Title: Indelible Ink
Characters: CJ Cregg
Rating: Teen? Yeah, Still awesome at ratings.
Notes: Tail end of Season 7. Response to a prompt 'CJ gets Inked'
Disclaimer: All credit goes to Sorkin, Wells, & NBC/Warner Bros.
"I'm getting a tattoo."
It's a weird thing to say in the middle of a tattoo parlor, cause, y'know. Dur. CJ says it anyway, though, cause the multi-colored dude behind the counter doesn't seem to believe it any more than she does.
"But –you're on CSPAN."
"You watch CSPAN?"
"It's Washington."
Okay. Clearly, her first error had been using the internet to look this place up. She should've just gone by the bathroom stall graffiti at the bar down the block from her place like Hogan'd suggested.
…You know, maybe this time would be put to better use by having a conversation with her niece.
CJ's bolts –or, rather, starts to bolt, cause the guy behind the counter starts begging her to wait, and she actually does. Because, yeah, it's crazy, and it's stupid, but she really wants to do this.
And, no, she's not drunk, though she kind of wishes she were, if not to dull the pain, then to at least have some kind of plausible deniability to shield herself with later down the line.
"You know what you want?"
"Yeah." CJ digs a piece of paper out of the back pocket of her jeans –she'd worn them to blend in, hell of a lot of good that ended up doing –and passes it over to the guy, all the while forcing herself to process the fact that she was about to entrust her body to a twenty-something with "GOOD-TIMES" tattooed on his knuckles.
"A goldfish? With a beard and a little hat?"
"It's a fedora. With a press pass in stuck in the brim."
Oh, lord. A tattooed maniac is looking at her like she's the one in a freakshow. Okay. Maybe it's time to go.
"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I can do this."
Aaaaand she's not leaving. She's nodding. Great.
"Know where you want it?"
Still nodding, cause she can't seem to get up the nerve to voice it, the crazy, nagging idea that's been after her for way longer than she's willing to admit, even in her own head. But it's now or never, so she spits it out:
"My left thigh, on the inside. High up so, you know. It won't show."
The kid looks impressed. Honest to god, 'you're kinda cool for a CSPAN-er' impressed. So that's…mortifying.
"I'm gonna mock this up, but you can head back, grab a seat, get settled."
'Back' involves ducking behind a curtain and for a minute, CJ's overwhelmed by what-the-hell-are-you-thinking jitters. Then she thinks about the drawing. And she thinks about thinking about the drawing for, well, ever. And –this is what'll eventually propel to the back of the shop –she thinks about what the man behind the fish is going to say when she spreads her legs and lets him stroke the skin underneath the set of scales that just happen to spell out his initials.