A/N: Yeah I know it took a minute but here's the sequel to The Start of Something. If you haven't, you should probably read Hey Jealousy just for the background on Sydney and Bobbi. Enjoy ^_^

There's times when CC wishes that Maxwell's wife was still alive. Before it usually had to do with fantasies of secret trysts or (at the times he was on her nerves) a reason to move on to greener pastures. Now she mostly wishes Sara was alive so Maxwell would have never hired the woman currently seated on the edge of the bed, begging to go to the dinner party with her.

"No," she repeats, fastening on her earrings as Fran's reflection falls backward onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, "I have to focus all my attention on making contacts for this new director and I refuse to be distracted."

It's only the truth. After what seemed like an everlasting dry spell Maxwell had finally struck theater gold with a play, then another, and then a third. With revenues up and for the first time their names being associated with something other than the words 'time sink', he'd graciously set aside a portion to invest into CC's career as a full time agent. Still in it's early stages, she has only ever handled a few steady clients at a time but with the new money she's able to rent an office instead of working from home. Not to mention the lifted burden of having to baby Maxwell's projects, allowing her to branch out of theatre and into film while toying with the possibility of music as well.

Which is why she has to focus twice as hard on things, if all bodes well she'll have enough to upgrade her home to include a more feasible office, limiting her need to occupy Maxwell's office (not that anyone but Fran has objections to it if the exuberant "YAHOO!" she'd heard from the kitchen was any indication).

"I won't be a distraction," Fran whines now, tracking CC's movements to and from the bathroom to retrieve her purse and shoes, "I'll just sit in the corner and make conversation with everyone."

"Precisely my point."

Fran pops up indignantly, but CC is out of the room by the time she's able to work out a suitable rebuttal.

The dinner party goes marvelously. Other people, people who aren't CC Babcock would disagree with her. They'd say it was tense and uncomfortable, the atmosphere ripe with passive aggressive insults hidden in every compliment, divided into the well known, lesser known and categories of potentials. If CC had had the patience she would have explained that it was simply business, disguised as a get together of friends and acquaintances but at it's core centered around showing off and gathering information for a future strike.

And above all else she is a tactician.

While some of the lesser known industry reps haunt the conversations of their opponents she lingers with the trophy wives and girlfriends, eventually finding the fiancé of Lewis Terrel an ex sound equipment technician who fell into a boatload of money and is looking to reinvest.

She locates Derek, tugging him by the scruff of the collar and pointing to a broad shouldered man shuffling idly from foot to foot beside the host, pretending to look interested.

"You! Go over there and you tell him you were once a volunteer key grip at UCLA, you love dogs and your girlfriend is a musician."

"Whoa whoa there are a lot of things wrong with that."

"I cannot express how much I don't care."

"There's the part where I've never even been to California for one," he barrels on, " I'm allergic to dogs and I just got a divorce…from a real estate agent."

"What?" she tracks Terrel's movements, not taking her eyes off of him as she speaks," I'm sorry I can't hear you over the sound of your name going down the toilet."

He sighs, "Fine."

"Hm?"

"I said I'll see you later I'm gonna go introduce myself to Lewis."

"Atta boy."

He grumbles through it at first but the moment she sees him mouth Los Angeles Terrel begins to chat excitedly, turning away from the knot of people he was watching to give Derek his full attention. By the time the other agents finally eavesdrop their way into his name and situation CC has already arranged an appointment for brunch and agreed to fax the script to his assistant slash girlfriend.

For the rest of the night she's greeted with hooded glares and close lipped smiles hiding clenched teeth.

"Fantastic." she sighs, stepping out of the bathroom and tossing aside the towel she'd used to wrap her hair, "We'll be filming by the end of the month."

"Well that's neat," Fran replies, stretching languidly out on the bed in a none too subtle attempt to draw CC's gaze.

"It's more than neat," she snorts, disappearing into the closet, "It's phenomenal, awe inspiring! It takes years to go from where he was to where I've gotten him. Irving was greener than his godawful suit by the end of the night."

"I think it calls for a celebration."

"Indeed," and Fran's face lights up until CC exit's the closet with a dry cleaned pantsuit

"What's that for?"

"Drinks at the Boiler Room."

"Now?"

The blonde waves the comment away, "These opera board types they're up all hours of the night. Which is of course when all the real talking goes on. I'll be back by morning."

"Well I won't be" she crosses her arms over the silk negligee, starting to feel naked in more ways than one "I have to go with Briton and Gracie to that school wide assembly in DC. I'll be gone for a week. I've been talking about it for the past two days."

CC pauses in buttoning up her undershirt, thankful her back is towards Fran so the other woman can't see her mouth a guilty swear. She turns, putting on a sweet smile

"Well then this will work out, I'll get all my work done and by the time you get back everything will be settled. Perfect."

"But that makes this our last night together."

"It is hardly our last." she reaches for her coat, coming to Fran's side to place a brief kiss on her forehead, "I thought we were past the point of being glued to one another's side. Honestly, Fran, it'll go by before you know it."

"Well…" before she can finish a sharp buzz interrupts the silence and CC is transferring her wallet into a smaller, plainer purse to take to the lounge and heading towards the door.

"That'll be the driver. Call me when you get there!"

And just like earlier, she's gone before Fran can even protest.

"Do you think I'm needy?"

"What? No."/ "Who would say that?" Briton and Val chorus immediately

"Fraaan, you're cutting off the circulation in my hand."

"Well sweetie that's why you never run away from me."

"But I dropped my backpack!"

"Excuses."

The youngest Sheffield groans, thankful when the limo finally pulls up to escort Val, Briton and Fran to DC. Grace had sat her father down and insisted that she needed forced social interaction in a confined space as the first step in battling the slowly evolving agoraphobia that was threatening to become a full fledged complex. Instead of asking what on earth that meant in English, Max had simply signed the pass for her to ride on one of the school buses taking the rest of the children to the capitol.

Briton wonders if Grace had chosen the lesser of two evils as Fran laments to Val on her relationship with Ms. Babcock. The whole thing still kinda weirds him out honestly and it doesn't help that they're not even talking about anything "good". Just boring relationship, commitment blah blah blah talk, forcing him to dial up the volume and flip through one of the auto magazines their driver reads.

"I think Ms. Babcock is a very busy woman, Fran. You've known that for years."

"Well of course I knew, I just thought it'd be different seeing as how we're together now."

"People like that can be very stubborn, especially a woman. Oy vey why do you think it's the women who change the men?"

"Gee you know I never thought of it that way," she raises an eyebrow, "since when are you the go to expert?"

"I've been watching Dr. Phil, the man is a genius but you'd think with all those brains he'd figure out he needs a rug for that head of his."

They share a disapproving titter and as is the case their attention then turns to television, celebrity gossip then just plain gossip. Briton rolls his eyes at them and at the next rest stop jumps from the confines of the backseat. When he comes back he need only share a commiserating look with the driver before getting into the passenger's side and turning up the music.

Coincidentally in New York CC finds herself listening to the same song,

"They're the newest it band along with a few others being handled by OhMan Records. Like…. the love child of classical and the new indie sound. Perfect for what you're looking for," Terrel assured her earlier at lunch. Despite her initial distaste she is forced to see why he thought if them when she'd mentioned in passing a new musical she was attempting to jump start on the side.

She turns the volume down and flicks through a rolodex from one of the desk drawers, coming up with the record company's name. Maxwell is familiar with them somehow and everyone Maxwell knows CC does by proxy. After dealing with a few unseasoned assistants and receptionists (dealing of course meaning shouting and threatening their lives and/or career) she talks her way into being on hold for the VP.

"What's your name, whaddya want?" A voice suddenly demands.

"Well excuse me, this is-"

"Shut up, you sound familiar."

"This is CC Babcock and I demand to be treated with a bit more-"

"Babcock! This is Flekman, Bobbi. I'm on the run but listen be at Waltman Inc in twenty, we'll have a few drinks and you can tell me what's the hap, later."

CC stares at the phone without blinking, unwilling to accept that she's been hung up on and can't even be justifiably angry about it. Growling she tosses the rolodex back into the drawer and calls for a cab.

When it arrives she allows herself to seethe a bit more without distraction. Of all the record companies of course she'd choose one run by Bobbi Flekman. Ever since she'd moved back to New York to take up that VP position she'd been hearing her name. But movies and music were on odd sides of the same mirror. Agent to Agent, Vice President to Vice President yes, but the groups rarely mixed outside of the business world.

To keep herself from replaying their last interactions, she takes the manifest and first draft of the screenplay to familiarize herself with it again. Just because it's Bobbi doesn't mean she needs to differ from the rehearsed pitch.

By the time she's been redirected to the company restaurant the words are echoing in her mind. Bobbi greets her with a grin and strong handshake, still sporting her usual black on black shawl and dress, cut diagonally above the knee.

"It's been too long. Come on have a seat, I ordered you a drink. Strong, dark and foreign just like you like 'em, ay?"

She sends a well placed swat at CC's ribs, not unlike another dark haired woman in her life. It serves to refocus her attention away from the embarrassing circumstances they met under. It helps that nothing in the other woman's character has changed in the time separating them allowing them to get straight to brass tacks once the drinks arrive. Bobbi sips at her Tom Collins and skims the papers, asking a few questions here and there and pausing once to look up something in her itinerary. CC goes through two glasses before Bobbi finally agrees that the screenplay has some appeal.

"Nothing's definite, but I'll see what I can do. I'll have Chloe stop by tomorrow for a copy of everything and send out some feelers. You doing the circuit?"

"Here and there…when I can."

Bobbi taps the screenplay, "You might consider pitching this thing full time honey. It's woman centric, reaches a broad audience while staying unique, treads the line between progressive and stereotypical. The average viewer will eat it up, believe you me."

CC toys with the edge of the front cover, her voice full of skepticism but her eyes revealing a bit of hope, "Really? You think so?"

"Know it. Matter of fact you should hold an event, you perk a few ears and I'll consider letting you take a few of these indie buggers off my hand for the production."

"Live you mean? Not just their voices, but apart of the cast?"

She nods, "Musicians too if you want 'em." she pauses, "For a fee of course."

"Of course."

"So it's settled."

"Yes."

"Chloe will be in touch."

"Chloe."

CC stares at the empty space where Bobbi just was, her brain catching up with her emotions to see the woman just as she leaves, phone pressed to her ear.

If the cab driver wonders why his charge spends the entire ride smiling nonsensically at thin air, he doesn't ask.

Chloe stops by the next day for the copies and a color coded document detailing the days that Bobbi is free in accordance with the people she knows who are willing to come. Deciding to snub some over others CC chooses the day before Fran is due to arrive back home then badgers Maxwell into going in halves on a splendid hall uptown.

For the next few days it's her main focus. She spends some time at the theater with one of her actors, making sure the contract is being held to, but after a short meeting with Maxwell's shareholders she cuts herself loose to focus on the party. Her personal shopper is assigned to find her a dress so she can focus on speaking with caterers, coordinating the music with Bobbi and settling on the décor.

Val taps her foot impatiently, "Come on Fran, the tour group is moving again! We're gonna get lost and I don't think you'll be able to flirt your way out of Guantanamo bay again."

"That wasn't my fault! You see a guy sneezing you reach into your jacket for a hanky."

"Not if it's the President and you start the sentence off with 'I have a little something for you'."

"Oh shut up Val…and give me a quarter."

The blonde smacks her gum and grudgingly digs into her purse for some change to put into the phone as Fran presses the redial button again. She's been trying in vain to get a hold of CC, but she can never seem to catch her at home. After the speaker phone incident or "the day which shall not be named" she was banned from calling her at work too, which Fran thinks is a load of c-r-a-p because CC is always working.

Getting the answering machine for the umpteenth time, Fran changes tactics and calls Maxwell instead

"Yes?"

"Listen Mr. Sheffield I don't want you to worry, but-"

"Put Briton on."

"What?""So help me god but Briton on."

Fran raises an eyebrow but mouths to Val to go fetch him, feeding the pay phone another quarter until they get back. Apparently having been torn from flirting with a DC girl Briton glares and snatches the phone.

"Yeah…no…right here….the bathroom…no….no….yeah but it's fine now she showed him some skin, did the pouty lip thing and they let her go….no….no…..YES. Okay, bye dad." He hands the phone back with a shrug and looking both ways breaks into a sprint towards the Lincoln Memorial.

"Alright so none of my children are in mortal peril, what is it?"

"I can't get a hold of CC and I'm really worried."

"Well there's no need. CC is fine, I just spoke with her."

"You did?"

"Yes, she was off to an early dinner at La Russus with that new friend of hers."

Fran, who had been tracing her name onto the wall stops, "CC has a friend?" she winces, "I mean, a new one?"

"Yes, it appears so, I only saw them from the car."

"And she took her to La Russus?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Are you alright, Ms. Fine?"

"No! I mean yes! I mean Bye. "

Before Maxwell can ask any other questions she hangs up and calls La Russus. After their first night together it had become their place. They even got the same booth and mirrored their outfits of that night, it was a small sentimental part of their relationship that had started off as coincidence then developed into something more. In an unspoken gesture CC had even stopped meeting clients there (though of course she insisted it was only because the waiters knew her too well to maintain a level of formality whatever that meant).

Deacon, a server picks up on first ring, recognizing Fran's voice at once.

"I saw Madam Babcock and was surprised you were not just behind her. Are you well?"

"Oh ya know I'm doing just fine. So, Madam Babcock is there?"

"Yes, her companion reserved a table for two. Might I say she bears a striking resemblance to yourself."

"Really?"

"Oui, did you wish me to convey a message to Madam?"

Fran starts tracing on the wall again, "Well, do they seem," she takes a breath and manages to squeak out, "busy?"

There's some shifting as he switches the phone to his other ear and takes a glance at them, "Not astoundingly so. They are sitting side by side, sharing drinks, une moment someone is in the way. Ah, they are laughing over something…now they are holding hands and whispering." His voice suddenly hardens, "Madam Babcock and her companion have just exited through the back entrance. Should I-?"

Fran slams the phone back into its hook, teeth clenched as she turns to a stricken Val who is finally managing to string the two conversations together, her eyes wide. She reaches out a hand

"Oh honey-"

"I think it's time we cut this field trip short."