Authors: Cappuccino Girl & Seastar
CJ/ OMC
Rating: R
Disclaimers: The West Wing and all its characters are the property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions and Warner Bros. Dylan is our creation, with copyright and possessive labels stuck all over him.
Cappuccino Girl's Notes: Someone somewhere seems to have taught me that fear isn't a bad emotion to have while writing. Around the same time, I decided that my next series would be OMC, no matter how incredibly challenging it would be. Because I'm a bit of a wimp at times, I threw this vague concept to Seastar, and she was all 'ooh, that sounds cool'. And so we end up writing together. I've laughed and cringed and banged my head against a wall while we brainstormed, wrote, and polished. This is ours, and we made this.
Seastar's notes: Love 'n' kisses go to my partner-in-crime for this fic, who has most generously shared her WW tapes with me, and wasted many a happy hour taking fic over the phone. Also, thanks to my good friend Teresa, who provided me with the tape of Hartsfield's Landing and thus enabled me to visualize the layout of CJ's office. Love ya, babes.
Summary: "I expected more from you, CJ. I thought you expected more from yourself."
The door to the balcony is half open, pale green curtains billowing in the gentle breeze, and as they ripple, they cast shadows on the wall. The lights are dimmed, and the two candles adorning the table have almost burnt down, their flames flickering erratically because of the draught. A sheer black dress lies strewn over the cream chair at the far end of the room; pants and a shirt abandoned haphazardly on the smooth floor. As the wind picks up, two naked bodies roll over on the rug behind the couch, whispering words of endearment and moaning each other's names.
~* *~
Those days where each moment feels like a grain of sand within an hourglass, trickling slowly through the narrow center before falling onto the heap below. Each minute seems the same as the one before. She had expected today to be similar, and it had been monotonous. So she stood at the side of the room, watching over the photo shoot because that was all she need do. The President didn't seem particularly enamored either, and faint lines of worry were scattered over his face. The press wanted him to look happy, positively jovial as he signed over a further $ 1.2 billion for school refurbishment. He had to pretend to sign the document fifty times over, at least it seemed that way, and each time he and the Secretary of Education smiled for the cameras. Normally she'd be planning the remainder of her schedule in her head, but the monotony of the day had been broken. These piercing blue eyes had stopped the hourglass of her day. She was distracted, so distracted she could barely contemplate her next meeting. She felt herself blush ever so slightly when he threw her a look. The Secretary of Education had been staring at her like that since they arrived there, subtle but she had noticed. She fiddled with the notepad and pen she'd been clutching so that she was doing something besides wanting to look back, because there were cameras present and it was anything but professional.
"Okay, that's all we have time for today," she announced, causing the Secretary of Education to turn her way once more, and those eyes danced over her silhouette. She shivered, tossing her hair out of her face, but that only made him watch her more. Teasing couldn't hurt, she attempted to convinced herself, so she looked back, a slight seductive stare before leaving the room.
~* *~
The drink after work at a bar where no one cares who she might be, or why she is ordering her third martini alone. It was usually on a Thursday, which somehow always turned out to be her most stressful day, and she still hadn't figured out why. She'd attempted to cure her headache with ibuprofen, and when that failed, she figured that alcohol couldn't make it much worse. Logic with regard to matters like that had always escaped her.
"Martini," the bartender said, sliding the drink towards the exhausted woman perched on the stool before him.
"Thanks," she said gratefully, blowing smoke out as she spoke.
"It's a shame you've already paid for that one," a familiar voice said from behind her, causing her to turn her head.
Deep blue eyes met hers. She drew a sharp breath. "I- I.. I didn't know you'd be here."
He smiled, eyes following the slope of her neck, shoulders, down her arms, resting on her hand. "I didn't know you smoked."
"I don't. I mean, not usually. It's just therapeutic." She could feel her skin flush under his gaze.
"And I don't tend to frequent this bar," he responded, taking a seat on the stool beside her. "So, let's forego the apologies for our habits." He radiated confidence, and it seemed strangely reassuring.
"All right. No apologies," she nodded, pushing her hair off her face, and when it fell back, his hand moved forward, in quasi slow motion, brushing it away.
His voice was confident, yet his movement cautious. She was fascinated by it, by him. "So," he eventually explained, "I'm Dylan."
"I know," she replied, sliding her finger along the edge of her glass where the condensation had settled.
"And you're CJ," he continued.
"Claudia Jean," she offered, because CJ was for work and acquaintances, and Claudia for personal.
"So, Claudia," he said, "What brings a woman like yourself to this bar at ten thirty in the evening?"
"Much the same reason why you are here I presume; for alcohol and anonymity."
"And here I go asking you for your name," he commented.
"But surely anything else would be impolite."
"Would it?"
"In my mind, yes. But then I'm this Berkley educated girl who works at the White House, where we constantly have these black tie dinners, and my mother has always been big on manners."
"Hardly anonymous that, now, is it?" he teased.
"To be honest, I'm too tired to care." She took a final drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out. "So, I've spilled all these facts about myself. Where's your contribution to the conversation?"
"As with yourself, my life is a veritable open book. There are no general facts that I could add which would be novel to you."
"So, say I confess to knowing all the general facts about you, which I do," she raised her eyebrows quizzically. "May I ask why a married man has his arm draped around my shoulder, and has been flirting with me ever since I laid eyes on him?"
He removed his arm abruptly, taking a drink of his vodka before responding. "You're beautiful, you know."
"Comments like that won't get you very far with me," she remarked.
"That's a shame, because I'm not very good with words."
"Actions speak louder than words."
"And beauty is in the eye of the beholder."
"I'm impressed," she said laconically.
"Come home with me."
Her eyes widened. "That's very forward of you, and what makes you assume that I will?"
"Your actions."
He watched her intently as she slid off the stool and reached for her purse. With his arm draped around her, they made their way into the crisp night air. They half floated down the sidewalk, coats billowing behind them, and when they reached the crossroads, she turned to him once more, requesting leadership, direction.
"Which way?" she asked, while he moved so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.
He studied her, unsure of how best to phrase the facts, and while he tried to formulate a sentence, reality struck her.
"I'd take you to my house, but I can't," he eventually said, putting her thoughts into words.
She stepped back a fraction, taking in the handsome man before her who refused to let go of her when she moved. 'He's married, with a house where his wife and child live,' she thought, 'and I stand here with him as he feels me up.'
Yet she laughed, the touch of his hand on her back erasing the reality of the situation. "Oh, so first the man's in control, and now I'm supposed to decide. How very 'equal opportunities' of you."
"I'm an opportunist," he remarked slyly, kissing her neck as she tried to guide him to turn left towards her apartment.
~* *~
There were no explanations, no words. Just energy, excitement, and possibly danger. The second she opened the door, he tore the coat from her and his hands glided under her black top, his fingers almost drawing patterns on her skin as he pulled the fabric up and over her head. She's still not sure if his actions were due to admiration, attraction, or simply, crudely, lust and need. She hardly cared at the moment he slipped his hands under her skirt to remove her nylons, to remove anything which separated him from her. His finger stroked up her thigh, teasingly, and she gasped at the feel. He thought she looked sensational when she threw her head back like she did, gasping a little, her eyes glistening, the epitome of free will and beauty combined. And once she'd caught her breath, she removed his sweater and kissed his bare chest as they fell onto the couch together.
She deftly undid the button of his pants, while he kissed her neck and shoulders, causing her to whimper, his hands running over her smooth back, pulling her closer. She removed his pants, tossing them onto the floor; doing so, she turned a little, and immediately felt his strong hands on her face. She complied, turned towards him once more, and was greeted with an almost punishing kiss, even though she was certain it had little to do with dominance, for his every movement, every touch echoed excitement and reverence. She'd felt the absence of touch conveying emotions for so long, and even with Danny it had never gone beyond convenience on her part. There was something different now, and no matter how loudly each sensible bone in her body screamed that she mustn't act on her feelings, she couldn't help the increasing desire to know every thought which ran through his head while he teased her panties from her, whispering how incredible she was. She didn't ask for explanation, but as she came around him, her mind and eyes focused intently on his; it didn't appear that he'd been anything but honest.
~* *~
Pavement and lavishly painted hallways went past in an all too familiar blur as she made her way to her office. Her eyes felt heavy; even the scorching shower she'd had barely an hour ago hadn't done anything to awaken her from her daze, and she was still having problems comprehending precisely what had happened. There was the empty bed when she'd opened her eyes and a note written on a scrap of paper by the coffee table. "I apologize from the bottom of my heart," it had said. She'd crumpled it up and thrown it in the trash, slamming her fist angrily onto the kitchen counter, thinking what a pathetic gesture it was. With that the glow he'd left was gone, and she was all that remained, alone, complete with guilty conscience.
She squinted her surroundings into focus.
"CJ. Morning," Carol said, and it came out more like a question than a statement. "You okay?"
"Yeah, fine, just a little.." She waved her hands about, trying to find an appropriate word. "...tired. Just a little tired."
Carol looked unconvinced, noticing the absence of coffee in CJ's hand, but she took her boss' word, and handed her a stack of articles. They were all neatly marked with color coded post-it notes, in order of importance, and CJ smiled feebly before heading towards her office to deposit the heavy bag which had started to pain her shoulder.
"Staff at ten thirty, and Toby asked to see you sometime this morning," Carol called after her. "Oh, and someone called just as I got in, about twenty minutes ago."
She spun around, almost tripping over her own feet. "Who?"
"No idea," Carol explained, looking up from writing. "I asked him three times for his name and number, but he refused. The number was withheld on caller ID too."
"Oh, right," CJ said, attempting to sound casual, but realizing that she was failing. She turned back to her office.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Carol questioned once more.
"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just a little distracted, that's all." And with that she closed the door behind her and fell into her chair. By turning quickly from side to side, everything seemed almost clear. 'Or at least the room is spinning as much as my head,' she thought.
In the privacy of her office, she allowed the confusion to show on her face as her hand hovered over the phone. Arguments chased through her mind, sense colliding with want in eternal conflict. Oblivious to the concerned glances thrown her way every few minutes by her assistant, she remained unaware of the passage of time, a steady trickle of sand slipping away unheeded, until Toby entered her office without warning, already half-way through a sentence before she had focussed on what he was saying.
"...to see you about-" Looking up from the pages he had clutched in his grasp, he noticed her slightly dazed expression and broke off the sentence abruptly. "Everything okay?"
"I'm fine. What can I do for you?"
"It's just-" he began, and then interrupted himself to refer back to his earlier query. "You were staring into space, there, CJ."
"I was having..." she paused, searching for an expression, "...an introspective moment."
His eyebrow quirked up as he repeated her phrase. "An introspective moment?"
"Yes," she confirmed, eyes daring him to challenge her on the subject.
"Carol said you've been gazing at the phone for the past 20 minutes."
"Carol should have better things to do with her time than stare through the window at me," CJ retorted glibly as she got up to cross the office, raising her voice for the benefit of her assistant, who was currently making great play of moving files around her desk. "Like, work on improving her spelling, maybe." Gracing Carol with a mock glare, CJ closed the door, leaning back against it momentarily before resuming her seat. "So, you wanted something?"
"Yes." He began shuffling through his bundle of papers. "I think you need to take a look at-" Once more, he cut himself off mid-sentence, observing mildly, "You're staring at the phone again."
"Ye-es." She dragged the word out, feigned confidence slowly building in her tone. "Yes, I am."
"Is there a problem I should know about?"
"No. Absolutely not." She smiled brightly at him. "Everything's just fine."
"Okay," he nodded, accepting her assurances calmly, knowing there was more to come.
"Really, Toby, there's nothing to worry about."
"That's good, then," he said impassively.
"Yes." She seized on his words triumphantly. "Exactly. It's good. Everything's good." She paused, and Toby waited for the qualifier he knew she would tack on to her sentence. "Except..."
He raised an eyebrow in silent enquiry and, abandoning her half-hearted denials, she confided her secret. "Yesterday, I met someone."
"Ah." He settled back slightly in his chair, chin resting on his fingertips, eyes crinkling a little in amusement.
His friendly gaze prompting her for details, she hastily spun the story in her mind, eliminating the less palatable aspects. She met his gaze without flinching as she told him incomplete truths, knowing that she was withholding the most salient facts.
"I met him in a bar last night and he came home with me," she said, presenting the facts bluntly. "And when I woke up this morning, he was gone."
"I see."
"Yeah."
"This is not your first one-night-stand, CJ." He spoke with the authority of knowledge, having been a detached yet sympathetic spectator of much of her past.
"This wasn't- That's not what this is," she assured him, her mind already starting to wonder whether that was, in fact, all Dylan had intended it to be. "He left me a note."
"So, are you thinking about calling him, or waiting for him to call you?" Toby asked her, noticing the way her focus still slipped to the phone. The faint amusement had disappeared from his eyes, but the warmth and affection lingered.
Dropping her gaze to the papers littering her desk, CJ's voice was low as she shared a little more of her secret. "He's married."
"Oh."
She looked up to find Toby regarding her gravely.
"That's it? Just 'oh'?"
"What do you want me to say? Given what you've just told me, you weren't indulging in any pillow talk this morning, so I'm assuming that you knew this fact before you took him home with you." She gave an infinitesimal nod in silent confirmation as Toby briefly paused to take a breath. "I expected more from you, CJ. I thought you expected more from yourself."
"This isn't just some sordid affair," she tried to explain, but he refused to let her make excuses.
"No, that's exactly what it is. He is married to someone else. That would have meant something to you, once." His voice was still quiet, and that scared her. He had never hesitated to yell at her before, and she wondered what had changed in their relationship that he was suddenly denying her the investment of his anger. His next words, seeming to echo her thoughts, confused her. "What changed?"
She glanced up at him. "Excuse me?"
"When Andi and I first separated," he began slowly, his hushed tone giving the separation a reverence he had never thought to give his marriage, "there were all sorts of unfounded rumours flying about. Some of those rumours involved you. And you got mad, CJ. You ranted for weeks about how seducing married men wasn't your style. So, what changed?"
"Nothing. Everything. I don't know. I didn't go looking for this. It just happened."
"I don't think I know you any more." There was a long silence then, as each tried to find some way to break this new awkwardness between them. Toby spoke first, their long years of friendship lending certainty to his final appeal. "You're not like this."
"How do you know, Toby? Maybe I am. Maybe I've always been like this and you just never noticed."
He looked at her appraisingly, and she was sure that she could see the moment when his opinion of her changed. "Maybe you have."
She cringed at the disappointment in his tone, knowing she had failed to live up to his expectations. But nonetheless, when he rose to leave her office, her gaze was once again drifting towards the phone.
~* *~
The candles were lit, two in the center of the table. She'd ordered in from the best place in town because she couldn't cook to save her life and there really wasn't time for her to learn at present. The doorbell had just rung, and she was looking herself over in the mirror, the candles giving an almost Victorian quality to her reflection. She'd dug this silky black dress out of the back of her closet, a dress she reserved specifically for such occasions because she knew she looked stunning in it, yet rarely had the confidence to wear it out in public. Her hair was messily pinned up, and as he knocked softly on the door, she darted towards it, her hair falling out of place, causing delicate strands to frame her face. She opened the door and was greeted with a kiss that almost made her knees give way.
"I got us dinner," she said, once she'd regained a fraction of her composure.
But those blue eyes danced over her, and food soon became a forgotten concept as they kissed and teased the clothes from one another.
The wind picked up, causing the curtains to rustle in the breeze, and while the candles burned down, two naked bodies rolled over on the rug behind the couch, whispering words of endearment and moaning each other's names.
~ To Be Continued~---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
feedback as always to: cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com & seastarsilver@yahoo.com
visit the author's website at: www.cappuccinogirl.com