"I came to reclaim your West Point sweatshirt."
Robert Donovan looked at his kid brother thoughtfully. Prior to starting his own security
company, he was a Secret Service instructor for twenty years; he was perhaps the only
person on the planet who didn't quite believe Simon was truly dead. His instincts,
combined with some of Ron Buterfield's carefully evasive answers to Bobby's carefully
phrased questions, told him Simon was going to resurface. He knew better than to breathe
a word of his suspicions to anyone, lest he put Simon in true mortal danger. Secret
Service agents didn't die making rookie mistakes in convenient store robberies, but they
*did* die in undercover operations if their cover was blown.
"I gave it to CJ."
"You did?" Simon blinked as Bobby motioned him inside his office. The sweatshirt was
a running joke between the brothers. Bobby's annoyance that his brother chose NOT to
go to West Point on his army scholarship was amplified when Simon took Bobby's
sweatshirt ("it attracts the girls, you know") and refused to give it back "till I'm good and
dead." Over the years, they'd had many mock fights over it, but Simon always figured
Bobby will reclaim the darn garment as soon as the chance presented itself. Now he was
touched by his brother's gesture.
Bobby sighed as he sank into his chair. "She was…distraught. We were cleaning out your
apartment and the sweatshirt…she told me about the day at the shooting range and she
put the sweatshirt on and couldn't stop crying. I couldn't…it was the closest she could
come to getting a hug from you, you know?"
Simon buried his head in his hands and moaned softly. Going undercover didn't scare
him as much as the thought of the pain he was going to inflict on his loved ones. He knew
Bobby would guess the truth. But their mother, CJ, Anthony, Bobby's kids and wife…He
sighed and looked up, suddenly tired.
"I didn't expect them to drag me undercover as soon as I was done with CJ's detail. I
thought we'd have time." His face contorted in pain. "How is she? Have you kept in
touch with her?"
"Yeah. It helped both of us." At Simon's questioning look, Bobby explained, "I couldn't
be completely sure you were really alive. Ron was a real…pro, like I taught him to be,
the bastard."
Simon laughed humorlessly, the sound ringing hollow in his ears. Bobby was Ron's CO
in the Marines and his instructor when Buterfield joined the Secret Service. They were
close friends, and Simon could only imagine what it did to Ron, being unable to free his
friend from the purgatory Bobby was inhibiting these past four months.
"CJ's in a lot of pain, but she's OK, somehow. She's remarkable. She carries on. The
beginning was horrible. Just the fact that she let me see her so broken should tell you how
bad it was at first. But right now, it's Anthony we both worry about."
Simon listened as Bobby went on, filling him in. By the time his brother was done,
Simon was drained. He knew he was crying, and once again felt a rush of gratitude at
having a brother who would be there for you when you cried. Bobby may never let him
live down dozens of gaffes Simon committed over the years, but he was always there
when Simon needed him.
They left the office together, and went to their parents' house. Simon's guilt intensified.
That their mother had to grieve for him less than six months after their father died was
unspeakably cruel, and it was something he tried to bring up with his supervisors before
the beginning of his assignment. Not that it helped, he thought bitterly.
Bobby went in first. Their mother, he told Simon, was still having a horrible time dealing
with her losses.
After two emotional days in Chicago, Simon left for DC. He asked Bobby if he thought
there was a chance CJ would let him live when she saw him.
"Let Ron prepare her. This way you may have a chance."
"Guess I won't ask for your sweatshirt back, though." Simon tried to smile, and felt a
huge knot tightening in his stomach. The very real possibility that this assignment would
cost him his budding relationship with CJ was the most terrifying prospect he'd faced in a
long time. His pain over Anthony's behavior was intense, but it paled in comparison to
the pain he would feel if CJ would reject him now. Even when she was infuriating him as
a protectee, he was still happier by her side than he'd been in ages. She simply filled his
world and his senses more than anyone since…He sighed and hugged his family once
more. It was time to face the music.
Ron Butterfield hesitated before knocking on CJ's open office door. Secret Service
agents didn't take unnecessary risks. The only reason he was doing what Simon asked
him to do was the fact that the brat brought up Bobby as an emotional blackmail chip.
Ron's eyes swept the office, mentally cataloging all the heavy objects and their location,
estimating how fast he could duck if CJ reached for any of them. He took a deep breath
as CJ's tired, hollow eyes looked at him in apprehension. She avoided him as much as
possible since the night in New York, and he was glad for it. He couldn't take the
heartbreaking pain he saw in her every time their paths crossed. His guilt nearly
overwhelmed his professionalism on more than one occasion. It was precisely because
she was always so strong and in control that seeing her vulnerable was devastating to
those who knew her. In the past four months she'd gotten better at reclaiming her control,
but the mask slipped every now and again, as it did now when he walked in and closed
the door.;
"CJ," he cleared his throat. "There's something you should know…about the night
Simon…"
She turned her head away and told him to leave. Whatever it was, she said, it couldn't
possibly matter now, and she didn't want to hear it.
"I think you have no choice, and it really does matter, right now," he said, standing
armor-straight in front of her still-averted eyes.
She toyed with a pen and refused to look at him. "What?" she spat, her voice as harsh as
a slap across his face.
"There was a domestic terrorist group we've been tracking for a while. We've intercepted
some letters addressed to the President – some exceedingly disturbing letters. We had
sources tell us they can carry out the threats that were in those letters – bioterror or 'dirty
bombs…' But we couldn't get a handle on their location, or exactly what they had and
how they got it…We needed someone on the inside…" he stopped as her face slowly
lifted, the anger that began smoldering in her eyes was a hundred times worse than he'd
anticipated. "CJ, he had no choice. He didn't even know we'd take him that night. We
were extremely concerned, and Simon had…certain qualifications we desperately needed
for this assignment." He sighed. "He said if I get out of this conversation alive he'd
personally kill me. He may be right – there may have been a better way to get him where
he needed to be. But we were running out of time and the President was a definite target,
though not the only one." Ron stopped, realizing that for the first time in his life, he was
rambling.
"Where is he?"
"Basement Office C."
She swept past him without a word, slamming the office door behind her as she left. Ron
looked around at the untouched heavy objects. He wondered if Simon would be so lucky.
CJ stormed into the room and didn't slow down until she reached Simon, her eyes barely
discerning him through the haze of fury in her mind. She slapped him hard with anger
and desperation born out of four months of bitter, unremitting guilt and grief. Four
months of pain watching a sweet young man fall apart and throw his life away because
his beacon was gone. The rational part of her mind kept whispering Ron's words: "CJ, he
had no choice." But what took over were a primal anger and a sense of betrayal so deep
she couldn't even name it.
Simon didn't move. He didn't even flinch when her hand struck him, or when he saw it
coming. It was as if he welcomed the punishment, which in a way he did. At least it
proved she still cared, and that, unlike Anthony, her core remained intact.
CJ's hand dropped, and she sucked in her breath. Her mind clearing, she took him in –
pale, tired, and filled with a deep hurt she instinctively knew only she could take away.
Eyes flooding with tears, her arms came around his neck, wrapping tightly as she started
to cry, pressing close to feel his body and his heartbeat, desperately needing to convince
herself that this was reality.
He groaned with pain and release as his arms pulled her tightly against him. His lips
found her hair and he whispered her name over and over again between soft, tentative
kisses. Neither of them knew how long they stood there, time seemingly at a stand-still,
both crying, both murmuring broken half-sentences and fervent vows for the future.
Eventually they sank to the floor, his arms cradling her gently, both of them spent.
It was inevitable that someone would walk in. It was, after all, a regular day at the White
House, for most people. The fact that it was Batman and Robin, in the middle of a heated
argument over a paragraph in the President's upcoming speech, struck CJ as hilariously
funny, for some reason.
Toby and Sam stopped dead in their tracks and looked from Simon to CJ and back again,
Toby's mouth doing the thing that only Toby's mouth could do when he was emotionally
charged. Neither speech writer could come up with any words, and CJ, still very much on
the verge of complete hysteria, started to giggle. Her eyes flew to Simon, who was
somewhere between laughter and tears himself, Secret Service training thrown away for
the moment. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head in desperation. He'd give
a hell of a lot to be about a hundred miles away right now, with CJ in his arms in the
privacy of…anywhere but here.
When they finally got back to CJ's office she sank into the couch, her hand tightly
gripping Simon's, pulling him down with her. She looked into his eyes and he saw
apprehension written all over her face.
"You need to go see Charlie Young," she said softly.
Simon nodded, sighing. "Bobby filled me in a little. CJ, I'm humbled by you and Charlie.
I don't even know how to begin to thank him," he shook his head. "I have a fair idea of
everything I can do to thank *you* for taking care of Anthony…" he stopped as she
shook her head.
"He wouldn't let me take care of him, Simon. He hates me. And it took some pretty
drastic behavior on Charlie's part to get Anthony to listen to *him*. I…I wanted to be
there for him, but he held me responsible…" She stopped, too close to tears again. Simon
held her close. He sat with her for a long moment before he straightened up and sighed
again.
"Unless you can get some time off today…" he didn't really think so, so close to the
election, but he had to ask.
She shook her head. "Where are you going to be?" She asked in a small voice.
"Well, for starters, I'm going to talk to Mr. Young. Then I'll go back to my place and put
it together again." He smiled a tight-lipped smile when he saw her stare at him.
"The person who rented it works for us."
"Oh." Of course, she thought. The Secret Service wouldn't leave him homeless when he
got back from an undercover assignment. "Simon, how many people knew?"
"Not many," he said softly. "Very, very few, CJ." He looked down for a moment.
"Knowing would have put *you* at risk, not only me. I would trust you with this secret –
I'd trust you with my life a hundred times over. But I didn't take all the abuse on your
detail just to put you at risk when it was over." His gentle smile took the sting out of his
words. "Can you at least take off earlier tonight?"
"Count on it."
He nodded, and pulled her up, his lips finding hers for a long, long moment.
"I'll be around, ma'am," he whispered. He turned to leave.
For some reason, she needed to know. "Simon?"
He turned back.
"Did the President know?"
"No. No one outside the Secret Service knew. Even the FBI didn't know who we sent in.
They just knew we had someone on the inside."
She nodded.
"Come back at six?"
"I'll be back," he vowed softly.
Robert Donovan looked at his kid brother thoughtfully. Prior to starting his own security
company, he was a Secret Service instructor for twenty years; he was perhaps the only
person on the planet who didn't quite believe Simon was truly dead. His instincts,
combined with some of Ron Buterfield's carefully evasive answers to Bobby's carefully
phrased questions, told him Simon was going to resurface. He knew better than to breathe
a word of his suspicions to anyone, lest he put Simon in true mortal danger. Secret
Service agents didn't die making rookie mistakes in convenient store robberies, but they
*did* die in undercover operations if their cover was blown.
"I gave it to CJ."
"You did?" Simon blinked as Bobby motioned him inside his office. The sweatshirt was
a running joke between the brothers. Bobby's annoyance that his brother chose NOT to
go to West Point on his army scholarship was amplified when Simon took Bobby's
sweatshirt ("it attracts the girls, you know") and refused to give it back "till I'm good and
dead." Over the years, they'd had many mock fights over it, but Simon always figured
Bobby will reclaim the darn garment as soon as the chance presented itself. Now he was
touched by his brother's gesture.
Bobby sighed as he sank into his chair. "She was…distraught. We were cleaning out your
apartment and the sweatshirt…she told me about the day at the shooting range and she
put the sweatshirt on and couldn't stop crying. I couldn't…it was the closest she could
come to getting a hug from you, you know?"
Simon buried his head in his hands and moaned softly. Going undercover didn't scare
him as much as the thought of the pain he was going to inflict on his loved ones. He knew
Bobby would guess the truth. But their mother, CJ, Anthony, Bobby's kids and wife…He
sighed and looked up, suddenly tired.
"I didn't expect them to drag me undercover as soon as I was done with CJ's detail. I
thought we'd have time." His face contorted in pain. "How is she? Have you kept in
touch with her?"
"Yeah. It helped both of us." At Simon's questioning look, Bobby explained, "I couldn't
be completely sure you were really alive. Ron was a real…pro, like I taught him to be,
the bastard."
Simon laughed humorlessly, the sound ringing hollow in his ears. Bobby was Ron's CO
in the Marines and his instructor when Buterfield joined the Secret Service. They were
close friends, and Simon could only imagine what it did to Ron, being unable to free his
friend from the purgatory Bobby was inhibiting these past four months.
"CJ's in a lot of pain, but she's OK, somehow. She's remarkable. She carries on. The
beginning was horrible. Just the fact that she let me see her so broken should tell you how
bad it was at first. But right now, it's Anthony we both worry about."
Simon listened as Bobby went on, filling him in. By the time his brother was done,
Simon was drained. He knew he was crying, and once again felt a rush of gratitude at
having a brother who would be there for you when you cried. Bobby may never let him
live down dozens of gaffes Simon committed over the years, but he was always there
when Simon needed him.
They left the office together, and went to their parents' house. Simon's guilt intensified.
That their mother had to grieve for him less than six months after their father died was
unspeakably cruel, and it was something he tried to bring up with his supervisors before
the beginning of his assignment. Not that it helped, he thought bitterly.
Bobby went in first. Their mother, he told Simon, was still having a horrible time dealing
with her losses.
After two emotional days in Chicago, Simon left for DC. He asked Bobby if he thought
there was a chance CJ would let him live when she saw him.
"Let Ron prepare her. This way you may have a chance."
"Guess I won't ask for your sweatshirt back, though." Simon tried to smile, and felt a
huge knot tightening in his stomach. The very real possibility that this assignment would
cost him his budding relationship with CJ was the most terrifying prospect he'd faced in a
long time. His pain over Anthony's behavior was intense, but it paled in comparison to
the pain he would feel if CJ would reject him now. Even when she was infuriating him as
a protectee, he was still happier by her side than he'd been in ages. She simply filled his
world and his senses more than anyone since…He sighed and hugged his family once
more. It was time to face the music.
Ron Butterfield hesitated before knocking on CJ's open office door. Secret Service
agents didn't take unnecessary risks. The only reason he was doing what Simon asked
him to do was the fact that the brat brought up Bobby as an emotional blackmail chip.
Ron's eyes swept the office, mentally cataloging all the heavy objects and their location,
estimating how fast he could duck if CJ reached for any of them. He took a deep breath
as CJ's tired, hollow eyes looked at him in apprehension. She avoided him as much as
possible since the night in New York, and he was glad for it. He couldn't take the
heartbreaking pain he saw in her every time their paths crossed. His guilt nearly
overwhelmed his professionalism on more than one occasion. It was precisely because
she was always so strong and in control that seeing her vulnerable was devastating to
those who knew her. In the past four months she'd gotten better at reclaiming her control,
but the mask slipped every now and again, as it did now when he walked in and closed
the door.;
"CJ," he cleared his throat. "There's something you should know…about the night
Simon…"
She turned her head away and told him to leave. Whatever it was, she said, it couldn't
possibly matter now, and she didn't want to hear it.
"I think you have no choice, and it really does matter, right now," he said, standing
armor-straight in front of her still-averted eyes.
She toyed with a pen and refused to look at him. "What?" she spat, her voice as harsh as
a slap across his face.
"There was a domestic terrorist group we've been tracking for a while. We've intercepted
some letters addressed to the President – some exceedingly disturbing letters. We had
sources tell us they can carry out the threats that were in those letters – bioterror or 'dirty
bombs…' But we couldn't get a handle on their location, or exactly what they had and
how they got it…We needed someone on the inside…" he stopped as her face slowly
lifted, the anger that began smoldering in her eyes was a hundred times worse than he'd
anticipated. "CJ, he had no choice. He didn't even know we'd take him that night. We
were extremely concerned, and Simon had…certain qualifications we desperately needed
for this assignment." He sighed. "He said if I get out of this conversation alive he'd
personally kill me. He may be right – there may have been a better way to get him where
he needed to be. But we were running out of time and the President was a definite target,
though not the only one." Ron stopped, realizing that for the first time in his life, he was
rambling.
"Where is he?"
"Basement Office C."
She swept past him without a word, slamming the office door behind her as she left. Ron
looked around at the untouched heavy objects. He wondered if Simon would be so lucky.
CJ stormed into the room and didn't slow down until she reached Simon, her eyes barely
discerning him through the haze of fury in her mind. She slapped him hard with anger
and desperation born out of four months of bitter, unremitting guilt and grief. Four
months of pain watching a sweet young man fall apart and throw his life away because
his beacon was gone. The rational part of her mind kept whispering Ron's words: "CJ, he
had no choice." But what took over were a primal anger and a sense of betrayal so deep
she couldn't even name it.
Simon didn't move. He didn't even flinch when her hand struck him, or when he saw it
coming. It was as if he welcomed the punishment, which in a way he did. At least it
proved she still cared, and that, unlike Anthony, her core remained intact.
CJ's hand dropped, and she sucked in her breath. Her mind clearing, she took him in –
pale, tired, and filled with a deep hurt she instinctively knew only she could take away.
Eyes flooding with tears, her arms came around his neck, wrapping tightly as she started
to cry, pressing close to feel his body and his heartbeat, desperately needing to convince
herself that this was reality.
He groaned with pain and release as his arms pulled her tightly against him. His lips
found her hair and he whispered her name over and over again between soft, tentative
kisses. Neither of them knew how long they stood there, time seemingly at a stand-still,
both crying, both murmuring broken half-sentences and fervent vows for the future.
Eventually they sank to the floor, his arms cradling her gently, both of them spent.
It was inevitable that someone would walk in. It was, after all, a regular day at the White
House, for most people. The fact that it was Batman and Robin, in the middle of a heated
argument over a paragraph in the President's upcoming speech, struck CJ as hilariously
funny, for some reason.
Toby and Sam stopped dead in their tracks and looked from Simon to CJ and back again,
Toby's mouth doing the thing that only Toby's mouth could do when he was emotionally
charged. Neither speech writer could come up with any words, and CJ, still very much on
the verge of complete hysteria, started to giggle. Her eyes flew to Simon, who was
somewhere between laughter and tears himself, Secret Service training thrown away for
the moment. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head in desperation. He'd give
a hell of a lot to be about a hundred miles away right now, with CJ in his arms in the
privacy of…anywhere but here.
When they finally got back to CJ's office she sank into the couch, her hand tightly
gripping Simon's, pulling him down with her. She looked into his eyes and he saw
apprehension written all over her face.
"You need to go see Charlie Young," she said softly.
Simon nodded, sighing. "Bobby filled me in a little. CJ, I'm humbled by you and Charlie.
I don't even know how to begin to thank him," he shook his head. "I have a fair idea of
everything I can do to thank *you* for taking care of Anthony…" he stopped as she
shook her head.
"He wouldn't let me take care of him, Simon. He hates me. And it took some pretty
drastic behavior on Charlie's part to get Anthony to listen to *him*. I…I wanted to be
there for him, but he held me responsible…" She stopped, too close to tears again. Simon
held her close. He sat with her for a long moment before he straightened up and sighed
again.
"Unless you can get some time off today…" he didn't really think so, so close to the
election, but he had to ask.
She shook her head. "Where are you going to be?" She asked in a small voice.
"Well, for starters, I'm going to talk to Mr. Young. Then I'll go back to my place and put
it together again." He smiled a tight-lipped smile when he saw her stare at him.
"The person who rented it works for us."
"Oh." Of course, she thought. The Secret Service wouldn't leave him homeless when he
got back from an undercover assignment. "Simon, how many people knew?"
"Not many," he said softly. "Very, very few, CJ." He looked down for a moment.
"Knowing would have put *you* at risk, not only me. I would trust you with this secret –
I'd trust you with my life a hundred times over. But I didn't take all the abuse on your
detail just to put you at risk when it was over." His gentle smile took the sting out of his
words. "Can you at least take off earlier tonight?"
"Count on it."
He nodded, and pulled her up, his lips finding hers for a long, long moment.
"I'll be around, ma'am," he whispered. He turned to leave.
For some reason, she needed to know. "Simon?"
He turned back.
"Did the President know?"
"No. No one outside the Secret Service knew. Even the FBI didn't know who we sent in.
They just knew we had someone on the inside."
She nodded.
"Come back at six?"
"I'll be back," he vowed softly.
