Title: Catalepsy
Author: White Star 2 (hila-p@barak-online.net)
Spoilers: Post-ep for Posse Comitatus
Pairing: very mild CJ/Toby
Disclaimer: In case you're not certain, Aaron owns the lot of them. I'm just kidnapping them shamelessly for those few extra moments he didn't want us to see.
Summary: That night in New York, he watched her and had no idea what he could say.
---
Catalepsy
All the way back to the airport she clutched her coat around her so tightly the leather stretched, like a last shield of armor, like a straightjacket. She huddled up in the corner of the car, her back to the driver and bare feet on the side seat. She didn't once look at him. He made no attempt to hide the fact he was looking at her.
On the plane, Leo pulled him aside and said, "Listen, I put CJ in the room next to my cabin. Go in and see how she's doing later. I don't know how many more times I can be the one to do it before it gets awkward."
He nodded silently. He wanted to say he knew she'd be okay. That he knew she resented being handled and checked up on like that. But instead he just nodded. He hated the loss for words, but his mind remained blank. He found a seat outside the door and buckled in for takeoff, and tried to think of what he could say to her.
Finally he reached in his bag and pulled out a pad of legal paper with three pages left on it and his good pen. It started out like a love letter, with the "Dear CJ" and the slow pace and the cliche words of comfort. He tore it out in one hand and crumpled it into a ball, still playing with it in his left hand as he wrote.
The second page he filled with sentences, things he could say, "At least you're all right," "I know it must hurt," "There's nothing I can do to make it better, but if you want to just talk..." He went down the page and one by one crossed them all out.
He turned the page and the blue lines on yellow paper stared at him. There was nothing to say, nothing he could say that would change anything. There was only her pain and it choked him, too. He found he'd scribbled two short words and they screamed out from the blank page.
I'm sorry.
He put the pad away and shoved the pen in his breast pocket. He tried to get up without unbuckling his seatbelt and it hurt just a little more than he would've expected. He stood face to face with the door for a long moment before he decided to knock. "CJ, it's me," he added after a heartbeat, and it felt like it came out gruff.
He knocked again. No answer. He pushed the door in gently and it surprised him that the lights in the room were on. CJ had folded herself into the airplane seat, hugging her knees and resting her forehead on them. She was wearing a sweater and jeans, and her black dress, the Vera Wang, lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.
"CJ," he said again and she looked up with red, swollen eyes. "Um," he tried to start. He rubbed his forehead but it didn't force the words out any faster.
"Toby," she whispered, he voice strained with tears, "Could you leave?" And as an afterthought, "Please?"
His gaze dropped to his shoes and he watched them as he turned around and walked out. He gave her a last look before he closed the door, and he managed to catch her eyes for an instant. She looked away. He waited, but she didn't look his way again. He shut the door.
Author: White Star 2 (hila-p@barak-online.net)
Spoilers: Post-ep for Posse Comitatus
Pairing: very mild CJ/Toby
Disclaimer: In case you're not certain, Aaron owns the lot of them. I'm just kidnapping them shamelessly for those few extra moments he didn't want us to see.
Summary: That night in New York, he watched her and had no idea what he could say.
---
Catalepsy
All the way back to the airport she clutched her coat around her so tightly the leather stretched, like a last shield of armor, like a straightjacket. She huddled up in the corner of the car, her back to the driver and bare feet on the side seat. She didn't once look at him. He made no attempt to hide the fact he was looking at her.
On the plane, Leo pulled him aside and said, "Listen, I put CJ in the room next to my cabin. Go in and see how she's doing later. I don't know how many more times I can be the one to do it before it gets awkward."
He nodded silently. He wanted to say he knew she'd be okay. That he knew she resented being handled and checked up on like that. But instead he just nodded. He hated the loss for words, but his mind remained blank. He found a seat outside the door and buckled in for takeoff, and tried to think of what he could say to her.
Finally he reached in his bag and pulled out a pad of legal paper with three pages left on it and his good pen. It started out like a love letter, with the "Dear CJ" and the slow pace and the cliche words of comfort. He tore it out in one hand and crumpled it into a ball, still playing with it in his left hand as he wrote.
The second page he filled with sentences, things he could say, "At least you're all right," "I know it must hurt," "There's nothing I can do to make it better, but if you want to just talk..." He went down the page and one by one crossed them all out.
He turned the page and the blue lines on yellow paper stared at him. There was nothing to say, nothing he could say that would change anything. There was only her pain and it choked him, too. He found he'd scribbled two short words and they screamed out from the blank page.
I'm sorry.
He put the pad away and shoved the pen in his breast pocket. He tried to get up without unbuckling his seatbelt and it hurt just a little more than he would've expected. He stood face to face with the door for a long moment before he decided to knock. "CJ, it's me," he added after a heartbeat, and it felt like it came out gruff.
He knocked again. No answer. He pushed the door in gently and it surprised him that the lights in the room were on. CJ had folded herself into the airplane seat, hugging her knees and resting her forehead on them. She was wearing a sweater and jeans, and her black dress, the Vera Wang, lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.
"CJ," he said again and she looked up with red, swollen eyes. "Um," he tried to start. He rubbed his forehead but it didn't force the words out any faster.
"Toby," she whispered, he voice strained with tears, "Could you leave?" And as an afterthought, "Please?"
His gaze dropped to his shoes and he watched them as he turned around and walked out. He gave her a last look before he closed the door, and he managed to catch her eyes for an instant. She looked away. He waited, but she didn't look his way again. He shut the door.
