Shades of Gray

by Jess and Sid

CJ and Sam stumble through a one-night stand that leads to something more. (A post-ep series beginning with Manchester.)

12. My oh My

My oh My, by Sid

CATEGORY: CJ/Sam, post-Gone Quiet. And again I say 'angst'!

RATING: PG-13--language only this time, no hanky-panky

SUMMARY: Seems these days I don't feel anything 'less it cuts me right down to the bone.

DISCLAIMER: None of it's mine: not the characters, not the show, not the song, none of it. Dammit!

THANKS: The time has come, Sid said to Jess, to talk of many things; of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.

______________

I have officially reached a new low. Last night after CJ left, I drank an entire bottle of scotch and contemplated setting fire to the camisole she had left behind. I woke up on my couch and immediately raced to the bathroom where I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I didn't bother combing my hair this morning, a fact which amused both Ginger and Bonnie greatly. I didn't even iron my shirt.

Today I sat at my desk and scribbled nonsense on my desk blotter, just stupid swirls and squiggles and random words, because I couldn't concentrate on anything. In meetings I could focus on the task at hand, but alone, my brain just refused to do what it's paid to do.

I miss CJ.

It's over between us. We ended it last night with a few short words from her and a few desperate gestures from me. It wasn't our finest hour.

I didn't realize how accustomed I'd gotten to having her in my life and in my bed on a regular, substantial basis. Somehow it escaped my attention that being with her was like breathing, just as effortless, just as necessary. Even when I knew I loved her, I failed to understand how much I liked her.

I miss her a lot.

The trouble is--and this shouldn't surprise me, really--she doesn't miss me. She seems a bit more subdued than usual, but she's gone through the day with every appearance of normalcy. She looks great, she smiles, she does her job as effortlessly as ever, and today I caught her dancing her way into Toby's office, swinging her hips and belting out 'Whatever Lola Wants'. He grinned at her, she grinned at him, and it killed me. Toby has always had more of CJ than I have, and it looks like it will always be that way.

For me at least, it's hard to pretend there's nothing between us anymore. It's hard hearing her laughter in the bullpen, or seeing her chatting with Carol, and not being able to tell myself that she'll be in my arms in a few hours. Sometimes that was all that kept me going through the day, and now she's taken it away from me. It's been less than twenty-four hours, but already it's doing me in.

Oh, it's all for the best, I know that. That last conversation...We'd already had it too many times. Two people can only have the same argument so many times before something's got to give. And what gave was our relationship. Big surprise there. As if there was anything about our relationship that could hold up under pressure.

It's been hard to smile lately and now it's downright impossible. Besides this--this 'thing' with CJ, I also seem to have recaptured my role as some sort of karmic whipping boy. Not only did I have to deal with the psycho penny man, I've also been fighting the losing battle on soft money against the Formidable Three. If this keeps up, my position in this administration will become as much of a joke as my love life. Yeah, that's all I need.

So I've made a decision. I've made a decision not to care.

CJ's slinking around the office singing to Toby? I don't care. She's sitting next to me during Senior Staff? Don't give a damn. The smell of her body and her perfume is still on my pillow? I really couldn't care less. She's not going to get to me anymore; I won't let her

"So what do you think is up with CJ?" asks Josh. We're in the Roosevelt Room, waiting to rumble with Onorato and his henchman.

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you noticed she's been--you know, she's been really reserved today?"

I think of her dancing her way into Toby's office and fight back a snort of resentment. "Reserved?"

"She's acting like she was before Manchester."

That piques my interest. I wait a reasonable length of time as we both study our files, before asking, "What was she like?"

"What was who like?"

"CJ," I remind him impatiently. "You said she's acting like she was before Manchester. What do you mean?"

"Don't pretend you didn't notice, Sam. She was a basketcase right up through Manchester; snapping at people, talking about resigning...She looked like she was going to crack under the pressure. But when we got back..." Josh shrugs as he studies the paper before him, "she was better. More like her old self. Maybe happier, even."

"I didn't notice that big a difference after we got back," I say, egging him on, needing to hear more.

Josh rolls his eyes and closes his binder. "She was, like, the total opposite of how she was after the President's announcement. Before, she was--" he waves his hand around, searching for the right word "-- lost somehow. Sad. Unsure. You *know* how she was, Sam. But after Manchester it was like something happened to her to make her feel good again."

I smile indulgently. "People underestimate you, you know," I tell him.

He looks puzzled. "How do you mean?"

"You're just a big teddy bear, really."

"Okay," he blanches, "Samuel, I beg of you: do not refer to me as a cuddly creature of any kind, ever, but especially not in the workplace."

Laughing, I fall back to studying my report, still smiling because Sensitive Josh is rarely seen. It's always there; I mean, the man is actually one of the most empathetic people I've ever known, but he so seldom reveals that aspect to his personality. I guess he feels CJ is a safe outlet.

"Anyway," he says a moment later, "I've just been noticing she seems sad again. She laughs, but you know, it's not in her eyes. I'd just like her to be happy again. Like she's been the last few weeks. I mean, a happy CJ is just better for everyone."

Okay, it would be utterly, utterly ridiculous and egotistical to tell myself I had anything whatsoever to do with that happiness. I give the report another cursory glance, but I'm not concentrating on it; I'm thinking of Manchester and that night in my hotel room.

"I'm thinking Mexican for lunch," Josh murmurs.

I nod in agreement, not really paying attention to him.

CJ asked me once why I had chosen her that night. It angered me at the time because there had been no 'choosing process'. I hadn't weighed the pros and cons, I hadn't measured her against other women, I had simply seen her looking lost and helpless, and invited her up for a drink. For conversation. For laughs. That was it. There was no premeditation on my part. It wasn't until my hand brushed against her thigh and she looked at me with cloudy eyes and soft, parted lips, that I knew I wanted her.

Now I'm wondering what would have happened if it hadn't been CJ. What if it had been Donna or Connie, or any other woman? If they had looked at me with tousled hair and bedroom eyes, would I have seized the opportunity? Would I have considered it an opportunity in the first place? Did I really only need a warm body, or did I need CJ?

And what if CJ and I hadn't fallen into my bed? What if she had pushed my hand away, avoided my lips, laughed off my fumbling attempts to seduce her? Would it have made things awkward, or would it simply be a new joke between us? Something to bring up on the next drunken night, surrounded by our friends, playing the adults' version of True Confessions, disguising the painful truth as a funny story-- the night Sam tried to put the moves on CJ, ha ha ha.

"They're late again, dammit." Josh looks at his watch and then turns to me abruptly. "So what's *your* problem, Seaborn?"

"My problem?"

"Yeah. You've been moping again lately."

"I have not been moping."

"There was serious moping going on today in your office. I walked by and you looked like someone had just run over your dog."

"Seriously, I'm fine."

"You're not fine. Anytime you say you're fine it means you're not."

"Josh."

"What is it, Sam? Talk to me."

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "Have you been watching 'Oprah' again?"

He suddenly looks indescribably offended, drawing back in his chair and gazing at me in vague horror. "What? It was, like, once, okay? It was during my recovery and there was *nothing* on tv--well, nothing that Donna would let me watch--"

"I'm just asking because the last time you got this touchy-feely you'd been watching that special on people reconnecting with childhood friends."

"Not the same thing," he protests. "Besides, you and I aren't childhood friends."

"Whatever. All I know is you called my office practically in tears."

"I was on some serious medication, Sam, I am not responsible for my actions."

I grin again. I'm enjoying this. "You told me you wish you had known me when we were six because we would have built a kick-ass treehouse and kept out all the young Republicans."

"I said that?"

"Well, you were pretty doped up," I concede.

Josh looks at me and finally laughs, shaking his head. "I'm just asking you what your problem is these days."

"I've just got a lot of shit to deal with, that's all."

"Join the club," replies Josh, not unsympathetically.

"I, uh, don't think you're in quite the same club I'm in, Josh, but thanks."

He lifts an eyebrow. "I'm not? And what makes you so special?"

For a minute I'm tempted to break down and tell him everything: about the night in Manchester, about the weeks afterward, about CJ and how she doesn't want me and how I'm going out of my mind without her. You know, basically resort to an all-out, full-fledged confession worthy of a Lifetime movie for women. Not that I wish to perpetuate unnecessary stereotypes, but let's face it, if I were to spill my guts to Josh, it would be a little on the girly side. Odds are he would be more than a little freaked. Besides which, I know how his mind works; the wheels would start turning and immediately he'd see CJ and me for what we are--were--a PR nightmare, a disaster waiting to happen, a joke. Just what CJ thinks.

So I'm tempted, but I fight it. I shake my head, forcing a smile, and at that fortuitous moment, Onorato and Jaworski show up. They saunter into the room like they own the place and we settle down to discuss their laundry list of requests in exchange for backing off their proposed amendment to the latest health care bill.

I do well, I think, though I don't come off as confident as Josh does. He volleys back every one of their insults and manages to look dubious and doubtful every time they issue a new demand. I mainly sit there and watch as he and Onorato reduce themselves to the politician's version of 'My dad can beat up your dad', but I think I project a certain air of authority. Maybe.

The problem is that CJ keeps walking by the door, and I get a clear view of her every time she does. She's got the strategically- unbuttoned shirt over the camisole thing going on, and it's not doing me any favors. She's zooming around the office, still glowing from the majority leader's kamikaze response to The Question, and she's so amazing she makes me ache. But if I look closely, there is a difference in her. Some spark is gone from her eyes and her mouth is turned down at the corners. She doesn't hold eye contact with those she passes in the hall. But is that because of me, or is it because of...everything else? I can't think about that. That way lies madness.

After the meeting I run into Leo. He greets me enthusiastically; well, as enthusiastically as he can muster.

"Sam," he barks, "what are your plans for Thanksgiving? Have you decided whether or not you're going back to wherever it is in California?"

"Marin County," I supply, "and no...I haven't really made a decision yet." I don't add that the reason I haven't made a decision is that up until last night I had planned to ask CJ over to my place. I was picturing a day of turkey, pumpkin pie, and lots of sex; not necessarily in that order. Now, of course, that dream has gone up in flames and I'm left with no plans.

"Your parents don't want you out there?" Leo looks almost uncomfortable. Everyone looks uncomfortable when they get anywhere near broaching the subject of my family.

"Well," I say amiably, "considering my dad's spending the holiday with his other family, and my mom's decided to blow some alimony at the Neiman-Marcus sale, I'm thinking I won't be missed."

Leo gazes at me in surprise. "You don't even sound bitter anymore."

I laugh shortly. "Oh, I'm still bitter, Leo, trust me. Would you believe I still can't refer to my dad's--other woman by name? I don't like to call her 'she' or 'That Woman', but I can't for the life of me bring myself to say 'Elaine'." I pause, knowing that the bitterness has crept its way into my voice and suddenly realizing that this will be my first holiday since my parents' split. Wow, this is turning into a banner season already.

"Well, I just wanted to ask you...How would you like to join Mal and me for a turkey dinner with all the trimmings?"

Mallory. Oh God, that's all I need. "Leo, I--"

"You're grateful. I know, you don't have to say it."

"No, I'm--well, no, don't get me wrong, I *am* grateful, Leo, it's just that I--"

"It's just that you'll come," he supplies.

"Leo."

"You can't say no, Sam. I'm your boss and I'm taking pity on you in this, your hour of need. You're supposed to say yes."

"I don't know..." My voice trails off.

"I think Mal would be glad to see you." The words seem a bit strained somehow.

Mallory. I remember her eyes flashing at me and the cute little way her lips pursed when she was angry with me--which, of course, was most of the time. I remember that memorable date, my hands on her hips, her lips on my neck, and I flush under Leo's scrutiny. It's a bit unsettling to think of a woman naked while her father's staring at you.

But the thing is, I don't remember Mallory with any sort of regret or wistfulness. We had our few moments and they're over now, and I'm okay with that. It's not Mallory O'Brien I want anymore.

"Sam?" prods Leo.

But maybe, I tell myself, it's Mallory O'Brien I *should* want. Maybe last night was a wake-up call. Maybe it's time to try my luck with someone who can be attracted to me without being ashamed of it at the same time.

"You're giving in, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes."

I muster a grin. "Yeah, I'll come."

"Great. The President will be so glad you're joining us."

"What? Wait--what?" I hold up a hand in protest as he spins on his heel and heads down the hallway. "Leo!" I call. "You said it was dinner with you and Mallory."

Leo pauses and turns around with that evil glint in his eyes. "Yes, I did."

"Okay, you just suckered me into eating with you and Mallory in the *residence*, didn't you?"

"Sam, you make it sound like it's a bad thing," he says reproachfully.

I groan. "Leo!"

"The President would never forgive you if he knew you turned down his invitation, Sam."

I slap my binder against my head in exasperation. "Leo, I've never had to join Bartlet's Dinner For Wayward Pols before, and I really don't want to have to start now."

"Of course you do," Leo's grin fades and he looks at me sternly. "You're coming, and I'm telling the President. We're going to be one big, happy, dysfunctional family. Now I just have to go work on the others."

I frown in dismay. "You mean I was the first to cave?"

"This is a surprise to you?" he retorts as he walks away again. "Remember to wear a tie," he says, his voice trailing behind him as he rounds the corner.

"Rumor has it this year's lecture is on the inaccuracy of having pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving," says a voice behind me. CJ's voice.

I freeze. She walks closer and stands beside me. We don't look at each other. "So, can I talk to you?" she asks hesitantly.

I glance down at the binder in my hand and clear my throat. "Well, I don't think that's such a great idea. I have this meeting--"

"It's not for another hour," CJ says, "I checked with Ginger."

"Yeah, but I need to prep for it. It's on--"

"It's on the Republicans' efforts to accelerate energy exploration on federal land, a subject which you know more about than any human being should." Our eyes meet. "You don't need to prep for it, Sam, and you don't need to avoid me either."

"Is my office okay?"

"Of course."

We walk in together and I close the door behind me. CJ leans against my desk, her long legs stretched before her, and I suddenly think of last weekend, peeling her nylons away from her thighs, her calves, her--

That way lies madness.

"What can I help you with?" I ask thinly, slipping into my chair behind my desk. I open the report up before me to let her know I'm not altogether concerned with what she has to say. It's part of my not-caring plan. But after a moment I see her hand in my line of vision as she slaps the report shut.

Our eyes meet again. "Can I help you?"

"Don't," she says.

"Don't what?"

"Don't be professional with me, Sam. You weren't before, there's no reason for it now."

"What is it, CJ?" I ask with a sigh.

She studies me briefly, irritation twisting her features. "Is this how it's going to be?" she says, leaning back again.

"How what's going to be?"

"You're being deliberately obtuse."

"Yes," I agree petulantly.

"I want to know," she says, drawing her words out slowly, "if this is how it's going to be from now on. I want to know," she says as she sits down, "if--if what happened last night is going to make us strangers. Because, you know, people would notice."

I think of Josh noting the changes in CJ's demeanor and then shrug the thought away. "It's only been one day, CJ, I really don't know."

"Liar," she mutters under her breath.

I rip my glasses off my face and throw them down. "Look, what do you want from me? I've done everything you asked me to! Haven't I?" My hands are gesturing wildly in the air for some reason. "You said it was time for us to say goodbye, and I agreed. What, that isn't enough for you?"

"Sam--" She stops, her eyes skittering around the room.

"What?" I ask impatiently.

"You're acting strangely around me."

Shit. And here I thought I was doing so well.

"People are going to notice if you keep avoiding me, Sam. People are going to talk. They're going to wonder why. What could possibly have happened between CJ Cregg and Sam Seaborn that he can hardly stand to look at her?"

I gaze at her beautiful, serious face for a long, silent moment, and then realization floods through me like a physical pain. I know what she's saying--or rather, what she's not saying. "You're afraid people will find out."

"Yes," she whispers, "aren't you?"

"Don't worry, CJ," I say in a low voice, "people would never believe you would stoop to having sex with Sam Seaborn."

She flinches. "That's not what I'm saying--"

I rise from my desk abruptly and slide my glasses back on my face. "You don't have to worry, CJ," I say as I gather more papers together, "your secret is safe with me."

"You're being ridiculous," she snaps.

I ignore her. "I have to go."

But she jumps up as I walk to the door and she grabs my elbow, yanking me around till we're face to face. "Dammit, Sam, don't be like this. I came here to make a peace offering."

Instantly, before I can stop myself, a spark of hope flares in my chest. "Are you saying--?"

But she cuts me off, releasing her hold on me and giving me her sternest look. "We have to be normal," she says firmly. "We have to be CJ and Sam, the Press Secretary and the Deputy Communications Director. Friends. Co-workers. Professionals. Not enemies, not strangers, and most especially not ex-lovers. Is that clear?"

"I'm not a member of your press pool, CJ, you don't have to talk to me like I'm nine years old."

"I didn't mean it like that," she says in a soft voice. "I only meant- -"

"I've never made any demands, have I?" I ask her suddenly.

She looks startled and wary. "What?"

"I've never asked anything from you. I've--maybe I've made you uncomfortable, but I've never…" I close my eyes briefly, "I've never made any demands."

"No. No, you haven't."

"Can I make one now?"

"I don't under--"

"Stay away from me," I say, even as my fingers itch to touch her.

Her eyes widen in shock. She takes a step back from me. "What?"

"Stay away from me, CJ."

"Sam."

"Please."

"You're being dramatic."

I can't say it. I can't say the words. I can't tell her that being near her and knowing she's not mine is more than I can handle. I can never say that I love her and that the only hope for my continued sanity is for her to keep as far away as possible. If I said these things, she would know; she would know that I'm vulnerable, that I'm weak, that I need her. And CJ doesn't want me to need her.

So I have to lie to her. Again. Jesus, I could make a career out of this.

"I don't feel comfortable around you anymore," I say flatly.

I can see by her expression that whatever she was expecting--a plea, an argument, a bargain--it wasn't this. "What?"

"It's awkward," I say. I try to relax my body so that I look in control instead of sick with nerves. I can do this. I'm a man, after all; aren't we supposed to be good at the lying and the bluffing? "I feel like I'm back in junior high, you know?"

"Do you now?" she asks in her dangerous voice.

"You know, trying to pretend you and I never--never did what we did. Trying to hide it from everyone else because we know they'd laugh. It feels like junior high. I'm not exactly comfortable with that."

"Junior high," she repeats.

"Yeah. CJ, I really have to go."

CJ straightens herself up till she suddenly seems taller than six feet. She smooths her skirt and looks down at me. "Yeah, you go ahead, Sam, you go to your meeting. And if you decide to, you know, act like a human being, why don't you pass me a note in study hall sometime?" Tossing me another beady-eyed look, she leaves my office and I stand there for a minute, watching her go, sniffing the lingering scent of her perfume.

I miss her. I want to hold her again. I want to bury my face in her stomach and hold her to me and pretend last night didn't happen. At the very least I want to go after her and tell her that yes, I am in fact an ass, and I don't deserve her peace offering. I don't deserve any part of her at all, no matter how much I want it.

But I've made a resolution and I'm sticking to it. Next week I'll go to the residence and have Thanksgiving dinner. I'll talk with Dr Bartlet about my back pain and with Zoey about post-graduate possibilities; I'll eat too much turkey and drink too much wine and I'll flirt with Mallory. I'll pretend that there is no grand jury investigation, no trial on the horizon, and no CJ Cregg. I'll pretend that I don't care, and maybe eventually I won't.

-FIN-

_____________________

What on earth is going on in my heart
Has it turned as cold as stone
Seems these days I don't feel anything
'less it cuts me right down to the bone
What on earth is going on in my heart

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
but it's not enough
It takes a lotta love
it takes a lotta love my friend
to keep your heart from freezing
to push on till the end
My oh my

What on earth is going on in my head
you know I used to be so sure
you know I used to be so definite
thought I knew what love was for
I look around these days and I'm not so sure

My oh my you know it just don't stop
it's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
but it's not enough
It takes a lotta love
it takes a lotta love my friend
To keep your heart from freezing
to push on till the end

My oh my you know I just can't win
I burn it down it comes right back again
What kind of world is this we're living in
where you never win

It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love these days
To keep your heart from freezing
To keep your spirit free

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
But it's not enough
It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love my friend
To keep your heart from freezing
To push on till the end
My oh my it just don't stop
My oh my it just don't stop
My oh my it just don't stop

--My oh My, David Gray--