I don't own, claim ownership to, or have any affiliation to The West Wing. All in good fun. My first short that seemed sort of okay.
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Years later, when he sees her again at the conference, he thinks raising a child makes her seem younger. Funny, when he considers how old he feels around his children. In his mind he teases her about being immature and she shoots him an unrepentant grin, and accepts his complement of her beauty. In this reality she waits uncertainly for his greeting.
"It's been a long time," she whispers throatily in his ear when he finally closes the distance and embraces her.
He's careful to keep it chaste. She's a married woman, someone's mother. Still his hands remember the way they used to travel slowly down her back, stopping to pull her closer now and again. These coats they're wearing are definitely in the way.
Stop, he tells himself. She's somebody's mother. He's somebody's father. The time has long past when any of this was about them.
"It's snowing," he says with disgust as he releases her. He allows himself to act the buffoon and completes the image by wrinkling his nose at the wet flakes.
"It's Montreal," she says, with a bit of a grin. With Toby, she's learned to fill in the gaps. She hears him telling her it's been too long, and also the apology he repeats each time he's seen her.
She can't ever quite be sure what he keeps apologizing for, which transgression he feels is worthy of his unending penitence. It could be the leak, the abandonment, his marriage, or simply the fact that he never calls. But her crooked grin forgives him, just as she always has.
"It's October," he says, ignoring her pity. He knows some things are unforgivable. "It's snowing before Halloween."
She wishes he'd stop punishing himself. "We're farther north than normal." It comes as a shock to her that she means Washington, not Santa Monica, or any of the places she's lived since.
"Yeah," he says, turning and leading her back towards the building. He knows she meant Washington. It will always be his normal, too.
At the doorway she acknowledges the subtext, just slightly, and puts her hand on his arm in a final attempt at forgiveness. He turns to look at her, really look at her, and she wishes they'd been talking about the weather.
He can't bring himself to pull away, and they walk into the conference together, an unfathomable distance between them.