TITLE: Back Roads: Find Her
AUTHOR: Kansas J. Miller
PAIRING: CJ/Carol
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: I didn't want to believe that my brave CJ was really just a front…
SPOILERS: None, but as soon as we get new episodes you can count on it!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. Aaron Sorkin does, and we all know his brain is not on THIS wavelength!
***
I was almost there. I could see it— but the edge of a peaceful, drifting sleep was just outside my reach. Maybe in a few more minutes, I would grasp the beautiful dream, the respite from worry. It was so otherworldly, and yet I was aware of being in my apartment. Vaguely, I could hear the murmuring television. The fingers in my hair were distinctly soothing.
My head was in CJ's lap, and my feet were curled up against my body and the back of the sofa. I chastised myself—thinking was keeping me from the sleep I so desperately longed for.
Suddenly the dreaded panic hit me again. My mother. She knew. She hated me. She was angry, hurt, disgusted, and so many other nameless things. And there was nothing I could do to change it. Her daughter was a lesbian, and yes, the world had ended. Bitter sarcasm shot through my brain and jolted me once and for all out of the floating, sleepy wonder.
"Shit. I thought I finally had you asleep," CJ commented, smiling at me as my head popped up. Her fingers remained in my hair as I pulled myself to a sitting position.
"You almost did," I frowned, feeling nausea take over my body. CJ ran her fingers through my hair one last time, letting them fall to my shoulders.
"Carol, don't look so sad," she said quietly, gently coaxing me forward into her embrace.
I had cried for too long only hours before, and now as I rested my chin on CJ's shoulder, only a dry burn remained in my eyes. "I wish I were like you," I murmured, threading my arms around CJ's back.
She pulled her head back, grabbing my attention. Her eyes were tired but firm, and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. "And I wish you'd stop saying that. You've always tried to be like me and I don't get it."
"Oh, CJ…" I sighed, lying my head back down. "Nothing bothers you, nothing fazes you, you can fix anything, deal with anything…I'm sure if you told your mother that you were a lesbian—and she hung up on you—I'll bet you'd be past it in a second."
CJ was silent, her sigh sharp in my ear. She waited so long to speak that by the time her voice filled the room again, it had jolted me out of a slow doze.
"Carol, the entire problem with that theory is that you categorize me as emotionless. And I might hide my feelings well.... But please don't think that I'm blind to what you're going through."
"Are you?" I asked meekly, slightly embarrassed. Still, CJ's arms were tight around me and I felt completely and utterly safe that way.
"No," she whispered, and I suddenly realized that her emotions were as she'd said. Hidden. Hidden from everyone, including me. Me! The one who cared about her to the point of obsession, who wanted to know everything but couldn't fight quite hard enough to find out…
The roar of a plane overhead invaded my thoughts. Hundreds of planes flew into National Airport each day, bringing more people to Washington. And planes flew out each night, moving them away from here…and I was reminded of my mother in New Hampshire, likely crying and brooding. She was so far, yet so near, and now I had lost a piece of myself in that expanse of time and space.
Before CJ could close her eyes I saw them glaze over with her own unshed tears; and then she was blinking and looking away, the truth gone back into its shell.
"CJ. I want to know," I said, my voice choked with feeling as I fought to ignore the tumultuous undulation of emotion coursing through me. "I want to know everything."
She'd put her game face back on, and even with her hair blowing softly with the window's breeze, CJ was the picture of collection. She was always put together, and I suddenly hated her for it. "It's nothing," CJ said, blasé. She shook her head, watching me. "I'm worried about you right now."
I think I may have snorted, insensitive though it was. "Come on, CJ. If you went through anything like this…." I trailed, wondering if perhaps I was assuming too much.
The look on her face was affirmation that there were demons beyond the surface; she was afraid of them and the instant of truth that I saw flash across CJ's expression worried me. "It's a long story, Carol, I can't talk about it now."
"Yes, you can. You can talk to me…" I assured her, grasping CJ's forearm as her distraught mood intensified. She sighed heavily, biting her lip and keeping her eyes downcast. When she spoke her voice was kind but firm, as though she was struggling to keep out reality.
"I've heard your trauma all night," she smiled, tugging on my hand, "I don't think you need any of mine."
CJ meant that we'd come to the end of the conversation, that the topic was closed. I nodded, innately knowing that she'd never tell me the story, knowing that I'd never find her. And I wanted to find her, because the real CJ was hid underneath—I'd never seen her. That much had become increasingly clear to me in the past minutes.
I laid my head down on her lap again, allowing myself to relax. CJ was as afraid as I was, I groggily thought. She couldn't be afraid of who she was…it didn't seem possible, and I didn't want to believe that my brave CJ was really just a front.
I wondered if someone had hurt her; maybe there were hundreds of little hurts out there. And maybe her own mother was one of them…but when I woke up some time later, CJ was gone. There was a little note on the pillow by my head that read: Had to go @ midnight. Hope you slept well. Love, CJ.
I sat up clutching the note, my throat closing up. No, I hadn't slept well, and it was dark and cold in the apartment and I was alone thinking about what CJ might've gone through. And yet, there she was, everyday completely pulled together, full of good sense and composure. Or pretending… Damn, I cursed silently, why can't life be easy? Why can't I let things go…Why can't I be more like CJ?
As another airplane flew into the airport, and the breeze from the open window grew colder, it hit me like a rock. CJ hadn't told me her story for a reason. She didn't want me to find her. She wanted me to find me. *
AUTHOR: Kansas J. Miller
PAIRING: CJ/Carol
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: I didn't want to believe that my brave CJ was really just a front…
SPOILERS: None, but as soon as we get new episodes you can count on it!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. Aaron Sorkin does, and we all know his brain is not on THIS wavelength!
***
I was almost there. I could see it— but the edge of a peaceful, drifting sleep was just outside my reach. Maybe in a few more minutes, I would grasp the beautiful dream, the respite from worry. It was so otherworldly, and yet I was aware of being in my apartment. Vaguely, I could hear the murmuring television. The fingers in my hair were distinctly soothing.
My head was in CJ's lap, and my feet were curled up against my body and the back of the sofa. I chastised myself—thinking was keeping me from the sleep I so desperately longed for.
Suddenly the dreaded panic hit me again. My mother. She knew. She hated me. She was angry, hurt, disgusted, and so many other nameless things. And there was nothing I could do to change it. Her daughter was a lesbian, and yes, the world had ended. Bitter sarcasm shot through my brain and jolted me once and for all out of the floating, sleepy wonder.
"Shit. I thought I finally had you asleep," CJ commented, smiling at me as my head popped up. Her fingers remained in my hair as I pulled myself to a sitting position.
"You almost did," I frowned, feeling nausea take over my body. CJ ran her fingers through my hair one last time, letting them fall to my shoulders.
"Carol, don't look so sad," she said quietly, gently coaxing me forward into her embrace.
I had cried for too long only hours before, and now as I rested my chin on CJ's shoulder, only a dry burn remained in my eyes. "I wish I were like you," I murmured, threading my arms around CJ's back.
She pulled her head back, grabbing my attention. Her eyes were tired but firm, and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. "And I wish you'd stop saying that. You've always tried to be like me and I don't get it."
"Oh, CJ…" I sighed, lying my head back down. "Nothing bothers you, nothing fazes you, you can fix anything, deal with anything…I'm sure if you told your mother that you were a lesbian—and she hung up on you—I'll bet you'd be past it in a second."
CJ was silent, her sigh sharp in my ear. She waited so long to speak that by the time her voice filled the room again, it had jolted me out of a slow doze.
"Carol, the entire problem with that theory is that you categorize me as emotionless. And I might hide my feelings well.... But please don't think that I'm blind to what you're going through."
"Are you?" I asked meekly, slightly embarrassed. Still, CJ's arms were tight around me and I felt completely and utterly safe that way.
"No," she whispered, and I suddenly realized that her emotions were as she'd said. Hidden. Hidden from everyone, including me. Me! The one who cared about her to the point of obsession, who wanted to know everything but couldn't fight quite hard enough to find out…
The roar of a plane overhead invaded my thoughts. Hundreds of planes flew into National Airport each day, bringing more people to Washington. And planes flew out each night, moving them away from here…and I was reminded of my mother in New Hampshire, likely crying and brooding. She was so far, yet so near, and now I had lost a piece of myself in that expanse of time and space.
Before CJ could close her eyes I saw them glaze over with her own unshed tears; and then she was blinking and looking away, the truth gone back into its shell.
"CJ. I want to know," I said, my voice choked with feeling as I fought to ignore the tumultuous undulation of emotion coursing through me. "I want to know everything."
She'd put her game face back on, and even with her hair blowing softly with the window's breeze, CJ was the picture of collection. She was always put together, and I suddenly hated her for it. "It's nothing," CJ said, blasé. She shook her head, watching me. "I'm worried about you right now."
I think I may have snorted, insensitive though it was. "Come on, CJ. If you went through anything like this…." I trailed, wondering if perhaps I was assuming too much.
The look on her face was affirmation that there were demons beyond the surface; she was afraid of them and the instant of truth that I saw flash across CJ's expression worried me. "It's a long story, Carol, I can't talk about it now."
"Yes, you can. You can talk to me…" I assured her, grasping CJ's forearm as her distraught mood intensified. She sighed heavily, biting her lip and keeping her eyes downcast. When she spoke her voice was kind but firm, as though she was struggling to keep out reality.
"I've heard your trauma all night," she smiled, tugging on my hand, "I don't think you need any of mine."
CJ meant that we'd come to the end of the conversation, that the topic was closed. I nodded, innately knowing that she'd never tell me the story, knowing that I'd never find her. And I wanted to find her, because the real CJ was hid underneath—I'd never seen her. That much had become increasingly clear to me in the past minutes.
I laid my head down on her lap again, allowing myself to relax. CJ was as afraid as I was, I groggily thought. She couldn't be afraid of who she was…it didn't seem possible, and I didn't want to believe that my brave CJ was really just a front.
I wondered if someone had hurt her; maybe there were hundreds of little hurts out there. And maybe her own mother was one of them…but when I woke up some time later, CJ was gone. There was a little note on the pillow by my head that read: Had to go @ midnight. Hope you slept well. Love, CJ.
I sat up clutching the note, my throat closing up. No, I hadn't slept well, and it was dark and cold in the apartment and I was alone thinking about what CJ might've gone through. And yet, there she was, everyday completely pulled together, full of good sense and composure. Or pretending… Damn, I cursed silently, why can't life be easy? Why can't I let things go…Why can't I be more like CJ?
As another airplane flew into the airport, and the breeze from the open window grew colder, it hit me like a rock. CJ hadn't told me her story for a reason. She didn't want me to find her. She wanted me to find me. *