I apologize for the spelling errors that I have made in previous parts and that I'll probably continue to make. I type a little too quickly sometimes, and spell check does not function as it should... I manually checked the whole thing (excluding this part) today. Ouch.

My thanks go to Jess for her help, which kept this part... well, in existence. I almost trashed the whole thing. Also, thanks to all who have sent feedback thus far, it's been *very* helpful! And remember, I love it, so keep on sending the suggestions, messages, and whatever else you'd like to send. It'll make me very happy :-)


Part Two:


"Claudia Jean," Josh said, his mood suddently seeming a little more sour, "What," he pushed her sleeve down as she lifted her head from it's prop on her hand, "is this?" Toby stood at the door, appearing quite the casual observer if not for the scowl and downcast, worried eyes.

"Let me guess," the words rolled off of her tongue as a milion thoughts surged like bumper cars through her mind, "Donna?" No one moved, Josh's angry and concerned eyes held CJ's tired and wondering ones, and yet he was unaware of the mental and emotional battle his and Toby's presences had caused her to wage within herself. She'd never been a very good liar, and her heart tended to wear itself, without her knowledge on her sleeves. She was the strong one, she'd long ago decided, the one who couldn't afford to make mistakes because they so often did, she cleaned up after them like a forgiving mother and yet loved them anyway. His eyes were darkened with anger, directed at whomever had caused or would ever cause her pain. Sighing she broke the void, "It's a bruise Josh. Toby, come on in, I can see you're just as curious. Before you plot to mame anyone, or go off saying you must defend my honor, let me remind you that I'm a big girl and can take care of myself, and you are hardly my big brothers." She paused for a moment, letting her words have the desired effect, "And lastly, I hit my arm on my nightstand while I was sleeping a few nights ago, and this," CJ indicated the bruise with a wave of her hand, "is the result. Now, is there anything else?" She pinched the bridge of her nose, anticipating a headache.

"I was worried," Josh wanted to say, but instead, his eyes softened and he sighed, "No."

"Then get out so I can deal with Oscar the Grouch and get back to work. And tell Donna to stop worrying and speculating!" she finished, her final words coinciding with the latching of her office door.

Toby shuffled his feet, then sat. "You're a horrible liar, CJ. I've known you forever and I know when you're lying." This time, it seemed it was his vocabulary that failed him. "You don't ahve a table by your bed, CJ, I've been to your apartment, I know how your furniture is arranged."

Attempting a diversion, she grinned "Feng Sui, Toby."

"Pardon?" he seemed startled by her lighthearted words.

"Ask the President, "CJ replied, and started to return to work, but Toby's gaze caught hers and she couldn't bear to break it.

"Who hurt you, CJ? The roses, the ones you told Carol to..." he saw her gaze sharpen, "I overheard you, Carol's not gossiping." Again, Toby paused, "I know you, CJ."

And he did, that much she knew. In the ten or so years he'd known her and she'd known him, he'd been the only constant, her best friend, dinner companion, protector. She trusted him, she loved him, and she feared his disappointment and rejection more than anything. In her dreams, he pulled her from the tide and stopped her from drowning, during the campaign, his bickering and baiting made her young and alive and happy, and at Rosslyn, the touch of his hand, his grip on her shoulder, kept her alive and somehow safer. For al lthe times he'd saved her, helped her, befriended her, she loved and respected and cherished him. And so, she smiled, held his gaze, and told him as much of the truth as she dared to remember, of drinks and loneliness and hands and smoke and bruises. And when she finished, she smiled regretfully, sadly, and he unexpectedly nodded back, his eyes again understanding, and took her into his arms in a small gesture of support. Only seconds later, he pulled back, manner gruff, eyes narrowed, and began to worry aout a man who dared to send a woman expensive red roses after two semi-anonymous and drunken one-night-stands.

And he remembered, as she argued her case, the desperation he'd felt when Andi had called to say she was leaving - permanently, and who he'd gone to, smelling of Scotch and cigars, his face streaked with tears. His best friend, his CJ, had held onto him while he sobbed himself to a blissful state of unconsciousness and she watched him as he dreamed. Toby shook himself from his train of thought, wondering if he'd ever said thank you before he forced himself to forget.

Then, he waved his hand in the air, cutting off her diatribe as she closed with, "Thank you for worrying, but I can take care of myself."

"Right," he said, and the doubtful tone she expected to hear wasn't there, "You did well, with the press conference; the diversion to the bill from the Grand Jury."

She smiled, knowing that was as much a concession from him that she'd get. But when his eyes were finally trapped by hers, she felt small and strange, and CJ realized she'd hurt him. With the epiphany she backed away, wanting to apologize, to seek absolution, but she didn't, breaking his gaze with an almost-bitter smile, knowing he wouldn't accept her words. After a moment, she chose to break the silence, not because it was uncomfortable but because she wanted to keep him there. "I'm already kind of hungry, what would you think of getting lunch in an hour, an early one albeit?"

"I would think lunch would make you less hungry, therefore it would be a good idea." She couldn't see the smile for his beard, but just the same, she knew it was there.

"With me, Toby?" CJ paused, a laugh escaping, "Would you go get lunch with me in an hour, Toby? Or do you fear for your reputation?" she goaded, teasing.

He rolled his eys, nodded his head, "I'll tell Ginger to clear my lunch schedule." And he was standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, Toby," she whispered as he left, and though he did not stop, his pace slowed, and she knew he'd heard.

Another smile lit her face as she leaned against the side of desk, Josh still breathed and worried, Toby still bickered and pretended to be horrible and gruff, there was no blood beneath her fingernails, no tears in her eyes -- she was safe, she was needed, she was loved. Rosslyn and Manchester and death suddenly seemd a world away, she mused, in a near euphoric mood.

Carol stuck her head in the door, pleasantly surprised by her mood, "Italian or French?"

"What?" CJ asked, and walked around her desk to sit in her own chair, throwing her legs across the furniture.

"That's what he wants to know. Pick up the phone," Carol nodded at it, which rang as if in answer. "Good thing this is a slow news day."

With more than a slight hesitation, CJ picked up the phone, suddenly as worried as Toby tried to convince her to be. "Hello?" her voice was strong, it did not betray her, and as soon as she heard his breath in the receiver, she knew it was him and began to talk, fighting nervousness. "I guess you didn't get my message, which is understandable, but, uhm," she paused to still and coordinate her words, "this isn't a good idea, if anything, it's a terrible one. The roses were... thoughtful, or sending them was, but I can't do this, and I apologize for the misunderstanding." Again, CJ paused for a second, but this time he broke in, and her thoughts turned to blood and bruises and smoke.

"I got your message, Claudia," he breathed into the phone, "but I don't think you've understand what you've said... or it's effects."

"My name..." she interrupted, more forcefully, but again he cut her off, this time with laughter.

"Your name is Claudia, and that's what I've chosen to call you. Have lunch with me, let me see you."

"I have plans," she answered, perhaps a little too quickly.

"Dinner, then," his words moved like his fingers, slowly, in circles. He traced the television screen, her laughing face freeze-framed.

"No, this is not going to happen, ever. I can't do this, just - no." Again, her tone did not betray her shaking hands.

"Claudia..."

And she dropped the phone back to the receiver, pacing on the other side of her desk. There's a reason they say learn from your mistakes, she decided then, his voice had unnerved her, though she'd heard it before. Same voice, different undertone, anger and arrogance and a right-wing sense of misogeny had fallen on her ears and she could almost feel her skin crawl. It was strange, she thought, as she clasped her hands and forced herself to slow her breathing, how his voice alone made her feel all of the things she kept thinking she'd escape from, desperation and anger and uncleanliness. With her eyes closed, she stood and swayed without warning, smelling roses and blood and fear - her own.

And in the darkened office that swam with memories of mistakes-made, bullets, and words she couldn't take back, no one was there to catch her when she fell.