Chapter Four

The White House

C.J.'s office

A few weeks later, C.J. said in her office, reading through a memo. When someone pushed a piece of paper in front of her.

"What's this word?"

C.J. peered at the scrawled notes in front of her, then at the person holding the paper in front of her. "You think I read Ziegler-ese?"

"At the moment, that is in fact my fervent hope," Deputy White House Communications Director Sam Seaborn replied, sounding optimistic.

"He's your boss."

"And I can make out every word he writes, except this one." He pointed again. "I think it's either 'compensation' or 'competition'."

"The difference could be important then, couldn't it?" C.J. asked flatly.

Sam stepped back from her desk and tilted his head to study her. "What's going on with you, anyway?"

"To my knowledge, nothing is going on with me," she answered breezily. "Why do you ask?"

"You're happy. You haven't been this consistently happy since… Well, I can't remember."

C.J. propped her feet up on the lower shelf. "Well, gee-whiz, Sparky, do tell."

He lowered his voice. "I'm serious. I know things haven't been easy lately, so I'm just saying that if you've found someone that - "

"Sam, are you're trying in your charming way to ask if I'm getting any?"

His sheepish look told her the answer.

"I'll just put your mind at ease with a resounding NO."

He closed his mouth for a moment. "Okay, then."

"I have a social life, you know, and occasionally, I visit with people I find to be interesting. There's absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about it."

"This is about that Navy guy, isn't it?"

The innocent query caused her to swing around so fast that her glasses slipped off her nose and ended up dangling from their chain. "Excuse me?"

Oh oh… "You see, uh, Carol mentioned how great she thought it was that you were seeing that officer from - "

She cut him off a second time. "Okay, the wrath I suddenly have for Carol notwithstanding, I'm not 'seeing' anyone. This is not the Dating Game. He's just a friend, becoming a very good one."

Sam raised his hands in surrender. "In that case, I'll leave before I get added to this wrath list of yours, which I've never heard of before but which scares the crap out of me just the same."

"You do that, Sparky."

Sam hastily retreated out of the office.

"CAROL!"

Luckily for her assistant, Carol was away from her desk, so she unknowingly escaped a dire fate. C.J.'s ire faded quickly as she reflected on the past few weeks. She didn't know how her weekly meetings with Harm had become common knowledge, but wasn't surprised. After all, Café Maria was a public coffeehouse. It wouldn't surprise her if people had seen them together.

She wondered when someone from the press would ask her about it. What did it matter? She thought. She was enjoying the hell out of herself. Harmon Rabb was an intriguing, engaging man, but more importantly, he was real. They had connected amazingly well the past few weeks, having opened up more and more about their respective lives. They talked about everything and nothing, and it had truly been a calming influence in her chaotic life.

He'd told her about losing his father and finding his brother; about his enigmatic relationship with his partner, Sarah MacKenzie; about his frustration and admittedly misplaced guilt over the crippling injury suffered recently by a friend and fellow JAG attorney; and finally about some rather traumatic memories that still haunted him, related to an aircraft he'd had to ditch into the ocean just a year ago. In turn, she'd told him about her father's agonizing decline into Alzheimer's dementia, and she'd opened up some more about what Simon had been - or could have been - to her. She looked forward to Thursdays, all the while pushing aside a few nagging doubts about where it all was heading.

At last, she decided not to smack Carol around for having a big mouth. So what if half the building knew what she did with her Thursday nights? The staff rumor mill wasn't so terrible. If they got a little entertainment out of jumping to conclusions about her social life, let them have their fun.

Famous last words.

The White House

The Oval Office

The next day, she realized just how badly she had underestimated her colleagues. The rumor mill, it turned out, extended as far as the Oval Office.

"…Rankin's threatening to mobilize a whole slew of southern Democrats against the higher education bill," Josh was reporting as he paced behind the couch. "He says that they weren't elected to support New England academic elitism."

"That's hysterical, coming from a Stanford graduate," President Josiah 'Jed' Bartlet commented dryly. "Leo?"

"I'll take care of it," the White House Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry, promised. "Rankin will close up shop at the first hint of a discussion on health care reform."

"Dangle it in front of him, but don't get carried away. What's next?"

"That's it, sir."

"All right. Beat it, you slackers."

Amid the murmurs of "Thank you, Mr. President," Bartlet beckoned to C.J. with a finger. "Hold on a minute, C.J."

She paused in mid-stride, hoping his apparent good mood was genuine. "Yes, sir?"

He stood up from his chair, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Dare I believe the buzz around here? Have you gotten chummy with a Navy commander?"

C.J. resisted the immediate urge to shake her head in sheer amazement. "Sir, I'm not going to bother asking how you came by that information - "

"Charlie, who else?"

" - But I'm sure that whatever you heard was vastly overblown." She tried to deflect.

"Oh, I doubt that. I usually get pretty good intel in this line of work."

The President regarded her calmly. "Harmon Rabb Jr., of the JAG Corps and the naval aviation service, depending on the day. Annapolis graduate, a veteran of combat missions over Iraq, Libya, Kosovo, and Afghanistan, and apparently the savior of the USS Seahawk battle group earlier this year and currently a member of the Joint War Crimes Tribunal Task Force. Did I hit the highlights?"

"Charlie again?"

"He's a diligent researcher," he said nonchalantly.

She spread her hands. "Mr. President, it's nothing serious. We have fun together as friends, and that's it."

"Call it what you will," he said agreeably, tweaking her nerves. "What's he like?"

Either it was a slow day, she concluded, or the chief executive was feeling paternal suddenly. "He's smart," she answered honestly. "Very smart, in fact."

"Smarter than your average lawyer, or than your average sailor?"

"Both, probably. He's rather knowledgeable about foreign relations - he's got several opinions on the state of affairs in the Middle East that probably bear some resemblance to what you get in your briefings."

That earned a sharp look. "C.J., you haven't been telling tales out of school, have you?"

That stung. "Sir, I haven't been read in on any of that stuff, but if I had, I wouldn't be passing that information along to my friends, even if they had clearance."

"I know. I just had to ask."

He drew a weary hand over his eyes, a gesture that didn't escape her notice. "Never mind. Bring him in here, would you?"

She blinked, wondering if she'd misheard. She truly hoped so. "I'm sorry, sir?"

"This ubiquitous aviator of yours. I'd like to meet any man who can hold your attention like this."

As he meandered back around his desk, she folded her arms. "May I ask what you intend to do, besides possibly cleaning a shotgun in front of him?"

"Nobody likes a wiseass, C.J. Last I checked, I was still a member in good standing of the Democratic Party."

Bartlet leaned forward on the desk. "You were going to see him tonight anyway, right? Haul him in here instead. It's shaping up to be an uneventful evening."

C.J. sighed. She considered trying to refuse. It was a ridiculous request - but then again; it wasn't really a request. He was the President of the United States, and if he wanted to meet with a particular officer for whatever reason, no discussion was necessary. She sighed. She knew that Harm had met the last President and that he had also held his ground with the King of Romania, and the Presidents of Russia and Cuba. He could handle the Bartlet third degree, she hoped.

C.J. sighed. "Yes, sir." There was nothing else she could say.

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, Virginia

Mac knocked on Harm's door, "Hey. Have you been working on your closing this whole time?"

"Pretty much." Harm shrugged. "Arguing extenuating circumstance seems weak, but the corporal didn't give me much choice in the matter."

"It'll work out. You busy tonight? Sturgis and I were going to hassle each other about the Williams appeal in front of the Cubs-Diamondbacks game."

He hesitated slightly. "Sorry, I kinda have a standing coffee date."

He checked his watch. "And I'm late."

Commander Sturgis Turner wandered in at that point, briefcase in tow. "With the mysterious C.J. again? Buddy, are you ever going to clue us in on that?"

Mac cocked an eyebrow, waiting for his answer. This was the first time she had heard anything about a standing coffee date or this C.J. She was curious, but on some level, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to know.

"What's to clue in on? It's coffee and a friendly conversation with a friend. That's all."

Harm recognized the defensive note in his voice and cursed inwardly. The last thing he wanted to do was give Mac the wrong impression.

"Coffee and civvies, apparently." Mac pointed to the duffel hanging in his office. "Or is that an overnight bag?"

Sturgis shot her an incredulous look, shocked that she'd made such a brazen inquiry.

Harm, too, was thrown off stride - he'd thought they were past this kind of thing. It seemed he had been wrong.

"It is not. I've just gotten into the habit of changing. Originally she said something about wanting to see me out of uniform for a change - "

As his friends' eyebrows shot up, he stopped, chuckling. "Oh, I don't believe I walked into that one, too."

Harm thought back a few weeks when C.J. had said the same words to him. "Never mind, all right? I just like not being a recruiting poster for one night a week. But it will have to wait until next week. If I don't go now, I will be much too late."

He walked out his office door into the quiet bullpen. His gaze strayed up to the bank of television monitors and he stopped. One was re-broadcasting that afternoon's White House press conference. Mac was the first who put two and two together. Her jaw dropped, "you're kidding. That C.J.?"

Coming to the same conclusion, Sturgis asked, "And you call yourself a Republican?"

He was only half-joking. Harm gave them both a hard look. "I call myself open-minded, thank you very much. And on that note, good night," he called over his shoulder, heading for the elevators.

"Oo-kay …" Mac said, as she watched him go, her expression uncertain. "Sturgis," she began quietly, "do you think - ?"

"Do I think the love of your life is sleeping with the White House Press Secretary?" he finished for her. She glared at him but allowed him to continue.

"No, I don't. But if you're really worried about it, it seems to me that the most direct course of action would be to talk to him."

"You've been saying that for months now."

"And you've been ignoring it for at least that long," Sturgis replied calmly.

She picked up her cover and purse without giving him a direct response. "You're a big help, Sturgis, you know that?"

"I try. Come on, the game's starting."

As he drove into the District from Falls Church, Harm mulled over the conversation in the bullpen. For reasons he couldn't explain, the idea that Mac might see his meetings with C.J. as actual dates bothered him. It wasn't that he owed her an explanation, but - well, maybe he did. It was hard to be sure of anything on that subject. So what else is new, he thought bitterly.

Maybe he'd stop by Sturgis's place on the way home from Café Maria and watch the last couple of innings with them. At least then she'd know that he wasn't going home with C.J. Damn. He was turning this into a perfect military mess, or what? "Avoid even the appearance of impropriety…"

He wasn't doing anything - and even if he had been, it wouldn't be wrong. Whatever he and Mac were, they were certainly not in a committed relationship. A few months ago he had thought that they were on the right path. But they just weren't able to reach the finish line. The state of affairs between them was bothering him more and more. He knew that he had feelings for Mac, had known that for a while. And he was pretty sure that she had feelings for him, too. Her jealous behavior earlier was a good indication. But for one reason or another, they just didn't get their act together.

And now there was C.J. It did not exactly surprise him that they had had a good time at their first coffee date, friendly meeting, whatever it was supposed to be. He had enjoyed talking to her during their meeting in the White House. But it surprised him about how much he enjoyed their evenings, how much he was looking forward to them. It had been a while since he had a friend outside of work. When he wasn't working, he was usually meeting with Mac, if they weren't in one of their squabbles, or playing basketball with Sturgis.

Even more so, he couldn't believe the level of companionship and trust C.J. and he had built in just a few weeks. He normally was more reserved. It had taken him more time to get so comfortable with Mac, and that was not only because she was the spitting image of his late friend Diane.

C.J. Cregg was a smart and witty woman. He enjoyed their conversations, even when they were arguing about their lives, sports, or politics. Although they tried to steer away from that topic as much as possible. He was happy that their disagreements never turn to disputes, hurtful accusations, or snide comments. Unlike his spats with Mac. Here it was again…

He had realized a few weeks ago that he was comparing the two women more often. He sighed, this was not the time to delve into that. Determined to push those doubts aside for the moment, he parked outside the café. As he opened his door to climb out of the car, a figure appeared in his peripheral vision, and he swung quickly to his feet, instantly alert.

C.J. held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Whoa, tiger. Are you always this jumpy?"

"I live in a rough neighborhood and tend to have several people pissed off at me at any given time," he answered, relaxing. "Sorry. Why aren't you waiting inside?"

"Because we're not staying. Get back in your car and follow me."

"Where are we going?"

"The staff entrance to the West Wing."

"Should I bother asking why?"

"Somebody wants to meet you."

"Somebody?"

"Yes."

Harm followed her with his eyes as C.J. walked back to her car.

'Somebody' wouldn't be one of her colleagues, because they could have come to the Café or met at a bar. There was only one person he could think of that couldn't just go anywhere he liked. Great...

C.J. had purposely avoided telling him who the 'somebody' was until they were through security and moving through the expansive lobby. When she finally confessed, it merely confirmed his suspicions, but it didn't dull the impact of the idea.

"You're telling me we're just going to march down the hall, walk into the Oval Office, and say 'Hello, Mr. President'?" He asked her incredulously.

"Unless he's busy running the country or something, yes."

Harm narrowed his eyes at her as they stepped into her office. "You're not nearly as funny as you think you are, Claudia Jean," he told her flatly.

"You'd see the humor in this situation if it were happening to someone other than you."

She replied, outwardly trying to project a calm appearance. On the inside, she was dreading the upcoming meeting. She could see that Harm was feeling defensive, and from their short time together she knew that his normal reaction to that feeling was to go on the offensive.

Oh, this will not end well, she thought.

"Well, I'm not that lucky, am I?" He said sarcastically. "Seriously, C.J., what could the President want with me? He doesn't call in all your friends for a meeting, right?"

"You're overestimating my social skills and underestimating the all-consuming nature of this job. The truth is, I don't have another friend like you in this entire time zone," she replied.

And then she sighed. "Look, Harm, no matter how many times I try to tell people that we're just friends, they all invariably assume that we're - what do you Navy types call it?"

"Hot-bunking?" he supplied, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Exactly. I think the President just misses harassing his daughters' boyfriends. He won't tear you apart. I promise. And you'll be able to say you've met your Commander-in-Chief."

"You know that I already have met one." Harm sighed. "I don't have any choice here, do I?"

"Not that I've noticed." She smiled sweetly and extended a hand toward the door. "Shall we?"

They moved through Josh's bullpen, where Toby, Josh, and Sam were huddling over a recent draft of the weekly radio address. C.J. was well aware that the guys had all been vocal participants in the speculation about her love life: nothing turned the three of them into frat boys faster than an opportunity to mess with the only female senior staffer. Now she had an opportunity to head some of it off.

"Ah, the Three Musketeers. Harm, this is Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman, Communications Director Toby Ziegler, and Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn. Guys, meet my friend, Commander Harmon Rabb."

Harm shook their hands, easily ignoring the way the activity of the area seemed to have slowed down upon his arrival. He was accustomed to that from the JAG bullpen.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," he said in his Navy voice he reserved for meeting new officers and the brass.

"Good to meet you, too," Sam responded first, "and I for one would like to thank you for whatever you've done to make C.J. so much nicer to be around lately - "

"Knock it off, Samuel," C.J. directed with a tight smile.

Oh god… C.J. realized that introducing Harm to them may not have been a good idea after all.

"Hey, let me ask you a question, Commander," Josh jumped in before Harm could react to the previous exchange. "Do you feel that this administration supports academic elitism?"

"Oh, we're not going to get into this again, are we?" Toby rolled his eyes.

"I want an outside opinion on this," Josh insisted. "Federal aid for higher education is getting hung up on about a million different issues, but the big ones are state-sponsored universities versus private institutions and merit-based versus need-based scholarships. We've got Congressmen complaining that the President can't see the little people from his ivory tower, and I don't think the group of us here with our Ivy League diplomas can be totally objective."

"Hey, I went to a state school," C.J. objected.

"So did I," Toby chimed in, "and we're not going to have this discussion again, all right?"

"I don't know if I'm really the right person to weigh in on this, anyway," Harm added with a shrug.

But Josh was on the trail now, too. "Commander, you went to college, I assume?"

C.J. just looked at him, stunned and exasperated. That question summed up everything Josh - and probably the rest of them - didn't know about the military: a college degree was a requirement for commissioning as an officer.

But Harm didn't even flinch. "Well, my law degree is from Georgetown," he replied smoothly, "but my graduating class at the Naval Academy was approximately nine hundred midshipmen. When it comes to elitism, I think we pretty much take the prize."

Oh god, oh god…

"And since there's no tuition, he can't help you with the scholarship issue, either," C.J. said curtly, taking his arm and pulling him away. "We're late. Say goodnight, boys."

As they disappeared down the corridor, Josh turned to the other two. "I just insulted him, didn't I?"

"Pretty effectively," was Toby's assessment.

Donna stepped out of Josh's office, where she'd been eavesdropping, and leveled an accusing stare on all of them. "Well done, guys. Congratulations on perpetuating the stereotypical liberal anti-military bias. Did you think he could be a lawyer without going to college?"

"How was I supposed to know he was a lawyer?" Josh said defensively. "I'm a lawyer. Is he in any way like me?"

"Please tell me you don't want an answer to that," Donna replied.

"He wears wings like he's a pilot. Does the Navy let their people moonlight like that?" Sam said.

Toby frowned and turned to Josh. "And didn't you tell me that we'll present him with a decoration?"

"Maybe he got the wings from a flight attendant on Delta," Josh theorized, already harboring an instant dislike for anyone who could command so much of C.J.'s respect.

"He could get a lot of things from a flight attendant on Delta," Donna replied with a sly grin.

"Go - fax something, would you?" Josh said irritably.

"Envy is unbecoming, Joshua …"

Charlie Young glanced up when C.J. and Harm made their way into the outer office.

"Commander Rabb, it's nice to see you again."

"Charlie!" Harm exclaimed, holding out his hand to greet the younger man.

"It's nice to see you, too. And it's still Harm for you."

"You two know each other?"

"Yes, C.J. The Young's and I lived in the same neighborhood once," Harm replied. "But we haven't seen each other for a while now."

"Yes. We should remedy that, Harm."

"Of course. Here is my card. Call me."

Charlie checked his watch. "You can go in now."

"Thanks, Charlie."

C.J. opened the door. Harm, drawing a deep breath, followed her inside and came to attention in front of the wide oak desk.

"Mr. President, may I present Commander Harmon Rabb, Junior," C.J. introduced Harm.

Bartlet looked up at the officer standing in front of him and waved a hand. "At ease, relax."

Harm eased into a parade-rest stance, still wary, as the President eyed him up and down.

"So. You're the one who saved nearly six thousand sailors from a nuclear blast, huh?"

Harm blinked, unsure how to answer. "In a manner of speaking, sir."

"'In a manner of speaking'? Did you or did you not allow a guided missile to lock onto your engine and lead it away from the Seahawk battle group?"

"I did, sir."

"Then drop the 'aw, shucks' routine, Commander." Josiah Bartlet's grey eyes were steely. "Pilots are seldom, if ever, truly humble, and I know this because I have one for my Chief of Staff."

"I apologize, sir. I'm also a lawyer so that screws it up."

"I have a few of those skulking around, too, and they're worse."

Oh god, oh god, oh god...

C.J., hovering near the door, winced. This is just like bringing a prom date home to meet Dad, just worse. Much, much worse, she thought helplessly.

"C.J. says you're well-versed in foreign affairs, and that you're one of the smartest people she knows. I'm trying not to take offense at that, since she knows me, too, but let's stick with the first topic. I'm not sure I've ever met a military officer below the level of general staff who honestly cared about foreign policy. They always seem to want only as much information as they need to carry out their objectives. So is your interest connected to your legal responsibilities, or your survival instinct as an aviator?"

"I don't think everything in my life falls neatly into one category or the other, sir. I'm a concerned citizen like anyone else. It is more of interest for me because of my job."

"I see." Bartlet leaned back in his chair. "I've never been under any illusions about the general opinion your brothers-and-sisters-in-arms have of me. I'm an economics professor who never spent a day in uniform. I don't give them enough money or freedom to fulfill their mission to the extent that they'd like. Would you call that a fair assessment?"

"I couldn't say, sir. I'm sure that several officers felt that way, but a lot of things changed when we went into Afghanistan. I think people took a different view of the military's role in the entire process, and part of that is understanding that we have to maintain a balance with our elected leadership."

"What a diplomatic response. I'm going to go ahead and cut right to it, okay? What I really want to know is what you think, not what the Navy tells you to think."

Despite the intimidating locale, Harm felt a flash of anger, and he instinctively drew himself up even taller. "Mr. President, the Navy tells me many things, but what I think is still my choice."

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.

C.J. cringed in the background. She recognized her boss had made the inflammatory comment deliberately, to goad the other man into fully speaking his mind. She just hoped that it wouldn't blow up in their faces.

"Glad to hear it. See, I'm having a hard time reading you, Commander. You're not falling all over yourself to impress me, which I like, but at the same time, I'm wondering whether gaining my respect means anything to you at all."

Harm's eyes widened slightly. "Sir, if I've been disrespectful, I - "

"That's not what I said, so you can stop covering your ass. I'm going to present you with a hypothetical situation, to get around your innate apprehensions about criticizing your superiors. If you happened to agree with my politics, which I realize is doubtful, would you have voted for me?"

At that moment, Harm realized that Josiah Bartlet was, among other things, a brilliant judge of human behavior. He didn't have a hard time reading anyone. Not only had he recognized his visitor's hesitation, but he'd also most likely pinpointed the reasons for it, and now he was waiting to see whether this confident young officer had the guts to fess up to them.

Harmon Rabb, of course, had never in his life backed down from a challenge. Even one issued by the most powerful man in the world, his Commander-in-Chief. "Four years ago, yes, sir."

"But not now?" the President pressed.

He tightened his hands into fists behind his back, not backing down. "Sir, I admire some of your accomplishments - "

"But I lied."

"You concealed the truth, sir. I built my entire career on finding out the truth. In my line of work, truth is the strongest - and sometimes the only ally I've got."

Bartlet stared impassively at him for an interminable moment. At last, he said simply, "Okay."

"Sir?"

"Okay, you can keep seeing C.J."

Harm shook his head, perplexed. "Mr. President, I'm not seeing C.J. She's a good friend." Harm paused, thought for a moment, then added, "but even if we were, Sir, I wouldn't need your approval."

There was absolute silence in the Oval Office. Grey eyes stared intensively at green eyes. Harm didn't flinch. The silence stretched on.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh MY GOD!

C.J. looked from one man to the other, nearly hyperventilating.

"Thank you for coming in on short notice, Commander." The President dismissed him coldly.

Unnerved by the exchange, C.J. instantly stepped forward and grabbed Harm.

"Thank you, Mr. President," they both said simultaneously and left the Oval Office. She held on to Harm's arm and silently dragged him to her office.

When they reached it, she shut the door securely before turning on him. "What the hell, Harm?" She whispered furiously, barely restraining her urge to shout. But she didn't want to attract even more attention than she had, dragging Harm to her office.

Harm was still a bit dazed, wondering if he had just crashed and burned his career. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me Harm, what was that at the end? Hell, what was is about your attitude in there?"

Harm had to fight his urge to lash out. It wasn't C.J.'s fault what happened. Harm's thoughts were a mess, so he didn't think about his next words.

"C.J., the President can order many things, especially to a member of the military. However, he has no say in the matter of who I date unless it's a member of the armed services or perhaps a foreign national. I don't need his approval to keep seeing you. The only opinions that matter on that topic, whether we try to date, are yours and mine."

That statement shocked her. Of course, she had some thoughts about that topic in the past few weeks, despite her claims otherwise. But they had both avoided anything that would open the door to that conversation. Having Harm simply state it, shocked her. She needed a moment to think about that.

"Okay, we're coming back to that topic later."

"I'm sure."

"But first I want to talk about the other thing. In all our talks, I never put my finger on it, but now I know what your problem with him is. Not welfare or gun control or the environment, but his multiple sclerosis?" she asked bluntly.

Detecting a harsh note in her voice, Harm tensed. "My level of respect for a person isn't tied to politics, and his political ability has very little to do with having the disease. But that isn't what he asked, and for me, it all comes back to trust."

"You don't find him trustworthy?"

He sighed. This had the potential to get ugly, that's why he had tried to avoid that specific topic as long as possible.

"C.J., I'm not so naïve to think that you can win at this game by being a perfect boy scout. I know that's impossible. But the fact is, he deliberately chose to conceal his state of health from the public – for years. He decided that getting himself into that office was more important than being open and forthright with the people who he asked to elect him. I'm not condemning him for that. I think there's a strong possibility that he may be the best person to lead this country. But the image he presented to the American public, to me as my Commander-in-Chief, for the last few years wasn't truthful, and I can't in good conscience reward a person for that."

"So that's it? End of story? You'd rather just give your vote to Robert Ritchie, a man who probably had to lie about his IQ? You're truly are a slave to your morals." She told him angrily.

"Why are you getting so indignant about this? I'm not attacking you or anyone else. You didn't know, did you?"

She didn't respond right away, and he knew that he'd somehow hit close to home.

"C.J.? Did you know the President had multiple sclerosis?"

She met his gaze, and there was a flicker of uncertainty there that he hadn't seen before. She was about to answer when Harm interrupted her. "Wait, give me a dollar before you answer that."

She looked at him, not understanding his meaning.

"It's a retainer, so everything you say to me will fall under attorney-client privilege."

C.J. stared at him. She hadn't even thought about that. She grabbed her purse, took out a ten-dollar bill, and handed it to Harm. "Next coffee is on you," she told him, and he nodded. After a brief silence, C.J. spoke. "I didn't know he had M.S. until a couple of weeks before the announcement," she told him, her voice distant. "But as soon as he told us, we had to go right into damage control. We spent days figuring out the best possible way to break the news. I had to talk to about a million lawyers, and … I'd been an accomplice to something for years without even knowing it, but as soon as I did know, I had to defend every action we'd ever taken. And I needed - I still need - to believe that that was the right thing to do. So I have to believe in him. If I don't, I might as well give up and go back to California."

He nodded, accepting that reasoning. But she wasn't finished, not by a long shot. "And to tell you the truth, I'm getting a little tired of having to defend him on this issue. It's been months since we owned up to this story, and if people haven't gotten the idea by now that he's perfectly fit to hold office, then I don't know what will convince them."

"I never questioned that," Harm simply said.

"No, all you care about is him not elaborating on every detail before getting on the ballot four years ago."

"He didn't elaborate on any detail of it." Harm cut himself off before the discussion could get heated again. "Why are we going around in circles about this?"

"Because I can't convince myself that you have any respect for me if you don't have any respect for him!" She exclaimed.

"I never said I didn't have any respect for him! C.J., people make mistakes in judgment. Big ones, sometimes. Believe me, I used up my quota of those a long time ago. It doesn't make them bad people. I respect the President, he has made some toughs decisions which I'm sure will go against many things he believes. And he did that for the American people. I respect that, I truly do. But whether or not I respect him, has nothing to do with you. I don't know what else to tell you."

Harm said, waving his hands. He turned to leave, but her voice halted his action.

"Harm, wait. I'm sorry." He looked at her. "I don't know why I'm so desperate for your approval, but thank you for not rescinding it based on this little neurotic episode. If it helps, I think on this topic you made a good impression. The President likes people who stand by their principles and don't give him any crap. But..."

"Yeah, but…" An awkward silence set up in the room with both not knowing what to say.

It was C.J. who broke the silence. "Are you doing anything next Friday night?"

"Uh oh. Are you considering breaking our pattern of Thursdays?"

"Live a little," C.J. said, gathering the courage to continue to say what she had wanted to ask him. "We've got a state dinner planned for the President of Brazil, and I thought that for once, it might be nice to have someone to dance with at one of these things."

His eyebrow arched. "You ask me to accompany you to a state dinner after what just happened in there and before that meeting?"

"Before?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure your colleagues like me very much."

"They're social morons - it's part of their charm. And the other thing?" She pointed in direction of the Oval Office. "Well, you did more or less tell your Commander-in-Chief that his opinion of us dating didn't matter to you. And a few minutes ago you told me that whether or not we'd date was our decision. So, again, are you busy next Friday, or not?"

Harm stared at C.J., amazed at her courage. "Unless I get sent out on a case at the last minute, I think I'm free. I'd better get my dress uniform cleaned, though."

"And polish your medals. I always wanted to have a date who clinks when he walks."

He rolled his eyes skyward. "You're still not funny, Claudia Jean."

"I know," she said unrepentantly. "I still want to do coffee next week, though."

"You'd better. I'm going to need an update on the etiquette lesson. Can I leave now, or will security attack me if you don't walk me out?"

"You outrank most of our security," she pointed out.

"That's true, but I doubt it matters to them. They'll just call me 'sir' while they're pinning me against the wall, holding a gun to my face."

She gave a dismissive wave. "You're fine. Get out of here."

Harm made his way to the door.

"Harm," he turned around, "thank you for coming in here." She didn't have to tell him she meant more than just accompanying him. He just nodded.

When he'd vanished around the corner, she sat down at her desk and thought about what she'd just done. After making sure that she was looking for a platonic companion for an evening, then settling into their friendship, and after they'd both done everything in their power to convince the rest of the world, including the freaking President of the United States, - she'd raised the stakes from weekly coffee to a formal date. And not just a simple date. No, a date at a state dinner where her bosses, colleagues, Washington's who is whose, and even worse the media, would attend.

Oh god…

Well, would it be so terrible to give it - them - a try, just for an evening? She liked him, damn it. Was there anything wrong with that? Well, not really. Then again, there were two rather deep pitfalls in that very idea, and she knew it. One was the possibility that they would be totally, utterly wrong for each other, on a more than platonic level, and that their friendship would be ruined. The other, she was forced to admit, was a Marine Colonel whom she'd never met, but who seemed to have an inexplicable hold on the otherwise unflappable Harmon Rabb.

She'd tried on more than one occasion to discern exactly what her friend felt for Sarah MacKenzie, but with no luck. He either stone-walled her or changed the topic. Certainly, there was a powerful bond between the partners, evidenced simply by the way he spoke of her. However, she'd learned early on that Harm was exceptionally good at shielding his genuine emotions. Still, he was a grown-up, and he could make his own decisions. Unless or until he told her otherwise, she had no obligation to keep him at arm's length. When Friday night came, she'd just play it by ear and do what made sense at the time.

Abruptly she stood up and grabbed her purse. It was late, and she wanted to comb her closet for a suitable dress. After three years of formal functions, she had a rather impressive selection, but she couldn't help thinking about the black Vera Wang gown she'd banished to the back of the closet after that night in May, surely never to be worn again. Maybe it was time to look for another Vera Wang.