meetings we always dreaded taking because we knew we'd have to walk away with our hands tied.”

“You mean a lobbyist?” Kate’s eyebrow rose. “I don't like to put labels on things.”

“Really?”

“Most things,” Kate swallowed. “This one fits the bill.”

“Well,” C.J. raised her glass. “I admire your gumption, as always. Here’s to your continued success trying to take down the man. Now that I’m not the man, I don’t really mind.”

“Thanks,” Kate laughed, clinking them together. “How's Amelia?”

“Great. It's hard, being away. But I know she's in good hands.”

“What brings you to D.C. anyway?”

“I just felt like I needed to check in. With our interests. For Hollis, mainly. It had been a while.”

“Are you guys gonna make it out for Charlie and Zoe’s wedding next year? I assume you got the invitation?”

“We did,” C.J. nodded. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well, I heard a rumor they got Beyoncé to do the reception, so if you need a little push, I…”

“Danny and I are separating,” C.J. cut her off, like the words had been waiting to dive off the tip of her tongue. “Divorcing, I mean. We already separated, so it’s just...paperwork, mostly.”

“Really?” Kate blinked, mouth hanging open as she slowly put down her fork. “Wow, that’s...I’m so sorry.”

“You're surprised?”

“I mean…yeah. Kind of.”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s...” she shook her head, glancing around the restaurant, dabbing at her lips with her napkin. “It's been a while. I don't know how much you really want to hear what I...”

“I do,” C.J. swallowed. “I wouldn't have told you if I didn't.”

“Alright. Well, I think Danny’s a good guy clearly, otherwise you wouldn't have been with him in the first place. I'm sure he's a great father, no doubt. But I also think he makes you feel caged. I think as much as he says he’s fine with you running the show, he's not. Not completely, because he's a showman himself. All good reporters are. He treats you the way he wishes you would be, not the way you really are. Not the way you want to be treated.”

“How do you think I want to be treated?” C.J. breathed, eyes lowered.

“Like you're the smartest person in the room. Or at least on par with whoever’s there with you.”

“And you think Danny isn't smart?”

“I didn’t say that…”

“No, but that’s what you meant,” C.J. shook her head. “I asked what you thought. I didn’t expect you to roast me. Or him...”

“Sorry,” Kate laid her hand on the table, like it was a surrogate for some other gesture. “Really, I...I know it’s hard. I’ve been there, remember? I didn’t mean...”

“Yes you did,” C.J. stopped her. “But it’s okay.”

“Why is it okay?” Kate licked her lips nervously.

“Because…it just is,” C.J. shrugged. “It’s hard to admit, but you’re not wrong. About any of it.”

“Still,” Kate started picking at her pasta again. “It’s not something I should be gloating about.”

“Are you?” C.J. lifted her glass to her lips. “Gloating?”

Kate swallowed, refusing to make eye contact as she chewed.

“I don't think I should answer that.”

“I think you just did,” C.J. exhaled. “Point taken.”

“I wasn’t keeping score.”

“Neither was I.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

They both went silent after that. Kate finished her meal as C.J. tried to, but the gnocchi kept getting stuck to her teeth, along with the rest of what she’d planned to say. She began to second guess every decision she’d made in the past few months, since moving out of that incredible beach house she’d bought, hiring her own lawyer, deciding to take this trip. It felt like a long time coming on her end, but to Kate, it must have seemed irrational, impulsive.

“I just…” Kate continued after a while. “I guess I didn’t expect you to call. Ever. And now this...it’s a lot to take in. That’s all.”

“I know,” C.J. spoke. “I’m sorry, I...maybe I should have waited.”

“For what?”

“I…” C.J. couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Nothing.”

“Really? You flew three thousand miles to say nothing?”

“I didn’t come here for…” she began to lie. “There are lots of things I wish I’d done differently. Losing touch with you...that’s definitely high up on the list.”

“So you have a list?” Kate smirked, and C.J. couldn’t have been more relieved she didn't expect her to be perfect. “What else is on there?”

“Well, this place for instance,” C.J. told her. “I didn’t get out as much as I would have liked back then. I still don’t. I’m still trying to figure out that whole work-life balance thing, even though I'm terrible at it. I thought it would get easier, but I think it’s just me. Maybe I'm not cut out for that kind of balance, but...I have to find a way, because it’s not just me anymore. I don’t want Amelia thinking she has to do things the same way.”

“She won’t,” Kate insisted. “She’ll probably end up doing the exact opposite. Find something totally stable. Teaching, or maybe medicine. Or maybe she will turn out like you, but you’ll help her through it.”

“I don’t know what scares me more,” C.J. admitted. “I just...I love her so much. I don’t want to let her down. I feel like I am.”

“No, you're not,” Kate shook her head. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Look at you. You’re C.J. Cregg, for God’s sake, you’re...you always land on your feet. I’ve never seen anyone more accomplished, more inspiring, despite all the shit you have going on in your head. You’re gonna be just fine. She’ll be fine. Just wait and see.”

C.J. bit her lip, taking a deep breath, letting it out as she looked back up at the woman sitting across from her, generously restoring some of her sanity even though she had absolutely no obligation to even listen. But C.J. wondered, for a moment, if the fact that she was still sitting there, still listening, meant her good will hadn’t run out entirely. Maybe there was still a little bit left, just enough to make a difference.

“Thank you,” she nodded. “That means a lot. You have no idea.”

“It’s true,” Kate looked away again, clearing her throat as she abandoned her napkin on the table. “We should get the check, yeah?”

“Yeah,” C.J. agreed, checking her watch. “But I’m not ready to call it a night yet. Are you?”

“No,” Kate reached into her purse. “Not really, I...”

“So you'd be up for something else?”

“Sure,” Kate shrugged, looking surprise and skeptical. “It’s not too late, I guess. There are a some nice bars on this side of town, if you…”

“I have a better idea.”

“Really?” Kate scowled. “What’s that?”

“I can't tell you yet,” C.J. began frantically looking through her phone. “I just thought of it.”

“Um, okay,” Kate smirked. “How do we get there then?”

“Just...stop asking questions,” C.J. pulled out her credit card, grabbing the check, handing it to the waiter before Kate could protest. “I’ll get us there.”

Kate complained almost the entire drive, though she did follow instructions, keeping her eyes firmly shut if only so C.J. wouldn't cover them herself. When the driver pulled up to the gate, C.J. got out first, smoothing down the black silk of her skirt, shuffling around to the other side of the car. She carefully opened the door, taking Kate’s hands to help her up, shocking them with electricity, but neither pulled away.

“Ms. Cregg, are you sure you really want…”

“Yes, Jason, thanks. I'll call when we're ready to go.”

“Alright then,” he sighed, taking off.

“C.J. what the hell…”

“Just wait a sec,” C.J. pulled her another couple of yards, grabbing Kate’s shoulders, steadying her body, before finally letting go. “Okay. Open.”

Kate peaked very slowly at first, with just one eye, then the other. It was so dark. It took a moment to adjust, to decipher where exactly C.J. had dragged them. But once she laid eyes on the sign, her face froze. Her eyes went glassy as she looked up, then at C.J., then back at the sign, cheeks flushing as the wind picked up, both their clothes catching sand from the dunes mixed with dirt from the parking lot they were stuck in.

“Mini golf?” Kate swallowed, shaking her head. “Looks like they're closed.”

“I know,” C.J. whispered, taking the smallest step forward. “I didn't think it through, really, I just…”

“C.J…”

“I miss it,” she shuddered, struggling not to break as she held herself, smoothing her hands down her own arms, staring out over the empty course. “All of it. I miss the traffic. I miss the seasons. I miss knowing what’s happening on the Hill before anyone else does. I miss walking and talking a mile a minute, dodging interns and eating lunch between meetings. I even miss getting yelled at by people who want us to do better. I miss everything...everything about this place. Everything about what we did. And I'd be lying if I said that didn't include you walking through my door.”

“Well,” Kate licked her lips. “I didn't always have the best news, so there must be a different reason.”

“I waited so long...” C.J. shook, turning towards her. “For all that I have. I thought it was what I wanted. I thought... I thought he was what I wanted. What I should want. Something people wouldn't flip out about. I didn't want the spotlight I'd been dying under for eight years to nail me just as I was able to escape, so I thought, do what makes sense. But it doesn't. It doesn't fit me, and I’m not sure if anything really does. I might be chronically broken, the square peg in any relationship, but...all I know is, seeing you again, even for a few hours, even if we barely said anything...that was more thrilling than the past three years combined. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if any of this is sane. I'm bound to fuck it all up again, but if I don't try, then I feel like I'm throwing my whole life away because I don't want to prove people right, because I'm willing to stay wrong. But this…this can't be wrong. Right?”

Kate stared at her, unable to move, like she couldn't believe this was really happening. Her throat began to work overtime, eyes stinging as she paced, kicking a little at the gravel.

“Jesus…” she breathed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

C.J.’s feet felt like lead against the pavement. She didn't know what she expected to hear her to say, but it wasn't that.

“You married someone else!” Kate burst. “Decided to have a kid with someone else.”

“I know. I did. I take full responsibility, but...”

“This isn't some movie. This is real life. My life! Three years...and you think you can just come sweeping in with some big, romantic overtures and make me forget about all of it? About how hard it was...everything...everything you swore you couldn't do.”

“I know,” C.J. repeated, stepping closer. “I’m not saying I deserve a second chance. Or even a third.”

“Or fourth.”

“I'm not saying I deserve anything! I know I don't deserve it, but I think…” she looked down at her feet, then up into Kate’s brilliant green eyes, letting down the mask, any shrivel of doubt that she was trying to be stronger than she was. “It's entirely possible I've been in love with you this whole time, and I can't...can't keep living without you knowing that. I had to. I need you to know...”

“Do you?” Kate asked, eyes wide. “Do you love me? Or is it just a possibility? Are you gonna run away again after…”

“I do,” C.J. nodded, tears tracking down her skin, jaw clenched around the words, the truth she'd ached to tell all night. “I do, okay? I love you. As crazy as that may be, I…”

“I love you too,” Kate told her, so quietly, all C.J. could do was look at her and take in those words, let them sink into the hollow of her bones as she closed her eyes, and for just a moment, everything felt like it was right side up.

C.J. opened her eyes again, inching forward. Kate reached out for her hands this time, holding them timidly, like she still wasn't convinced this was real.

“I don't want to watch you walk away again,” Kate bit her lip. “I can't...I don't want to have to walk away.”

“Then don't,” C.J. insisted. “Please. I can't promise I'll be perfect, or that I know how to do any of this right. Being me, letting people see…”

“I don't need anyone else to see,” Kate shook her head. “Not yet. Not all at once. All I need, all I've ever needed...is you. To know that you're in.”

“I am,” C.J. sniffed, nodding her head furiously. “I'm in.”

“There's so much you don't know,” Kate swallowed. “So much...I couldn't even write in the book, because it's a lot. There's a lot of baggage that comes with this, too, you know. Don't think you're the only one.”

“Fine,” C.J. laughed through her tears. “It's fine. I want it. I want to learn all of it.”

“Okay,” Kate swung their hands a little, shifting closer. “Well, you did bring me out in the middle of nowhere to drive home your point, no pun intended, so I guess I should take your word for it.”

“It was cheesy, wasn’t it?” C.J. sighed, cringing. “Oh god…”

“Just a little,” Kate smiled. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No,” C.J. sputtered. “No, I...I’ve never been on this end. I've never been the one asking...”

“You're doing a bang up job, let me tell you,” Kate brought her hand to her face, tracing her thumb along the apple of C.J.’s cheekbone, leaning their foreheads together. “Keep going.”

“Alright,” she swallowed, shaking out her shoulders, straightening her neck. “Kate Harper...will you go on a date with me, please?”

Kate’s skin lit up against the backdrop of the city, breath hitching as she shook her head yes.

“What time does this place open?” she asked, squinting as she read the sign.

“Looks like tomorrow morning,” C.J. confirmed. “Any idea what we might do till then?”

“I don't know,” Kate smirked, slipping her arms around C.J.’s skinny waist. “People might talk.”

“Let them,” C.J. grinned.

Kate pulled her in, kissing her so hard, circling her neck as she pushed up on tiptoes. C.J. kissed her back, feeling like time had stopped and rewound itself all at once, not giving a shit about who saw, or how cheesy it was.

The walls felt too weak for the weight of their bodies, like the plaster might chafe against the back of Kate’s head as C.J. pinned her hands above it, threading their fingers, drenching Kate’s mouth with her tongue. Her skirt had already been shimmied off in the living room, along with Kate’s jeans, heels tripped over as they were kicked across hardwood floors.

C.J. had barely taken in her surroundings the last time she was there, everything other than the way Kate’s lips tasted long forgotten. But tonight, she made it a point to stay present, to allow herself to soak in all there was to remember, like the prolific bookshelf by the kitchen table, a potted plant on the floor next to the radiator that had seen better days, a scarf discarded sometime last winter, balled up in a chair that was home to other shoes and socks. All of it fed C.J.’s hunger for more, the sweet chaos making her fall further than she'd already fallen, fleshing out the details of the woman who'd taken her back, like she’d ever had the chance of losing her.

Kate's fingertips pressed firmly into the muscles of C.J.’s bare thighs, until she was pushing her against the opposite wall, grabbing her ass so forcefully it made C.J. whimper. She made quick work of the buttons on Kate’s shirt, the bra beneath it revealing dark green lace, and C.J. didn't hesitate before taking two handfuls of soft, ivory breasts, nipples hard as pebbles, dipping her head to Kate’s neck as she kissed and nibbled. Kate’s knee wedged itself between C.J’s legs, both of them struggling to stay upright as the warmth and pressure built in places where their bodies begged to remain connected.

“Oh god…” C.J. fractured, voice heightening, body betraying her. “Please…I can't…”

Kate shoved her hand into C.J.’s underwear, feeling her up, squeezing and slipping frantic fingers between embarrassingly wet lips, making C.J.’s knees give out. But Kate held her up, once again proving she could hold her own as she stroked C.J.’s clit with her thumb, forefinger venturing into her thick center, the source of her desire. C.J.’s mouth opened wide, eyes scrunching as her forehead wrinkled, huffing Kate’s name on the wisp of her breath until the fire singed and ceased beneath her skin, shoulders sinking as she hung her tired arms around Kate’s neck. Kate kissed her breathlessly, tongue unquenchable as she continued to move them down the hall.

C.J.’s expensive blouse was lost to the floor, and Kate pulled them onto her dresser, allowing C.J. to hoist her up, back slamming against the cold, chipped mirror.

“Wow,” Kate exhaled sharply, head falling back as C.J. kissed and kneaded her way down her ample chest. “You're really strong.”

“When I need to be,” C.J. teased, grabbing Kate’s calves, locking them behind her as she lapped at her earlobe, fingernails edging up her rib cage. “So this is your bedroom.”

“This is my bedroom,” Kate laughed, teeth hanging on torturously to C.J.’s lower lip. C.J. flipped her dark hair behind her shoulder, head falling into the nook of Kate’s collarbone as her bra was ripped away. Kate smoothed her hands over the expanse of C.J.’s chest, feeling her breastbone, her heart, kissing her cheek and lips, until she was able to gain momentum, guiding them back to the bed.

Kate inched up towards the pillows, flinging her own bra across the room as C.J. crawled to her on all fours, climbing her body, straddling her thighs. Kate trailed a finger down the bridge of C.J.’s nose, letting it linger in the dip her cupid's bow, and C.J. giggled, capturing it between her teeth. She sucked Kate’s digits into her mouth, eyes closing as Kate gasped, until C.J. let them go with a pop. Kate ran her hands over the swell of chiseled shoulders and breasts, making her way down C.J.’s body, until C.J. lifted her chin back to her face, swallowing hard.

“Let me,” she whispered, asking more than telling, already trembling, not knowing exactly what she was capable of, but knowing Kate would be right there with her for all of it. “Please.”

Kate nodded, smiling through grateful tears, ready to take as much as she had given.

C.J. shifted to the side, never losing contact, hand gliding down the length of Kate’s body, perching herself on her knee as she brought their hips together again. Kate grabbed her face, diving back in with the deep, desperate kisses of someone who'd been waiting for this for so long, body convulsing as C.J. plucked the elastic of her underwear. Kate’s head burrowed into the pillows, hair fanned out like the sun, and C.J.’s palm settled on Kate’s hip bone, until she was traveling down her legs, bringing the last of Kate’s clothing with her.

C.J. looked at Kate, stunned by how absolutely breathtaking she was, that she had been invited in, accepted, forgiven by the woman lying there, a woman who had gone through so much in her life, lost so much, but who was willing to take a chance on her and her neuroses. C.J. knew she’d try her best, do everything in her power to not let her down, to make this work, to prove that it had all been worth it in the end. She began right then and there, working her way down her tight stomach, over the shallow of her belly button, towards her heat. Kate’s fingers tenderly held the sides of her face, even as her body reacted more fiercely.

“C.J….” she swallowed. “You don't...don't have to do anything you aren't ready for…”

“I am,” C.J. looked up at her confidently, eyelashes catching the light from outside. “Is it…”

“Yeah,” Kate told her. “I want...please…”

C.J. began kissing the impossibly gorgeous mound between Kate’s legs, spreading her thighs as she drove her tongue into the sweet, saltiness of her, tasting her for the very first time. It was so good, Kate’s reactions so raw and enthusiastic, C.J. felt compelled to continue, licking even as she pressed her fingers into the soft, swollen entrance, and Kate let out a sigh that meant yes, one hand covering her eyes as the other tangled in the sheets.

“Ungghh…” she bellowed. “C.J...yeah…”

C.J. fucked her fully, sliding in and out, heart contracting and expanding with the love she felt as she filled her up and descended into her, learning every ridge, every movement. Kate continued her cries, hips spreading, knees shaking as C.J. licked and pumped, until Kate’s ass pushed back against C.J.’s hand, shoulders digging into the mattress, and she came so hard, C.J.’s fingers were practically forced from inside. She continued to lick fervently, and Kate came again, hands tugging hard enough on C.J.’s hair that she knew she’d done alright, perhaps well enough to try again in the morning, if not before the night ended.

“Wow,” Kate breathed, flicking her hair from her face as C.J. landed in her arm, kissing her temple, continuing to trace her stomach. “That was something.”

“It was, wasn't it?” C.J. grinned. “Assuming by something you mean extraordinary?”

“Very,” Kate sighed, turning towards her, kissing her hard, pulling a throw that had gotten lost beneath their feet up over their shivering skin.

They continued to wallow, to langor in the miracle that was this moment, everything that had conspired to bring them here, where neither ever expected to be after all this time. Kate held C.J.’s face, kissing her nose, running her thumbs over her smile lines again and again as her eyes shone back, and C.J. couldn't believe how easy it felt, like she'd finally found the home she'd been missing well beyond the past eight years.

“Last time we slept in the same bed we were both drunk,” Kate laughed a little. “What if I snore?”

“Earplugs,” C.J. insisted, fingers tickling gentle shapes across Kate’s lower back.

“Sounds reasonable,” Kate agreed. “I'm a pretty stealth sleeper though. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I don't imagine it will be,” C.J. breathed.

“You're a hell of a woman,” Kate whispered, smirking as she kissed her again, holding her tight. “You know that?”

C.J. swallowed, eyes glistening as she allowed herself, for once, for maybe the first time in her whole life, to accept all that she was.

“Yeah,” she blinked, smiling softly. “I do.”

Chapter Text

The sun was criminal that day, steam rising up from the grass like snakes, coating everything in its path. C.J. pulled up to the eighteenth hole on her cart, putting the vehicle in park before unbuckling Amelia’s seatbelt, letting the little girl dart off into the course before the wheels barely had a chance to stop spinning.

“Finally,” a familiar, bored yet no less snappish voice greeted her near the throngs of onlookers. “I was three minutes away from forfeiting the next round.”

C.J. shook her head, following Amy Gardner as she led them past security towards the best viewpoint.

“Well, she won't play until you two are watching,” Amy grunted. “It's kind of cute, kind of disgusting, depending on who you ask.”

“Aren't we down by six? Or up by six? I don't get it. I do a good job pretending I do, but…”

“Yup, down by six, just like in the polls,” Amy confirmed. “Why don't you go over and stand next to the future Senator-Elect so the media I sold my soul to wrangle can get a good shot. Amelia’s got the right idea. She just flocks right to the cameras, doesn't she? How early can we start thinking about running her for something? She's a genius, Black, two moms and a dad, eager to tell you what she thinks about anything and everything. She's a shoe in. God, I love that kid.”

“Don't even think about it,” C.J. glared.

“What took so long?” Kate shrugged, setting up for the putt. “Emily’s List is gonna rethink everything if I hold up the tournament another minute.”

“Yeah, mom,” the smart-mouthed ten year old smiled innocently, hopping on one foot before standing in place next to her stepmother, both of them posing as the flashes blinded them. “What took so long?”

“You’re the one who said you wanted your picture with Michelle Wie and Annika Sörenstam. I had to bribe their caddies before they took off. Don't pin this on me.”

“They were so cool,” Amelia beamed, hugging Kate’s waist before scooting back with C.J. “Can we be done now?”

“Almost,” C.J. promised. “This is it. This is for all the chips, the whole enchilada. Three mini-snickers says she doesn't make it.”

“Six mini-snickers says she does!”

“Double or nothing? You're bold, wee one.”

“Deal or no deal?”

“Deal,” C.J. agreed. “Come here, you.”

She stood behind her daughter, kissing the top of her head as she held her shoulders. Kate looked back at them, winking at C.J., blowing her a kiss before she turned back to the course, taking a deep breath before pulling back to give it her best shot.