Mountainside, by Jess

Category: Post-ep `War Crimes' CJ/Sam

Rating: R, for language (and I don't mean Spanish) and sexual situations

Summary: You left me cold to meet your ghost.

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, and unless I figure out a way to get the genie out of the bottle, they never will be.

Thanks: Sidalicious-You are my sidshine, my only sidshine…hee.

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The ice clinking against the glass tumbler soothes me more than it probably should as I sink gratefully into the near-scalding water. My left hand grips the edge of the bathtub as my skin reddens and eventually becomes numb. I submerge myself almost completely, stopping only when the bubbles tickle my chin.

I hate working Sundays. Oh, it's not like I have anything even remotely resembling a personal life, but I know that when I get paged into the office, it's not because Toby wants to berate me for picking Chicago over Cincinnati in the football pool. No, if I'm called in it's because I'll have to impart some not-so-great news to the White House Press Corps, and ultimately the rest of the country.

The cheap scotch burns its way down my throat and I sigh. I promise myself not to think of eight year olds killed by gunfire in church or the Vice President causing trouble for us somewhere down the line. I promise myself not to think of the food spoiling in my fridge because I've been making an effort, or unreturned phone calls. And I especially promise myself not to think about Sam.

Sam, who has all but avoided me in the halls, and who comes up with excuses before I even open my mouth to ask him if he has plans for the evening. When did I become so dependent on him? It's not as if I love him. It's not as if I even want a relationship, except that maybe I do. Oh, not a real relationship where we'd actually go on dates and meet each other's parents, but something more than waiting for him to stop being pissed at me.

And then the thought comes unbidden into my mind. The thought I've been trying to suppress for the past week because I don't want to face the reality. Maybe he's tired of me. I was fun for a while, provided some amusement, a little comfort, diversion. But he's finally realized I'm much too old for him, more than a little too complicated, and he's moved on.

I guess I should be glad he's decided this so early on, before I could really become attached to him. Because despite all my talk to Sam, I'd have to be heartless not to harbor some feelings for him in my heart after months of making love and whispering to each other in the dark. If I'm honest with myself, I may even admit that I liked his concern for my eating habits. It's been so damned long since anyone cared enough to mention my empty cabinets and sleeping patterns. But I think I effectively nipped all that in the bud with a few sharp turns of my tongue.

And as long as I'm being honest, maybe I should own up to the fact that I'm terribly frightened of getting hurt. As long as Sam allowed me to control our encounters, I could fool myself into believing that I was putting nothing on the line, that he was the only one at risk of walking away heart-broken. But I've had plenty of time to contemplate the stupidity of my reasoning.

Oh, Claudia Jean, what have you gotten yourself into?

He thinks we're ridiculous together. I needed reassurance more than anything. I wanted him to vehemently deny my observation, but he'd agreed with me. And I'd left his office with the fake smile on my face, even though my mind echoed with self-recrimination and disappointment.

And I wonder if this is how it all ends. With me in water that's too hot, and Sam avoiding my eyes and very presence. And I wonder why I should care anyway, because it's not as if I love him. And even if he is the only bright color sometimes in my gray life, that doesn't mean I can't go on without him.

In fact, this is me celebrating. Yes, no more Sam. No more men period. Well, for a while anyway. And let's be frank, it's not as if men are lining up outside my door, so self-imposed celibacy isn't going to be some great feat. I'll just continue to drink myself into oblivion with no-name whiskey bought on a whim, and bathe myself in some twisted version of a baptism of fire.

The phone chirps cheerfully from the living room, but I make no move to answer it. I know it will be my parents making their weekly call to their only daughter who lives too far away for their liking. My mother will ask if I'm eating enough, and my father will want to know if I'm seeing anyone. And since I have become so good at lying, I will tell them what they want to hear, and hope they don't detect the falseness of my tone. But I don't have the strength to act tonight, and so I let the machine pick up instead, promising myself to call them sometime during the week.

The bay window, if you want to know, is what drew me to the apartment in the first place. I've never liked living in the front of a building because I'm a light sleeper, and the slightest noise is enough to rouse me from my dreams. A passing car, or hurried footsteps on the sidewalk has been responsible many times for my sour moods some mornings, much to my co-workers' dismay.

But I couldn't resist the bay window in the living room that had glowed warmly from the afternoon sunlight when I first toured the modern building. It was a little pricey for a two-bedroom, and more than a little out of the way for work, but I'd fallen in love and the lease had been signed before the week's end.

I've lined the seat with crème colored cushions and hung antique lace curtains on the rod. And there is nothing I like more than to sit in the window and watch the world go by without me. Oh, CNN is still on in the background, and briefing memos are inevitably spread out before me, but for a few minutes I can just act as observer and not participant. And it is a delicious feeling.

Rain is still splattering intermittently against the window, and I am eagerly awaiting the outcome of a race between two drops of water when I see him jogging down the sidewalk with his head down-bent. He's not wearing a coat and his dark hair is plastered to his forehead. The damn fool is going to catch his death out there. I jump up from the window seat and race to the door, throwing it open so that I can admit him into the building before his finger even has a chance to touch the buzzer.

His eyes are wide, and he smiles lopsidedly. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?" I ask caustically as I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill.

Sam looks at a loss for words and nervously runs one hand through his wet hair, setting it on spiky end. His shirt is molded to his muscled chest and arms, and rivulets of water run down his perpetually tanned face. He looks sexier than any man has a right to look. Bastard.

"I tried calling," he explains quietly. "Look, can we continue this in your apartment?"

I step aside grudgingly and follow him inside, closing the door behind us. "Don't you own an umbrella?"

"Yeah, but I left it home, so--"

I cut him off with a quick wave of my hand and point a finger at him. "Don't move," I command as I walk to my bedroom to retrieve a towel and bathrobe. The bathrobe is a little presumptuous, I realize too late, after I toss both items at his head.

He raises an eyebrow curiously. "You want me to change right here?"

"You're not ruining my carpet, rain man."

"Yeah, but it's just…" he trails off and blushes.

"You're shy!" I exclaim in amazement. "Sam, I've seen you naked before…I've had my wicked way with you countless times."

"CJ, could you just, you know, turn around or something?"

I laugh outright even though I'm pissed at him because he is just too damned cute for words right now. "Don't worry. I'll protect your modesty and go make tea or something."

He mutters his thanks and I smile as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the almost see-through white T-shirt underneath. I fight the urge to help him undress and remember that I swore off Sam, and the rest of his sex, earlier in the bathtub.

The kettle begins to whistle when he finally meets me in the kitchen, enveloped in the large folds of the fluffy robe. All traces of bashfulness are gone as he captures my gaze. "Why didn't you answer the phone?"

"I was busy…and you didn't leave a message," I evade as I place the steaming mug before him. "Drink this."

"You were busy? You have a hot date or something?"

His eyes are dangerous and challenging. He has taken control of the conversation with one bold move, and although his words are teasing, his tone is not.

"Gee, I didn't know you cared," I return sarcastically.

"Should I? I mean, we're not exclusive, right?"

His eyes are fairly glittering now, and the tension in his jaw is tangible. His fingers are splayed carelessly across the counter, but his stance is almost predatory. I lean closer to him until our lips are almost touching.

"Fuck you, Sam." He draws back quickly because whatever he had been expecting, this wasn't it. "You're the one playing games, so don't come in here acting like the injured party."

"Playing games? I don't know what in the hell you're talking about, but--"

"For months you can't get enough of me. But for the past seven days, you can barely stand to be in the same room. I've been sitting here wondering what in the hell I did wrong because you don't return my phone calls. But now, suddenly, here you are. And if you think that we're somehow going to end up in bed tonight, you better think again, buddy."

My chest is heaving with anger and I mentally kick myself for sounding so vulnerable. I had it all planned out in my head. I was going to be calm, cool, collected. I was going to act nonchalant as if I'd barely noticed his absence at all, even though I'd been crawling out of my skin. But my body tingles with his proximity and I hate his power over me.

I swallow painfully because he still hasn't spoken, and walk past him. "Be a dear and lock the door on your way out, will you?"

I make it as far as the living room before his hand is on my arm. He swings me around and I see the regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry, CJ. I had no idea, I swear. I wasn't playing hard to get; I wasn't punishing you. I was just trying to give you some space."

"Then why didn't you ever call me back? I left messages on your machine and--"

"I didn't trust myself, ok?" He sighs in frustration and relaxes his grip. "You have to know how crazy you make me. I want this thing, whatever it is, to work. And I thought if I backed off a little, you'd stop running. Just the sound of your voice is enough to…damn it, CJ. I would have been begging you to come over if I'd ever called you back. I wanted to do this the right way."

I try to ignore the warmth in my lower belly at his words, but this is made impossible when he reaches down to grasp my hand, bringing it to his lips. "I am sorry if I gave the wrong impression, or if I hurt you."

He smiles crookedly when I pat the side of is face. "Next time just say something, please."

"There won't be a next time."

"No?"

This is it. He's been toying with my emotions for the past five minutes. He's not here to make up, he's here to call things off, to tell me he deserves better, that he's decided to join the priesthood. I try to steel myself for rejection, even as his thumb gently caresses my palm.

"No, because we're going to set boundaries tonight."

He smiles curiously at the rush of breath I let out in relief. I wrinkle my nose and tilt my head to the side. "Maybe later."

"You have something else in mind?" he asks with faux innocence.

I don't answer him with words but I lean forward and gently nip at the skin of his exposed collarbone, while tugging at the belt of the robe.

"So, I can't comment on the food, or lack thereof, in your fridge?"

"You just did it, Sam." I turn in his embrace so that we are facing, and throw one leg over his hip, bringing him closer. His breathing grows erratic for a few moments as I nuzzle his neck.

"Did what?" he finally asks as I settle against his shoulder.

"You said, `So I can't comments on the food in your fridge, or lack thereof.' I detected a hint of sarcasm there."

"OK, ok. No smart assed comments about your deplorably empty cabinets. OUCH. Well, now I think that was uncalled for," he says as he removes my fingers from his side. "No pinching."

"Well, no smart assed comments."

"Fair enough," he returns amiably as he entwines our fingers and brings our joined hands to his chest. "You know, if you're not careful, I may go off and become a god for some native tribe of Fugi."

"You are not allowed to speak to Will Sawyer, ever, ok?"

"What's wrong with Will?"

"Nothing, except that he said I was too tall to be a god."

"Goddess," Sam corrects as he traces the line of my hip beneath the sheet.

"Whatever."

"For what it's worth, I think you're a goddess. A wanton sex goddess, but a goddess nonetheless."

I slap his chest playfully and place a quick kiss on his lips. "Keep it up and you're going to be sleeping on the couch."

He smiles against my temple and idly traces random patterns on my back with his fingertips. "Ok, so far we've covered phone calls, eating habits and reporters who moonlight as gods. Anything else?"

"No marks where anyone can see, Romeo."

"Sorry," he laughs as he presses a soft kiss to the hickey on the side of my neck. "I seemed to have gotten a bit overzealous."

"Well, I don't mind as long as no one else can see it. I think my hair will cover it up, but--"

"I understand."

"Lastly, and most importantly," I begin as I raise my head up so that I can look into his eyes. "I don't want you to feel obligated to--"

Sam cuts me off as he captures my lips in a passionate kiss that leaves me quite senseless. He smiles as he finally pulls away, tenderly sweeping hair away from my face. "I don't feel obligated, CJ. I want you as much as you want me, probably more."

My face flushes a little at the desire in his gaze and I rake my fingernails lightly across his firm chest. "I just don't want this to be something you ignore everything else for."

"Well, I think I've done pretty well on that account, don't you? I mean, I haven't neglected my work."

"I'm not talking about work, Samuel."

"I promise to still go out and baby-sit Josh while he gets shit- faced," he agrees with an exaggerated sigh.

I nod my head in satisfaction and smile. "So, what are your conditions?"

"I don't have any."

"What do you mean you don't have any?"

"CJ, everything is fine on my end, ok?"

"So now I sound like the demanding one."

"Oh, but you are," he says suggestively as he flips me onto my back in one fluid motion.

"Sam, we really need to sleep," I protest as he begins to anoint my neck with quick kisses.

"We can sleep when we're dead," he murmurs.

"Please, Sam."

He stops his ministrations and peers into my eyes to see whether I'm serious or not. Recognizing the look on my face, he sighs. "But I'm not tired."

"Well, I'll sing you a lullaby then," I tease as I pull him down so that his head rests on my breast and his legs tangle with mine. We lay in silence for a few minutes before he speaks.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You said you were going to sing to me."

"I was joking."

"If you don't deliver on your promise, I am going to keep you awake with things that are probably illegal in most states," he warns as he lightly runs a finger across the flat plane of my abdomen.

"OK, ok, let me think."

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Do you want a damn song, or not?"

"This is me shutting up."

I clear my throat and roll my eyes because I can't believe I am going through with this. "You are my Samshine, my only Samshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know dear how much I love you, please don't take my Samshine away. Now shut up and go to sleep."

I feel his laughter travel through my entire body since we are intimately close and I wrap my arms around his back. I've just about drifted off to sleep when he lifts up his head.

"Did you know that's one of the state songs of Louisiana?"

I groan and then open my eyes to glare at him. "Go to sleep."

He rolls onto his back, bringing me with him so that I'm nestled securely in his embrace. He kisses the top of my head and whispers a `thank you' before his breathing evens out in sleep. Although I'm more confused than I've ever been, I fall to sleep easily in Sam's arms. And maybe that's ok for now.

-fin-

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Without a word, you set your sights
into the sun
when all the world, you put to rights
was still so wrong

Pin your heart out on your sleeve
spouting all that make believe
from your lips it seemed it might come true
falling down the mountainside with you

The clothes you wore, the people stared
you looked so strange
to see you move, St. Vitus dance
was in your veins

Never once afraid to know,
what it feels like when you go
out beyond where logic keeps the view
falling down the mountainside with you

If you were here first thing I'd do
is knock you down
you left me cold, to meet your ghost
all over town

So grind the stone and spin the wheel
lock the doors, on what you feel
looking back, it's like I always knew

I'd be falling down the mountainside with you

falling down the mountainside with you
falling down the mountainside with you
falling down the mountainside with you

--Falling Down the Mountainside, by David Gray--